25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
25
As I sit at another New Brunswick home game, the arena is alive with excited energy. But a singular force roots me to my seat amongst the chaos and chants.
Wells.
A presence that no one in this arena could ignore if they tried.
And I’m not trying at all.
I watch as he navigates through the opposing team. The boy acts like he was born with skates on, and, once in a while, our eyes meet across the white expanse, a silence amidst the noise. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a mischievous grin before he throws me a wink that sets my heart racing and the crowd louder than they were before as if it were for them.
There’s even a woman who yells out that she’ll take him for the ride of his life, and I can’t help but smile.
Poor thing.
The second period ends, and if the winks sent my way weren't audacious enough, Wells executes a half-ass pirouette. It's a move so out of place on the ice that it can only be an extravagant show meant for me.
I can't help the laugh that bubbles up in my chest as he skates over, padded glove pressed into the glass, and then I see it.
An orange Post-it note.
He leaves it plastered there and skates backward and away from the glass. I rise to get a closer look and see the scribble of his handwriting.
I win the next three games, and you say yes to anything I want.
Only Wells.
The woman next to me has also risen from her seat to look at what the note says, and I swear, my cheeks flush hot as I’m too frozen to stop her, but a part of me doesn’t want to.
Maybe she’ll keep any comment she had for Wells to herself if she had any.
“Oh my,” she huffs, sounding frazzled and, apparently, putting two and two together. "Looks like you've got yourself quite the admirer.”
Obviously, she doesn’t read the gossipmongers. Thank goodness.
I can only nod, a sheepish smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, he's... something else.”
I sink back into my seat. My heart suddenly plays a game of tag with the beats. The last period will pass with a different kind of tension, not one of goals and penalties but of wagers and the dirty shit going on in Wells’s head.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out of my jeans, only to find Dad all lit up.
My pulse, already erratic, kicks up another notch. I hesitate while my thumb hovers over the green button to answer. I glance back at the note, then to the ice where Wells is gearing up for another faceoff in a few moments.
It's time to end this.
"Hey, Dad.” My voice is steady, belying the tightrope walk my emotions are teetering upon.
His response is immediate and slightly urgent in my ear. "Rory," he starts, and I can hear the edge in his voice that speaks volumes of the conversation ahead. "We need to talk about—"
"Dad, can it wait? I'm at the game right now, and it's really not the best time."
“I know. I can see you.”
My eyes bulge, and I feel like a kid who’s just been caught sneaking out of the house. “Wha—Where?”
“You gonna let me talk now, or will you try to get rid of me again?”
Touche.
I straighten my spine and narrow my eyes. “You showed up at a New Brunswick game to talk to me?”
“No,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I’m not stalking you.”
I inhale impatiently, pending the following words from my father’s mouth because God knows what he’s about to throw at me. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“I quit the Montreal Blizzard today.”
“What?” My heart immediately drops into my stomach. “Dad—”
“You told me to handle my shit, so I did.”
“I know I did, I just…” I didn’t think he’d do it.
Ever.
In this lifetime or the next.
“And I got a new job already.”
Okay, that was fast.
“You did?” I bring my hand up to my temple because, holy crap. My father actually listened? “Where?”
“The New Brunswick Wolverines.”
My head snapped up, and my eyes immediately began searching for my father in the black and gold sea. “You didn’t.”
“They called me.”
“You didn’t.”
“And offered me an offensive coaching position.”
“What?”
“I turned that down.” What in the world is happening here? “And I took a position as an assistant coach. Less work, and I can focus on one thing and not everything at one time.”
“I, uh…” Blow out a heavy exhale, not knowing what to think. “That’s great, Dad. But you, uh…you know you have to actually like the guys on the team, right?”
“No, I don’t,” he retorts, but I can hear a trickle of amusement in his tone. “I think it’s more fun that way.”
“Dad,” I scold lightly. “Don’t be that guy.”
“I’m known as a hard-ass, Rory. I need to keep my reputation about me.”
“I know, but—”
“And stop distracting Wells from the damn game when he should be focusing. I will ban you from the games if you don’t stop it.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Caught between the humor of his dad-ness and the sting of his reprimand, I feel a blush rise up my neck with the idea that he’s thinking of anything that just transpired between Wells and me. "I just... I'm here supporting him. You know how important that can be.”
“Mhm.” He lets out a low chuckle, laced with ease, something I haven’t heard from him in a really long time. “Keep the distractions to a minimum, would you? Let the man play."
“Sure…but, uh…I’m not a huge fan of this. Are you going to put him on a curfew next?”
“Good idea,” he muses. “That might be—”
“Dad.”
He chuckles on the other end, and it’s then that I see him sitting with the Wolverines, and the whole team on the bench is waving at me.
Assholes.
“Are you happy?” I ask. “With…your decision. I just wanted you in a better spot—”
“More than happy. You were right. However, I’m still on the fence about the man you chose—”
“He’s a good man, Dad.”
I hear him give me an uncertain hum before he says, “We’ll see about that. Or I’ll bust his ass in practice so hard he won’t be able to walk for a few days.”
God.
The crowd’s volume uplifts from the announcer teasing the start of the next period.
"We'll talk more when I see you,” Dad says. “And I'm proud of you, Rory. Always have been."
A flush of warmth spreads through my chest. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
“Enjoy the game. I'll see you afterward, I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
The call ends, and I take a moment to compose myself. Not even in my wildest dreams did I think my father would ever join another team, let alone his rival. I can’t even imagine what upper management feels right now in Montreal.
But that sounds like a “them” problem.
And Dad sounds thrilled with his decision.
I just hope he doesn’t become the third wheel in my relationship with my damn boyfriend.