Chapter 27 – Brianna #2
Would my dad care if I was dating Seth? That’s something I need to figure out. I need to talk to my dad. I need to reach out to the Mayhem Human Resources department so that when this goes public, it doesn’t blow up in our faces.
Seth’s jaw tics as he nods, his expression unreadable. “Right,” he murmurs, his voice clipped. “You’re right.” But I can see the way my words hit him. He doesn’t care about my dad’s opinion.
“Wait, Seth, let’s talk about this first,” I try to stop him, but a deep voice from outside the supply closet pauses us both.
“Brianna? Hey… Are you in there?”
My stomach drops.
No. No. No.
That voice. I know that voice.
My dad
I clamp a hand over my mouth, eyes wide with horror as I look up at Seth.
He looks back at me, realization slowly dawning.
I wave my arms wildly, gesturing for him to hide.
His brow furrows, but he glances around the tiny supply room, his massive frame taking in the complete lack of hiding spots.
It’s a supply closet, for fuck’s sake. There’s literally nowhere for him to go.
“Behind the door!” I mouth silently, pointing frantically.
I know I was just thinking about how my father will find out about this at some point, but until I know what’s happening between us, and what Seth wants, there’s no point in having my first conversation with my dad in years be about sleeping with one of his new players.
Seth moves swiftly, ducking behind the door with all the grace that a man his size can muster. But he’s so damn big, it’s almost comical. His head brushes over the doorframe. If my dad takes one step into this room, we’re screwed.
I crack open the door just wide enough to push the supply cart through to block his entrance, plastering on my brightest, most convincing smile.
“Hello, Caleb.”
His face flinches slightly. There’s a slight wince at the use of his name. For a brief second, guilt twists in my chest. Calling him Caleb does feel cold but calling him Dad, well, that’s something he’s never been to me.
Sure, when I talk about him in stories or explain who my birth father is, he’s my dad.
But he’s never actively been that to me.
Definitely not in the sense of the way that Seth is to Sawyer.
He simply contributed the sperm to my existence and then peaced out.
My mom was my dad and my mom wrapped up in one.
“Hey, doll,” he says, his voice smooth, but the warmth feels forced. I can tell even that term of endearment feels off for him and great, now we’re both uncomfortable. “Penn mentioned you were in here getting some supplies for him.”
“Yeah,” I gesture to the cart, “dry needling.”
I step fully into the hallway, angling my body just enough to keep the door mostly closed, shielding Seth from view. Caleb looks as nervous as I am, shifting from foot to foot, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his expensive suit like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling like he’s struggling to find the words, and I get it. This is weird. Where do we start? I’ve pictured this conversation a thousand times over the year and never expected it to look like this.
We’ve never had anything in common except for our shared love of sports and our careers revolving around them. But beyond that, we’re literal strangers. He doesn’t know me. And I don’t know a thing about him other than his stats that I researched obsessively when I was a little girl.
Well, that and he’s the billionaire owner of the number one professional hockey team in North America where I work.
“What…uh…what are you doing here? Do you need something?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
“I was looking for you,” he says, his voice trailing off awkwardly.
My throat tightens. Looking for me? Why? I glance back at the door, silently praying that Seth stays as still as a statue because one wrong move, and this entire situation is about to explode. And none of us are ready for that.
“Well, here I am.”
The wince returns, a flicker of discomfort flashes across his face.
“Yes… here you are.”
My dad’s a big guy—huge, really. Sometimes I forget just how tall he is.
It makes sense why he had such a successful basketball career.
Even though he’s in his late forties now, he looks as fit as some of the older guys still playing on the Mayhem.
Six-foot-seven and carrying a solid amount of muscle, he towers over me, filling the space with his broad frame.
Right now, he looks anything but confident or comfortable. He looks…like a child.
And despite everything—the years of silence, the way he walked out of my mom’s and my life—I find myself throwing him a bone because what my mom always told me is true. Everyone deserves love and grace; And everyone deserves a second chance.
“Sorry I haven’t swung by your office yet,” I say softly, forcing a tight smile. “Things have been…crazy. You know, with the internship and starting the new job.”