Chapter 84 84

Chapter 84 84
Roman's POV

The next day found me sitting in my car, staring at the massive limestone entrance of my family's country club estate. I hadn't changed into the navy suit that my mother had demanded I wore. Instead, I had on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of faded, baggy jeans, the same clothes I had thrown on to go to the bar last night. My right knee was throbbing again, and the last thing I wanted to do was endure a night with

"Let's get this over with." I sighed as I pushed the door open, and stepped out onto the gravel driveway. The moment I approached the front entrance, my mother stepped out from the shadow of the columns. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, her face instantly tightening into a mask of pure disapproval.

"What on earth are you wearing, Roman?" she hissed as she stepped closer to me on the stone porch. Her hands twitched at her sides as if she wanted to tear the casual clothes right off my body. "Look at you. A t-shirt and baggy jeans? I explicitly told you to wear the navy jacket. This is an important dinner with the Benningtons, and you show up looking like you just crawled out of a locker room?"

"I told you I had practice, Mom," I muttered, crossing my arms and leaning back against the stone railing. "I didn't have time to run across campus to my apartment and iron a suit."

"You always have an excuse," she muttered in annoyance. "Your brother would have never shown such utter disrespect. Aaron had the decency to honor the family name, but you seem intent on embarrassing me at every single turn. It is exhausting trying to keep up appearances when you act like a petulant teenager."

I kept my mouth silent, staring over her shoulder at the manicured lawn. Obviously my mother didn't care that I had scored four goals on Saturday, or that my body was battered from carrying the team line. She only cared about whatever she happened to want at any point in time.

By the time the Benningtons arrived in a black town car that rolled silently up the circular driveway, I was pissed as hell. The vehicle was massive, its polished rims gleaming under the driveway lamps. The driver scrambled out to open the rear doors and the family stepped out onto the gravel, looking like a million bucks. I vaguely recognized them from one of the many cocktails my mother loved to host.

And speaking of my mother, her entire demeanor shifted instantly from bitter rage to a bright, artificial warmth the moment she saw them. It made me sick to my stomach.

"Arthur, Eleanor, it is so wonderful to see you," she chimed, stepping forward with a radiant smile. "And look at beautiful Genevieve. You look stunning, darling."

"Thank you, Evelyn," Mrs. Bennington replied, stepping into the light. Our mothers exchanged delicate air-kisses.

Mr. Bennington, a tall man with slicked-back gray hair and a tailored wool coat, stepped toward me. "And this must be Roman," he said, extending a hand covered in a gold signet ring.

I gripped it firmly, though my arm was rigid with leftover anger. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Genevieve stood behind her father, wearing a white designer dress and carrying a small leather clutch. She gave me a long, calculating look, her eyes tracking the casual hem of my t-shirt before she gave a tiny, dismissive nod of her dark-haired head.

"Let's head inside," my mother said, gesturing toward the grand dining room. "The chef has prepared something special for us tonight."

We were led to a private alcove in the back of the building, where the table was laid out with three different sets of silver forks and crystal glassware. The tension in my body only became heavier as we sat down. A waiter moved silently around the table, pouring expensive wine into the glasses and placing small portions of roasted duck on our plates.

We ate in silence for a while, before Mr Bennington spoke up.

"So, Roman, Evelyn told me that you're still playing hockey for the university. I must say, I was surprised to hear you're still playing after that nasty business with your knee earlier season."

I chewed my food slowly, trying to keep the annoyance away from my voice. "The knee is fine, sir. I'm back to full strength."

"Is that so?" Mr. Bennington mused, raising a glass of wine to his lips. "Genevieve also tells me the sports culture down there in UIC is rather intense. Our girl attends Northwestern University, after all. They take their athletics very seriously in Northwestern."

The mention of the school made my fork halt against the ceramic plate. Northwestern, that was the university I had been playing against when their hockey captain, Brett Sullivan, had injured my knee with a hit that had almost ended the season for me and altered the entire course of my career. Thank God for Harmony and the clinic.

