Chapter 37 Nathan
NATHAN
By the time I’m dressed and out of the locker room, the adrenaline from kissing Logan in front of everyone has worn off.
I keep replaying it in my head, the look in his eyes when I grabbed his jersey and pulled him toward me.
I don’t know where that confidence came from but it felt good. So good to just… stop pretending and do what I want to do for once in my life.
But now, the nerves are catching up.
I spot Ryan heading toward my sister, leaning down to kiss her. I sigh and make my way toward them before I talk myself out of it.
“Izzy…” I call out. They turn around, their eyes flicking to me when they see me approaching. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
She checks her phone and sighs. “We’re actually running a little late—”
“It’s important.” The words come out faster than I mean them to.
Isabella blinks at me. “Why? What did you do?”
“Can you just—” I scrub a hand down my face. “Can you come with me to Dad’s office?”
She arches a brow, suspicious. “Why?”
“I just need to tell you guys something.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Okay, well that sounds ominous as hell.”
I shoot her a glare. “Isabella.”
God, she’s stressing me out even more than I already was. Why the hell are little sisters so stubborn?
Ryan looks at my face, realization kicking in. I know the bastard tells her every fucking thing, but I hope he hasn’t told her yet.
“Go with him,” he tells her. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Isabella’s brows dip, but she steps away from Ryan anyway, letting out a sigh. “If you make me late for class, I’ll force you to do my homework for the whole semester.”
I roll my eyes as we start walking down the hallway, and every step I take makes my stomach tighten more. I thought telling the team would be the hard part. Turns out doing something big when you don’t have time to think is a lot easier than facing the people who actually matter.
I keep thinking about how confident Logan is. How he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks and does what he wants. I wish I could borrow even half of that right now.
Dad’s office is cracked open. The light from his desk lamp spills across the floor. I knock once, then push the door wider.
He looks up immediately, glasses low on his nose. “Hey,” he says. His eyes flick between us. “Everything alright?”
Isabella shrugs. “I have no clue.” She gestures vaguely at me. “He practically kidnapped me.”
I roll my eyes, closing the door behind me. “Christ. You’re such a drama queen. Just… sit down.”
Isabella takes a seat and I do the same, my legs trembling slightly. Don’t know if it’s from practice or from nerves.
Dad studies me for a second, and I’m reminded of how much I hate being the focus of attention. My chest feels tight. My palms are sweating even though the room is freezing and I feel like I’m gonna throw up.
“I…” I take a breath, then another. “I need to tell you both something.”
Dad’s posture shifts, leaning back in his chair. “You can tell us anything, Nathan. You know that.”
I nod, even though I don’t know that. Or maybe I do, but it’s hard to believe it when I’ve spent years thinking about every single possible scenario that might happen when I finally let the words out.
It’s funny. I’ve blocked a hundred slap shots from guys twice my size. I’ve faced Westbrook’s offense. I’ve been tackled mid-play and gotten back up. But nothing has ever made me feel like this. Like my ribcage is too small for my lungs. Like I might crack open if I breathe too hard.
I glance over at Isabella and she quirks a brow, trying to guess what this is about. I look back at Dad, his brows slightly furrowed, but he doesn’t push me.
My knee starts bouncing and I drag a hand down my face, blowing out a slow, shaky breath.
“I’m dating someone,” I say finally.
Dad nods. “Okay.”
I grip the edge of the chair like it’ll keep me anchored. “It’s, um… it’s Logan.”
I never thought I’d hate silence so much, but it’s the worst thing in the world when I’ve just dropped the biggest bomb in my life and they’re just… staring at me without saying a word.
Isabella blinks for fucking ever. “Logan?” she repeats. “As in Logan Gray? Your teammate?”
My ears burn. “Yeah.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Look who’s been sneaking around behind Coach’s back,” she says, folding her arms. “You made such a big deal about me and Ryan. Meanwhile you’ve been doing the exact same thing.”
She’s not wrong.
And I hate that she’s not wrong.
Because now that I’m standing here, nerves all over the place, stomach twisted into knots, trying to string words together, I finally get why they hid it. Why she didn’t want to tell me or Dad before she was ready.
You don’t see it happening until it’s happening, and once it is… you kind of want to keep it for yourself. Just for a little while. Before everyone has an opinion. Before it becomes real in ways you can’t take back.
It doesn’t make it sting any less that she kept it secret, or that Ryan did too. It fucking sucked. But I understand them in a way I didn’t before.
I let out a slow breath. “Okay,” I say. “Fine. You’re right. I get it now.”
Isabella smirks. “You’re lucky I like Logan and that I’m not an overprotective sibling acting like your relationship has anything to do with me.”
A laugh slips out of me, which I didn’t think was possible two minutes ago. But it settles when I realize Dad hasn’t said anything yet.
He’s just watching me and I don’t know what that look means.
Isabella stands up, grabbing her bag. “Okay, I actually have to go now or I’m going to be late for class.” She steps closer and smiles down at me. “I’m happy for you,” she says, and when she wraps her arms around me, I let her. She squeezes tighter. “You know I love you no matter what.”
“Thanks, Izz,” I mumble against her shoulder.
She gives me one more quick hug, squeezes my arm, then heads for the door.
And suddenly it’s just me and Dad.
I take a breath, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
He lets out a slow breath and sits back a little in his chair. “When you were little, you used to get nightmares.”
My brows knit together, wondering where this is going.
“You used to wake up crying every night,” he continues. “So I’d check on you. Every single night. It became a habit, even when your sister was born, even through your teenage years and you no longer had nightmares. I still had to come check on you guys in the middle of the night.”
