Page 25 of Grizz

Then I turn, push through the crowd, through the strobe lights and thumping bass, and hopefully leave the ugly feelings just dredged up far behind.

Outside, the air is heavy and hot and real.I suck in a breath, trying to ease the pressure in my chest.

Behind me, the music keeps pounding.I just want to get back to the damn hotel.I shove through the line of people waiting outside the club.I tug at the collar of my shirt and raise my arm to flag down a cab.Mercifully, one slows, headlights sweeping across me.

“Grizz—wait.”

I curse under my breath, ignoring Daisy as the cab pulls up to the curb.

She catches up fast, heels clicking against the pavement, breath uneven.“You okay?”

“Totally fine,” I mutter.

“I’m not trying to pry,” she says quickly.“But what Tanner said clearly upset you.”

I shake my head.“He’s drunk.He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Now that’s just not true,” she says, softer now.“He knew what he was saying because I saw how it affected you.What did he mean about your dad and memory?”

“Drop it, Turner.”

She doesn’t.“Is that why you donate to the Alzheimer’s Foundation?Because your father—”

“Enough,” I roar, hands clenched into fists.

Her voice lowers but she leans in, not cowed in the slightest.“Does he have it?”

I feel my blood pressure spike, anger flaring hot and fast.“It’s not relevant to your job, so drop it.”

She steps closer and the scent of her perfume distracts me.“I want to understand—”

“I said drop it.”

I reach for the cab door even as she continues to talk.

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t get to you,” she says.“Whatever happened, whatever he did—”

That’s it.The last thread snaps.I turn on her, words penetrating.“You want to know what my father did?”

Her expression turns wary and she doesn’t answer.

I step into her now.“I’ll tell you what he did.He was a relentless monster bastard who thought pain was the only way to make a man.Miss a shot?I’d skate suicides until I puked.Lose a game?I’d have to run home behind his truck with all my gear still on.If I slowed down, I got the stick to the back of my helmet.Said it would teach me to keep my head up.Said hockey was war and I had to learn to bleed without flinching.”

Daisy’s eyes fill with sorrow and she shakes her head.“I’m sorry… you don’t have to—”

“No, you pestered and now you’ll listen,” I growl, unable to control the rise of fury and unable to stop the words as they flow.“Every time he hit me, every time he yelled, he excused it as discipline to make me better.And there was no love to balance it out.That was absent.Praise was foreign.Pride, a concept he didn’t recognize.And the worst part?It worked.It made me what I am today… tougher and meaner.It also turned me into a winner.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and I think that might be the end of it, but she can’t stop poking for the full truth.“So, your father—” she begins again.

I scrape my fingers through my hair, nodding through an exhausted breath.“Yeah, he has it.Early onset.”

Her gaze slides off as she considers, then comes back to me.“That must be awful, him having a disease that makes it so he can’t appreciate all your accomplishments.”

I snort, a caustic laugh following.“You think that’s what bothers me?That he doesn’t have any clue the success I’ve achieved?”

She nods hesitantly.

“It’s cute you’d think it would be that simple.I couldn’t give a fuck if he knows that I’m a professional hockey player.”