•─────────•❋•─────────•

chapter seven: the king of wishful thinking

a/n:

fun fact, you're not allowed to judge the complicated feelings rory has for her father if your dad has the emotional capacity to tell you he loves you and mean it, not just because he's being manipulative :) thank you.

tw(s) -- continued mentions of poor parenting/abuse, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of generational trauma, self-deprecation, and rory's oblivious as fuck.

•─────────•❋•─────────•

Once, in the middle of a family vacation to Boca Raton, Rory's first cousins, Charles and Greg, snuck her from her hotel room and didn't bring her back for two whole days.

Oliver claimed it was a kidnapping. (Which, in a legal sense, it was.) For weeks after, he dragged his nephews' names through the mud, telling anyone who asked that they'd done something insane and exposed his five-year-old to the filth of the wretched. In reality, though he'd never bothered to ask, there wasn't any partying. She, though this would give any normal parent nightmares, went willingly into her abduction. After all, all the brothers did was take her to Disney World and throw the weight of their family name around until she was walking the streets of Magic Kingdom like she owned the place.

To this day, Greg still tries to spin the story, but Rory has always known that the trip only happened because dear old Chuck was tired of spending his last spring break golfing with his father and his uncles.

She doesn't mind that fact, though.

Either way, the two-day excursion was the best thing that happened in her childhood, and she learned a whole lot from it.

Most importantly: how to safely sneak out of a fancy hotel when the whole world is watching.

When Averman finally returns, shoes on his feet, Rory takes him by the hand and uses the distraction of the two enforcers' poor behavior to sneak past the teammates that have accumulated in the hall. Without a word, and like a woman on a mission, she drags him into a back staircase that looks practically unused -- old carpet muffles the sounds of their footsteps, and lights buzz overhead, and the air feels stagnant as Averman silently curses himself for how clammy his hands get just because one is touching hers.

If she notices, though, she doesn't mention it, and it eases his worries as he wipes the free hand's palm down the thigh of his pants.

"Hey--" He finally finds his voice when they reach what feels like the bottom floor, but stops in his tracks when she turns to him and puts her fingers to her lips.

Rory then opens the door in front of them and, comically, like she was in an episode of Scooby Doo, sticks her head out to look. Averman watches her, fondly amused.

They slip out into the Los Angeles night when she deems the coast clear.

"There's so much police presence around the hotel because of the games that we should be fine for about three blocks." She says as she walks them both through the parking lot. "Which should mean we'll be safe to go to the seven eleven I saw."

He nods, mirth still swimming in his eyes. "Where the hell did you learn how to do all this?"

"A lady never shares her secrets." Rory shrugs, head haloed by the street light behind her.

"I think that's a magician, actually."

The corners of her lips pull up into a smile. "Fine... My aunt's eldest son-- his name is Charles, but we call him Chuck-- is, like, the master of making himself scarce."

As she burns into a tale about her thirty something year old cousin, his twenty something year old brother, and the time they, ten years ago, kidnapped her, Averman stares at her and listens.

•─────────•❋•─────────•

The heinously bright inside of the store is a welcome sight to Rory as she steps over the threshold and thanks Averman for holding the door for her.

Being a hockey player who actually plays in more than regional competitions (and is the child of people who once made this tabloid's list of least amicable celebrity divorces) has made for a lifetime of being carted all over the world. Michigan, France, the United Kingdom -- wherever she is needed, no matter what she's needed for, there is a plane or a helicopter that's ready to take her. It used to leave her feeling lost. There was never a guarantee that she was going to be in a single place for too long, not even when she was in school, and it was so hard to maintain any meaningful relationships.

There is only one thing that helped her keep sane.

Chain convenience stores.

Introduced to her by one of her younger nannies, the stores -- with their similar layouts and products -- became the only semblance of recurrence in her childhood.

The chain in the states, seven-eleven, just happens to be her favorite, because where else could she get a thirty-two-ounce drink that would give her father a heart attack?

(That and every store reminds her, weirdly enough, of Melissa Anderson.)

