Rhys
After staring at the phone ring for a while, I picked it up and walked into the restroom, blocking off the loud bass sound. It didn't drown out the pounding of my own heart. I pressed the phone to my ear, my palm damp against the glass.
"Hello, Father," I whispered.
"What the hell did you do on the ice?" He responded immediately in his usual harsh tone. My father had never spoken softly to me. Ever. "Have you lost your spark, son? Or was it ever really there to begin with?"
There was no 'well done,' no acknowledgment of the series win. Normal people who didn't hate their child could see that I had tried my best on the ice and assisted in several goals, but my father never complimented me, no matter how much I pushed.
"I scored twice tonight, Dad," I said, the words feeling pathetic as soon as they left my mouth. "We dominated. We're the first team to proceed—"
"You were invisible," he hissed, his tone dripping with a cruelty that made my stomach churn.
