Page 89 of Taking Sides

“It’s fine. I can get another. I’m impressed though. I’ve never lost one before. You fucked me right out of my screw-back earrings. That’s some A-plus sex.” She sets the earring on the nightstand.

I hum my agreement and brush my lips against hers again. When we pull apart, neither of us looks away. Slowly, her lips pull into a smile. It’s broken only when she yawns.

“Long day?” I ask, grinning wider.

She covers her mouth as her eyes water. “No, not really. It’s been pretty uneventful until tonight.”

Her expression shifts into something I can’t quite pinpoint.

“How was dinner?” I ask, trying my best to keep my disdain for her brother hidden. I can’t imagine anything worse than sitting across from him for a meal.

Whitney sighs and leans back against the headboard. “Awful.”

“Wanna talk about it?” I grab water from the mini fridge and hold it out to her before taking a seat on the end of the bed facing her.

“Thanks.” She takes a drink before she replies again. “My dad is not an easy man.”

I could have guessed that based on her brother. If he’s anything like him, then I get the picture.

I lean on one elbow and let my fingers drape along her ankle, silently encouraging her to continue.

“My parents divorced when I was a year old and my mom left shortly after. My dad had full custody, and we lived with him. I only heard from my mom once or twice a year—a quick phone call on birthdays and Christmas. According to my dad, she didn’t have any interest in being a mother or taking care of me and Victor but—” Whitney stops talking, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

I squeeze her ankle for comfort.

“I can’t help but think it had less to do with not wanting me or Victor and more her trying to get away from my dad. Nothing is ever good enough for him. I’ve watched Victor struggle to live up to his expectations his whole career. I can’t imagine it was any better for my mom.”

“And for you?” I noticed she didn’t mention how it was for her, but I’ll bet she wasn’t immune to it either.

“I had it easy.” She looks down at her lap. “Since he realized I wasn’t meant for great things like my brother, he’s had very few expectations of me.”

“Because you’re not a professional hockey player?” I ask, wondering if her dad is really that shallow.

“Because I’m average, which goes against all the Aven family mottos. My dad was a great hockey player, then built a multi-million-dollar real estate company from scratch. Victor followed in his footsteps with hockey and I’m . . .”

My movements are so fast, her eyes flash with surprise when I go to her, lifting her chin with a finger so she meets my gaze. “You’re not average.”

She tries a small grin, but I can tell she doesn’t let the compliment land.

“Being a great athlete or succeeding at business or even making a lot of money doesn’t make someone a better person, and it certainly doesn’t make them more worthy of love and attention.”

“It does to my father.”

“Then he’s wrong.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but he is.”

My thumb glides across her bottom lip until she frees it from her teeth.

“I know you’re right. Deep down, I know, but . . . he’s still my dad.”

The unspoken thing seems to be that she wants his approval, the same way she says her brother does.

“He’s never going to look at what I do and think it’s as important as winning a Stanley Cup. I think he’d prefer I was Victor’s assistant still. At least that was a job he felt was useful.” She lets out a soft, brittle laugh.

I’m not sure if I’m madder that he let her believe that or that no one else in her life has shown her that it’s total bullshit. I run the back of my fingers across her cheek.

“Do you know why I play professional hockey?” I ask her.

She shakes her head, then hugs her knees to her chest as she rests her chin on top of them.