Averman nudges her with his elbow as the two of them wander the linoleum aisles. "What are you thinking of getting?"

"Oh, I'm really just here for a Slurpee-- get whatever you want, though. I'll pay."

A Slurpee is, in itself, all of the processed sugar she's supposed to have in a month. Her love for them, while confounding, is also the only secret she's been able to keep from her father. Simultaneously being her attempt at rebellion and the only sugary thing she really eats, the Slurpees also give her a brain freeze, and the numbing pain allows her to not think of anything else for a moment.

She doesn't want to think about what her father said.

(And she doesn't want to think about what getting attached means for her in the long run.)

"What? Am I your sugar baby now?"

That makes Rory roll her eyes, the corner of her lip twitching, and turn to him.

"You're whatever you want to be. Now go pick something."

She makes a shooing gesture and leaves him standing there, caught off guard.

The machine she's looking for is toward the back of the store and she pours her favorite flavor into the biggest cup size available as some pop song she's never heard plays on the speakers overhead. Averman returns to her just as she's putting the lid on the cup, his hands full of various bags of candy, and he bounces excitedly from foot to foot. He must know the song because he hums to the tune.

When the cashier rings them up and she pulls her card from her wallet, he eyes her nervously.

"Hey, are you sure-- "

"My monthly allowance is five figures, Les." She whispers it out of instinct. "My father won't notice anything is missing."

Hesitantly, he nods, and she puts the receipt they leave the store with bags of goodies.

They don't walk too far. Deciding again that it was safe enough for the two of them with how much security they'd been given for the games, they sit on a curb outside the parking lot. He takes the bag from her as soon as they're settled and starts to pick through his candy.

Rory hides, slightly, behind her hair and watches him, sipping at her comically large drink.

He's almost... cute... when he's excited.

"So, what's the deal with Pepé le Ski?" Averman puts an end to the comfortable silence (and her thoughts) by asking that through a mouthful of chocolate.

"What?"

(Did nobody teach her teammates basic etiquette?)

"Pepé le Ski-- y'know, the romantic skier from the land where they eat snails and sheep brains."

Rory's brows knit together but, when she finally catches up to what he's saying, she does breathe a laugh.

"You mean Henri?"

"Yeah." He says as if his words were self-explanatory.

The land where they eat snails and sheep brains... What an interesting assessment.

She'd pay a whole lot of money for just a glimpse into his brain.

"There's no deal."

Rory swirls her straw around and Averman lifts a brow.

"You took him, Connie, and Guy to lunch."

"So? My dad took everybody to dinner."

"Yeah, but no one on the team is your ex-boyfriend."

The look of confusion remains on her face.

"What is it that you want to know?"

"I dunno. Whatever it is that you're willing to tell me. Like, where's he from?"

Lost on why this means so much to him, Rory wets her bottom lip with her tongue. "His whole family lives on this vineyard estate near Lyon."

"Oh, so he's rich?"

"In your eyes, yes."

Nearly all of the people she grew up with are going to be wealthy, but she doesn't say that.

"Was it serious?"

That makes her pause. Like, truly pause.

"Well, we started dating when staying with his family one summer, and then we tried to do the whole love letter romance thing for a few months before calling it quits... So, not that serious, I guess."

He nods. A beat of silence punctuated by him eating another piece of chocolate.

"Why?"

"Just curious." Averman shrugs nonchalantly and then offers the chocolate bar to her. "Want a piece?"

Dizzied by how quickly the conversation changed subjects, Rory shakes her head slowly.

"No. I'm already breaking enough rules as is. Thank you, though."

He frowns. "Your dad really gets to you, doesn't he?"

Sighing, she doesn't respond, but that is enough of an answer for him.

There's another moment of tense silence where Rory chews on her straw, an arm wrapped around her legs, and Les stares at her like he's studying her.

"Dad's-- He's-- "

"A dick? A terrible person? A no good excuse for a father who treats you like crap?"

