Chapter 17 #2
But I can’t think about that right now. Instead, with the air cleared around the team, it’s nice to finally be able to stand inside Gavin’s hold. He squeezes my shoulder again and I finally feel like I can breathe.
“I should have known it was him,” Gavin’s dad says, grinning.
“Why?” I ask, curious. What is it about me that makes him say that?
Garrett leans in, conspiratorially. “Gavin has a type.”
“I do not,” Gavin says, giving his dad a playful push to the shoulder.
This is news to me. But I guess we’ve never discussed our exes. Not that I really have one other than the guy who blackmailed me to discuss.
“You do, too,” Garrett says.
“Dad, I’ve never even dated anyone, much less introduced you to someone I kicked it with for a night,” Gavin says.
“Don’t need to,” Garrett says. “You’re my son. I know you.”
“That still doesn’t explain how he’s my type.”
Intrigued, I look back and forth between them like I’m watching a shootout and I’m the puck going from one end of the ice to the other.
“You’re an enforcer,” Garrett says. “You like to protect people. It was only a matter of time before some teammate of yours was going to awaken this side of you to the point you can’t ignore it.” He stares at Gavin and sips his root beer.
I blush as a result of his appraisal. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be insulted or not,” I say.
“Definitely not,” Garrett says. “You’re what I’ve always hoped for for my son. Someone who appreciates how big his hidden heart is.”
“Dad, what the fuck?” Gavin says, looking touched. It’s a face I’ve never seen on of him. He pulls me closer and places a kiss in my hair. I could melt right here on the spot.
“I’m just saying I’m rooting for you two. You seem like a good fit.” He turns his attention to me. “However, I have to warn you, Connor. Gavin isn’t the only Marshal with a protective streak. If I see your father, I might punch him.”
“Noted,” I say. And then, of course, because we’re cursed, my dad picks this moment to walk through the door with my mother hanging off his arm.
Gavin
For fuck’s sake. Why is he here? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
The man walks around like he thinks he owns the place.
Of course that includes private skyboxes at the Olympics reserved for teams who want to join in on the festivities.
Doesn’t he have his own box to hang out in full of other entitled rich assholes?
My father’s lips curl up at the corners and his eyes narrow. “Speak of the devil. There’s that miserable prick right now.”
I look at Connor. His face has paled. He steps away from my hold and moves towards his parents. His father is red faced and his mother looks completely oblivious to her surroundings and the battle warring between her husband and her son.
“Darling!” His mother kisses him on both cheeks. “I missed the game. Did you win?”
Connor puts his hands into his pockets and says, “We did. It was quite the shutout.”
“That’s nice, dear. I’ll go get a drink to celebrate,” she says, then stumbles towards the bar.
“Is this what the term ‘hot mess’ means?” my dad asks me quietly.
If this display wasn’t so sad, I’d find his question funny.
The situation is quickly going from bad to worse.
Connor’s mother seems to be the only person in the room who doesn’t notice.
I’ll give my teammates credit. They’re all trying to play it cool, but I can see them all giving Connor and his father the occasional glance.
The air has gotten thick again. Lost is the lightness we were all enjoying mere minutes ago.
“Is this my opportunity to punch your boyfriend’s father?” my dad asks me.
“Maybe,” I say. “But only if I don’t do it first.”
He places his hand on my shoulder. “Leave this one to me, son. I have a lot less to lose.”
I smirk at him. “Don’t be so sure about that. This isn’t Alaska. I know nothing about bailing someone out of a European jail.”
“It’s Italy. They’ll probably serve me pasta then offer me a job.”
We both burst out laughing, which, of course, draws the attention to us.
Connor Sr walks over. His shoulders are set back and proud, but his nostrils are flaring, and his jaw is tense. In a surprising move, he holds his hand out to my father. “Who are you?”
My father takes his hand. He holds it for a second too long and I can see the tension in the tendons of his hands as he squeezes tighter than what is considered polite. “We’ve met.”
Connor Sr harshly pulls his hand away. “Have we? I can’t say I remember you.”
God, this guy is such a condescending prick. I genuinely can’t believe he’s Connor’s, my Connor’s, father. They couldn’t be any more different.
“I can understand why you don’t remember me. We only talked briefly on the phone. But you did leave an impression.”
“I tend to do that,” he says, looking smug as he pats his pockets. “Did you want an autograph or something?”
“No,” my dad says, stern, then twists his lips to the side and narrows his eyes at Connor Sr. “What was it you said to me that was so memorable?” His face relaxes into a casual smile. “I know what it was. You asked me who I thought I was sending my Alaskan trash kid to your junior hockey camp?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Connor Sr stares at my father like he’s bored. My blood is running hot, but somehow my dad remains calm.
He takes a step closer to Connor Sr and uses his proximity and his size advantage to tower menacingly over him.
“Interesting,” he says. “I remember telling you to kick rocks when you threatened to send him home and stop his chances of playing junior hockey. Which is exactly what I’m going to tell you to do right now, you elitist piece of shit. ”
My Connor looks at me panicked. His eyes are wide and he’s chewing his bottom lip again.
If it only affected me, I’d let this play out.
I’d even jump in and help my dad give this man the beating he so clearly deserves.
But that will only make things worse. While Connor Sr may have wanted to hurt me as a kid at camp in Ann Arbor and ruin my chances at playing in the junior hockey league, his motivations here and now are to control Connor.
Making my life a headache is just a bonus to him.
Calling security and having my dad arrested would be icing on his cake.
I place a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Don’t waste your breath on him,” I say. “Let’s go watch the game. My teammate from the Blizzards, Tavish, is on the Canadian team.”
“Yes!” Bouchard says, stepping in between the two grown men engaging in a battle of wills.
Connor Sr takes the opportunity to give my dad one last glare, then walks away towards his son, locking him into a conversation.
Bouchard leads my father and me away. “Let’s see if Tavish has picked up any new tricks. ”
I look at Connor as we walk towards the door that leads to our box seats. His eyes are downturned as he listens to whatever it is his father is saying to him quietly. He looks miserable. I wish I could grab him and pull him away. Instead, I mouth, “Come join us.” But I don’t think he will.