Lilah
I t’s late afternoon by the time I get home. After spending the morning in bed with Kincaid trying to forget about the ugly confrontation with my dad, I showered, dressed, and then he dropped me off on campus so I could study. The team had the day off, so he was going to take the charity auction items to the charity’s office, then hit the gym.
The house is quiet when I step inside, and there’s a tightness in my chest. I listen carefully, and I start to wonder if my dad isn’t home when I hear the sound of the fridge closing in the kitchen. My mouth goes dry, and I mentally rehearse—again—everything I want to say to him.
“Dad?” I call out because I think we’ve had enough surprising each other for one day.
“In here,” he answers, and I set my bags down at the foot of the stairs and head to the kitchen. My pulse is whooshing in my ears, getting louder with every step. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for another argument.
I’m not the kid who fought with her parents growing up. I always did as I was told, never talked back. But I’ll fight for Kincaid, if I have to. Just like I know he’d fight for me.
He’s sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of something amber colored on the table in front of him. He doesn’t look angry anymore. Just tired.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking another step into the kitchen.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing at the empty chair across from him.
I slowly sink down into the chair and wait for him to say something. The silence stretches between us for almost a minute until he reaches out for his glass, drains his drink, and then meets my eyes.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted,” he says, his voice raw. “And for what I said. The whoring around comment was out of line, and I wish I could take it back. I was…shocked. And hurt that you’ve been lying to me. I just…” He sighs heavily. “You know that I’ve always wanted to protect you. I’m your dad. That’s my job. But…you’re not a child anymore.” He swallows, as though the admission tastes bad.
Relief floods me, and I press the tips of my fingers to my mouth, my muscles shaky and weak.
“I’m sorry, too. For lying, and for not telling you sooner. I just…I didn’t know how. And I was scared of how you’d take it, knowing I’m dating one of your players.”
He nods slowly. “I don’t love it.”
“You don’t have to love it. But you do need to accept that I can make my own decisions.”
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “If Kincaid makes you happy…” He trails off and shakes his head, and I can’t quite tell what’s going through his mind. “Then I’ll learn to accept it. Eventually. What other choice do I have?”
I stand and walk around the table, wrapping my arms around him. “Thank you. For trying. I know this isn’t easy, and I’m sorry you found out in such a shitty way.”
“, language.”
We meet eyes and a flicker of humor passes between us. Tears well up behind my eyelids because for the first time today, I really do think we’re going to be okay.
“He’s a good guy, Dad,” I say, a little waver in my voice. “He treats me like a princess, and he makes me so happy. I know it’s fast and unexpected, and I know he’s older than me, but being with him is what I want.”
“He is a pretty good guy,” my dad admits grudgingly, twirling his empty glass around on the table. “I know he is.” He mutters something that sounds like, “He’s a better man than me,” but I’m not sure, so I leave it alone.
Just then, the doorbell rings and Dad pushes to his feet. “I ordered pizza if you’re hungry.”
I nod and shoot him a small, tentative smile. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s not alone. Kincaid’s eyes meet mine immediately, and my stomach both explodes in butterflies and twists itself into knots.
“Hey,” he says, setting the pizza boxes down on the table. “Your dad invited me over so we could talk things out.”
I glance over at my dad as gratitude swells in my chest. He really is trying. Kincaid sits down in the chair beside me and weaves his fingers with mine, the contact settling me. Dad grabs plates and we all help ourselves to a slice, chewing in awkward silence for a moment.
“So…” says my dad, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “You two are dating.” He makes a face as though he’s just eaten something sour.
I nod, and so does Kincaid. “We are,” I say. “And the only thing I feel bad about is not telling you sooner.”
“And what, exactly, are your intentions, Campbell?” Dad asks, leveling a steely gaze Kincaid’s way. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch.
“My intention is to love her as best I can for as long as she’ll have me. Which I hope is forever,” he adds, glancing over at me. My heart pounds fast and hard, my cheeks flushing at his admission. Forever. I like the sound of that.
Dad nods slowly, processing that. “I meant what I said earlier. You hurt her and I’ll end you. Your hockey career. Your life. You name it.”
“If I hurt her, I’ll deserve that and more.”
I lean into him, heat radiating through my entire body. I bite back a smile as the tension ebbs out of my shoulders. Things are still a little awkward, but it’s going to be okay.
“So what happens now?” I ask after a few minutes of quiet chewing.
Dad sighs, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded over his flat stomach. “I’ll admit, I don’t love the idea of one of my players dating my daughter. But as long as you keep your grades up and the PDA to a minimum around me, I think I can accept this.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
“So…how did this come about, exactly?”
As we eat our pizza, I tell the story—with several interjections from Kincaid—of meeting at the party, volunteering together at the food bank, and how he rescued me from the storm. I obviously leave out the stalking and anything physical. He’s grudgingly given us his blessing, and I’m not stupid enough to do anything to jeopardize that.
Dad’s expression softens as he listens, his eyes bouncing back and forth between us. He almost looks…wistful.
We finish eating, Dad and Kincaid shake hands, and then I walk Kincaid to his car. It’s full dark out now, and we’re half-hidden in shadows.
“That…went better than I expected,” he says, leaning his back against his car and pulling me against him.
“It really did,” I say, sliding my arms around his waist. The air is cold, but he’s warm and solid, and he smells like home and love and the future.
I arch up on my tip toes and brush a kiss across his lips, earning a low growl.
“I’m so glad I don’t have to keep you a secret anymore,” he whispers. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”
I giggle and then sigh as he strokes his hand down my spine. “Yours.”