Page 202 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
The man smiles too quickly when he sees me.
“Sorry about that,” he says casually while gripping the kid’s shoulder. “He wanders.”
My entire body goes rigid because I saw the kid flinch.
And something inside me snaps quietly in half.
“You’re hurting him.” The words come out flat. Cold.
The man’s smile flickers slightly. “Excuse me?”
Ethan’s breathing turns shallow. Panicked.
I know that look.
Jesus Christ, I know that look.
My pulse pounds harder as old memories claw their way up my throat.
My father’s hand wrapped around my arm hard enough to bruise.
My mother sobbing behind locked bathroom doors.
The sound of glass shattering.
“You heard me,” I say evenly.
The man laughs like I’m overreacting. “He bruises easily.”
Bullshit.
Ethan flinches again when the man’s fingers flex against his shoulder. It’s a tiny movement, barely noticeable, but I see it.
Rage slides cold and sharp through my bloodstream.
Around us, the sounds of the charity event continue. Children laugh. Music plays. Connor yells something about raffle tickets.
But all of it feels distant now. Muted.
All I can see is a scared little boy trying to disappear inside himself.
And I remember exactly what that felt like.
“Take your hand off him.”
The man’s expression hardens. “You got a problem?”
“Yeah.” The word comes out rougher this time. More dangerous. “I do.”
The guy straightens slightly, puffing himself up. “I’m his father.”
The second the words leave his mouth, Ethan visibly goes still.
Fear.
Pure fucking fear.
My vision sharpens dangerously.