"Do you think so, sir?" I answered sarcastically. "Most of their players are just brutes. Brett Sullivan for one could pass as a gorilla on the ice."

"Oh, yes," Mr. Bennington continued, leaning back in his leather chair and shrugging. "I actually know the Sullivans quite well. Mr Sullivan and I serve on the same charitable board downtown. Brett is a good kid, a real competitor. He has a lot of drive."

I stared at him, my knuckles turning white against the handle of my knife. "Brett Sullivan is a dirty player, Mr. Bennington. He targeted me during that match, he almost ended my career!"

"Roman!" My mother whispered furiously under her breath, but I barely heard her. There was a furious roaring in my ears now.

Mr. Bennington chuckled. "Well, now, Roman, let's be realistic here. Hockey is a physical game. From what Mr Sullivan told me, your positioning was off during that play."

"I daresay your late brother Aaron was much better at this than you. He never would have left himself open to a hit like that. You have to have the talent to avoid the collision, you see."

Genevieve tapped her glass with her manicured fingernail. When I turned to her, there was a mocking smile on her lips as she looked across the table at me. "Oh, Daddy, stop it. You shouldn't say that to him. I'm sure Roman tries his very best out there, even if the results aren't quite the same as Aaron's used to be when he was alive."

Even my mother paused her chewing at these words. I watched in satisfaction as a dark look flashed across her face. Good for her. This was what she got for organising this sham of a dinner.

But my mother quickly recovered, turning away from the table and calling out to the butler. "Matthew! Fetch the dessert!"

A whole two months of grueling physical therapy, the white-hot pain of my dislocated knee, the fear that I would never play hockey again — it was all just light dinner conversation for these people, a way to pass the time between meals while they patted themselves on the back.

If I didn't distract myself, I knew I would lose my mind. I needed a lifeline, something to tether me to reality before I lost my temper. I reached into the pocket of my baggy jeans and pulled out my phone, keeping it hidden beneath the white linen tablecloth as I opened my DM with Harmony.

ME: I'm at dinner with my mum and some family friends, and it's a complete nightmare. I want to jump out a window.💔

I typed rapidly, my thumb pressing hard against the screen. Then a sharp, painful kick connected with my shin underneath the table. I looked up to see my mother staring at me, her eyes flashing with a venomous glare.

"Roman, put that device away immediately," she snapped. "It is rude to be staring at your lap while our guests are speaking to you. Your manners are becoming non-existent. I suppose that's what happens when you spend all your time in student apartments instead of around proper company."

Mrs. Bennington waved her hand dismissively as she took a sip of her water. "Oh, don't worry about it. Young people these days are glued to their screens. Though, I must admit, at least Aaron was courteous whenever we hosted him. He had such beautiful gray eyes, so charming. Our Genevieve would have dated him if not that he started to date that journalism student from Texas."

The words hung in the air like a foul odor. They didn't even know Quinn by name, dismissing her as a simple regional stereotype, while treating my dead brother like a prize that had been stolen from their daughter. My mother nodded along, her expression full of regret, as if Aaron's choice in a girlfriend was just another disappointment she had to endure.

The hot, suffocating rage that had been building since I pulled into the driveway finally broke through the surface. I dropped my silver fork onto the plate, and all heads turned towards me.

"Rom—" my mother started again, but a quick glare in her direction shut her up.

I leaned forward as I looked directly at Mrs. Bennington and then at my mother. "I am not Aaron, and I never will be. And the sooner you all start to realise that, the better it will be for all of you."

The table went dead silent. My mother's face drained of color, her mouth parting in horror as she stared at me. The Benningtons themselves looked as if they had swallowed stones.

"How rude of you!" Genevieve gasped.

My mother started to apologize profusely to them, but I stood to my feet instead. I didn't look back at the snobbish expressions or the bitter glare from my mother. I turned on my heel, my sneakers pounding against the plush carpet as I marched out of the dining room, through the lobby, and out into the night toward the gravel lot where my car was waiting.