"He's my dad." The words drip with so much desperation that they thicken the quality of her voice and, in their wake, tears burn behind her nose.

Rory speaks a few languages, but she will never be able to find the words that make him understand her love for her father.

She can see that much in his face.

Still, sitting on the curb and feeling like a gaping wound, she pleads that he tries to, anyway.

"My grandfather, as much as I love him, was terrible to him as a child, and he's ill, Les. He's got all these things wrong with him, so he's on medication, but he drinks even though he shouldn't and--"

Averman stares back, perturbed.

"He's all I've got, Les. He's only so mean because he loves me."

"But--"

"My life can go one of two ways," Rory says, voice no louder than a whisper, and turns to stare at the pavement, dejected. "I can do what he wants-- go to college on a sports scholarship and waste time until he makes me CEO of the company. Or, I can do what I want and go to school to get a degree and be a historian, or something."

"And how does he see it?"

"He sees only his way. So, on one hand, I'm some corporate monster, but I'm still his kid, and on the other, I'll be disowned and lose my inheritance... Either way, I'm miserable and alone."

Averman has to sit quietly and think about what she's said, and the longer he takes, the more she wishes the ground would swallow her whole.

She shouldn't have said anything.

She never should've opened her mouth in the first place.

Maybe this is what her father had meant.

Years of media training rendered useless in just a few moments.

People were a little kind to her and now she's spouting off her family secrets like some stupid, leaky faucet.

His paranoia wasn't unfounded, she's just not as intelligent as she thinks she is -- a little girl trying on her father's shadow for size.

(Why doesn't she ever know when to shut up?)

The sounds of distant, late-night traffic and the gentle howl of the warm wind blowing by fill the space where conversation once was, and Rory tastes a hint of blood as her heart beats in her throat.

"Fuck your dad."

The words come so suddenly that they startle her.

"What?"

"Fuck your dad." Averman repeats himself clearly, saying that word proudly and with his whole chest. "I won't take it back. He doesn't get to just treat you like a puppet and walk all over you just because he had a shitty childhood. Jesse's grandpa beat the shit out of his old man but Mr. Hall is really cool, and Bombay is an alcoholic, too, but he's basically Charlie's step-dad, and he's been good to Charlie and his mom--"

(She makes a mental note to ask about that later.)

"-- You can do whatever the hell you want in life, Ror, and you won't be lonely, because someone out there is willing to love you properly."

She stares at him.

Rory wouldn't consider what she had with Henri real love, and he's the only notable ex she has, so she doesn't know if she's ever experienced it. Romantic love.

It's strange. Strange to think that someone, somewhere can understand her enough to look past it all, to love her a little.

For all her despair, for all her ideals, for all that--

She makes a small noise and rests her chin on her knees.

(And Averman winces as his attempt at a confession goes completely unnoticed.)

When they're finished with their treats and Rory has asked her fill of questions about Gordon Bombay, the both of them rush back to the hotel. Even if it's the wee hours of the morning, the paparazzi and press are prowling around in front of the hotel like a pack of wild dogs, waiting for any of the kids from any of the teams to surface.

With her help, they sneak back up the way they came down.

He's slightly giddy with a sugar high and she has to shush him often, trying not to laugh at him. At one point, she has to pull him around a corner to avoid security, the two of them chest to chest and holding eye contact for a moment too long.

Averman's mood sobers quickly and he doesn't breathe the entire time.

They get to their floor with a few close calls.

Rory lingers in the doorway for a moment, both of her roommates asleep behind her, and watches as he walks back to his room.

"Thank you, for everything, Lester the Jester."

Averman turns to her and smiles softly. "You're welcome, your majesty."

When she disappears behind the door, the smile drops from his face and he cringes at himself. He smacks his palm against his forehead and whispers stupid, stupid, stupid, as he retires to his bed.

•─────────•❋•─────────•

a/n:

she's the dumbest smart person I know...

comments and votes are super appreciated! they let me know that you guys like my writing and I cannot stress how much they motivate me to continue! thank you