I blink because I genuinely did not know that.
“And,” he says, clearing his throat, “apparently it lasted longer than I realized. Because during Christmas break, I checked on you one night.”
My stomach drops.
Oh no.
Oh, fuck no.
He meets my eyes. “And I’m not going to lie. I was a little surprised to see Logan in your bed. His head was on your chest. Your arms around him. You both looked… I don’t know. Comfortable.”
My entire body goes hot.
Like someone poured boiling water straight down my spine.
He knew.
He knew.
This whole time, he—
“And then,” he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I realized you were both naked, and I begged your mother to pour bleach in my eyes.”
“Oh my god,” I choke out, burying my face in my hands. In all the scenarios I pictured, not once did I think my dad would walk in on me in bed with a guy.
I groan, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
“You knew,” I manage, peeking between my fingers, “and you didn’t say anything?”
He shrugs. “You weren’t ready. I wasn’t going to force you into a conversation before you decided you wanted to have one.”
My eyes burn a little, and I blink hard, hoping the pressure behind my eyes eases. “So… mom knows?”
“You know I can’t keep a secret from her, kid,” he admits, which makes me breathe out a laugh.
Dad’s expression shifts, his brows knitting in this soft, pained way that makes my stomach twist. “Have I ever given you a reason to think I wouldn’t be okay with you wanting to love whoever you want?”
“Of course not. I just… I didn’t know how you’d take it. Logan’s dad—” I swallow, shaking my head. “It went really bad for him.”
Something sad flickers in his expression.
“I wish every parent could be the person their kid comes to first,” he says.
“I wish that more than you know. But you don’t need to be afraid with me, Nathan.
Ever. You could tell me you wanted to join the circus and I’d be there, front row, with a bucket of popcorn in hand. ”
A shaky laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. I swallow, lifting my head to look at him and inhale sharply. Fuck it. If I’m opening up to him, then I’m telling him everything.
My throat tightens again, nerves crawling up the back of my neck. “And if I told you I didn’t want to play hockey anymore?”
Dad’s expression shifts, his brows lifting. “Is that hypothetical or…?”
I reach for my backpack, pulling out my sketchpad and setting it on his desk.
He looks at it for a moment before opening it. I watch as he flips through the pages, scanning the pages. Every dialogue bubble, every sketch, every line I must have erased and redone a dozen times.
He’s not saying anything, and the longer he’s silent, the hotter my face feels, like the heat’s creeping up my neck and into my ears.
Why is this so hard? It’s just a sketchbook.
Except it’s not. It’s the thing I’ve kept to myself for so long. Something I thought was just a silly little hobby but turns out is something I love and want to pursue.
He lingers on one of the spreads I worked on last week, one I stayed up stupid late finishing, erasing the same panel three times until Logan literally took the pencil out of my hand and told me it was perfect.
God, I wish he were here now. Just to lean against the wall and shoot me a look that says: You’ve got this.
Instead, I’m sitting here like a kid waiting for a report card.
I respect my dad so much. Always have. And I’ve always wanted to make him proud.
“I, uh…” I rub the back of my neck. “I applied for this mentorship thing.”
Dad looks up, raising his brow.
“It’s with a comic artist. You get assigned to them for a couple of months, they give feedback, help with connections and stuff. And if your project’s chosen at the end, there’s a grant.”
He doesn’t say anything right away, just keeps turning pages until he gets to the last one. He lingers on it for a second, then closes the book and rests his hand on top of it.
“You’re really good.”
I didn’t think those three words could hit as hard as they do.
“Thanks.”
He blows out a breath. “So… you don’t love hockey anymore?”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I did,” I say. “I mean, I still do. I think. It’s just—” I pause, trying to find the words. “I used to get this feeling, you know? Every time I stepped onto the ice like everything clicked. Like it was the only place I wanted to be.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I shrug. “It doesn’t feel like that anymore.” I gesture toward the sketchbook with my head. “But this does. I love creating stories and drawing characters and… I think I could be really good at it.”
He keeps his eyes on me for a while and then taps the cover of my sketchbook, letting out a sigh. “It’s gonna be hard to replace you in goal, you know.”
I look down and swallow hard. “I’m sorry,” I say, guilt curling in my chest. “I know this probably isn’t what you pictured.”
“You know what I imagined?” he asks. “I imagined watching you find something that lights you up.” I lift my head and he smiles. “I loved sharing hockey with you, kid. I won’t lie about that. But I don’t want you to follow my dream. I want you to chase yours.”
I just stare at him for a second, trying to absorb it all.
“You don’t need to play hockey to make me proud,” he says. “You don’t have to be anyone but who you are.”
I don’t say anything at first. Mostly because I can’t. My throat’s tight, but my chest weirdly light, like someone finally loosened the strap I didn’t realize had been around it.
He leans back in his chair and gives me that easy half-smile. “Besides, I’ve already got one kid who’s going to make waves in the sports world. And she’s gonna kick ass.”
That pulls a small laugh out of me. “She’s such a show-off.”
He grins. “She gets it from her mother.”
I shake my head, letting out a scoff. “Bullshit. She’s all you.”
My dad’s smile widens at that and I let out a breath of relief.
I might not know what happens next with hockey, with the competition or the mentorship… with any of it.
But for the first time, I’m not terrified of figuring it out. Because I have an amazing boyfriend who supports the hell out of me, an incredible family that just wants me to be happy, and I don’t have to hide a single part of me anymore.
And it feels really fucking good.