Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(37)
“You remember us, don’t you, Lizzy girl?” My father, Leonard, grins that wide, carefree grin that used to wrap around me like a warm hug when I was Liz’s age. It doesn’t have the same effect on my niece, however. She moves further behind my sister and grips onto her thighs like she’ll sink through the floor if she doesn't have something steady to hold onto.
“Mom. Dad.” Clare dips her head at the two of them before turning to crouch in front of Liz, gripping her shoulders lightly. “Say hi to Nana and PopPop, baby.”
My mother clicks her tongue rudely and walks to Clare’s side when she doesn’t immediately do as she’s told, attempting to brush her aside to get to her terrified granddaughter. “Don’t be rude, Elizabeth. Say hello to your grandpa and me.”
“Mother,” I hiss, wishing for a second that shoving an old lady, let alone your own mother, wasn’t frowned upon. “She probably doesn't remember you. Did you really think that she would? It’s been what? Three years?”
“Hello, Sierra,” she sighs, eye-lids sweeping shut for a moment as if my mere existence exhausts her. She doesn’t even bother looking at me when she turns to the elephant at the table. “Are you not going to say hello to Logan? It was so thoughtful for him to agree to come tonight. He is such a busy man nowadays with his company taking off! You must be so proud of him.”
Hearing my own mother speak of my ex-boyfriend’s accomplishments with a sense of pride that I’ve never heard from her in regards to my own, only makes my skin burn hotter, the blood beneath it reaching a full boil.
I stare at her without blinking, keeping my features lazy, bored. “Why is he here, Mom? You know full well that we’re no longer together. I remember telling you why, as well.”
It’s Logan that speaks next after clearing his throat way louder than necessary. “I’m right here, S. Speak to me. You know that I only bite if you want me to.”
I spare him a fleeting glance and clamp down on my tongue. If his arrogant, tasteless words weren’t bad enough, his choice of outfit accessories is.
The navy and pale pink striped tie that I got him last christmas is knotted snugly at the base of his throat and lays flat over a crisp, white button-up shirt, while a gold Rolex—the one I saved for for a solid year and gifted him on his birthday—is fitted below the custom cuff-links on his left wrist.
I snort, unable to hold it in. “You couldn’t be an even bigger prick even if you tried, Logan.”
My mother scoffs at my comment while my father lightly shushes her, gripping her forearm tightly. “Let’s just sit down, shall we?” he suggests, looking like he might combust into a ball of frustration if we continue creating a scene. A set of tired, mahogany brown eyes flicker between the pest and me, yet Leonard Caster says nothing in my defence. Like always he’s too terrified of his wife to ever dare speak out against her.
It’s still a wonder to me how he can stay married to my mom—happily, at that—when they’re such opposites. Whereas my mother doesn’t mind making her presence known in a crowded room, Dad would rather slip under an invisibility cloak to avoid even a single set of curious eyes.
I can almost feel his embarrassment from the scene that this wife has caused, but knowing that he probably didn’t agree with her inviting my ex-boyfriend, yet still went along with it is enough to keep my sympathy for him at bay. He will always be the same timid-mouthed man that I’ve known my whole life.
Swallowing hard, I stiffly dip my chin and take the empty seat beside my niece when I notice that everybody else has already sat down. I nearly cry out with relief when I see Clare sitting beside Logan, shooting me a wink when she catches me looking. And when I spare Logan a quick flick of my eyes, I smile at his scowl of disapproval.
Clare and Sierra : 1
Cheating Bastard : 0
Chapter Sixteen
BRADEN
“You didn’t want to change first? I look like a fucking slob beside you.” I don’t bother looking at my brother when I speak. I’m too busy watching the perfectly squared ice cubes melt in my glass of whiskey.
The Vancouver Warriors just won their home opener—barely, but who cares—and Tyler, being the winning goal-scorer of the game, called to invite me out with the small group of players that wanted to celebrate the win in the public eye. I instinctively wanted to say no, not because I don’t love drinking fancy fucking booze in the company of my brother, but because being around so many professional hockey players makes my insides burn.
I miss the damn sport, and knowing that I could have been playing alongside my own brother, not necessarily on the same team, but in general, yet chose a completely different career path, fills me with blistering regret.
I keep reminding myself that I did it for Dad, and that there was no guarantee that I would have been drafted into the pro’s anyway, but not knowing at all, that shit sucks. It eats at me on a constant basis, and nothing that I do or say to convince myself that I made the right choice works worth a shit.
I’m so damn proud of Tyler for not allowing his own inner demons to stop him from accomplishing what he’s always wanted, and for becoming a staple name in hockey, but I’m jealous regardless. So fucking jealous. Every time I turn on a game and see my brother and his brother-in-law, Oakley Hutton, and one of my college hockey teammates and good friend, lighting up the rink together with their near intimidating amount of skill, power, and confidence, I can’t help but imagine myself right there beside them. Just like the good old days.