Chapter 25
Marco’s assessment wouldn’t leave my mind as I walked into the house, acutely aware of the hickey on my neck. I expected him to ignore the bruise like he did most things about me, but what if he didn’t? A small part of me hoped he commented, made a scene, something. At least I’d know he cared on some level.
It wouldn’t be unusual for me to head directly up to my room, but Marco made me curious. If I gave him a chance, would Dad surprise me? I found him in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Everyone at the arena assumed his thermos was full of coffee, but the man had a raging addiction to cocoa.
“What’s for breakfast?” I quipped, fully aware it was early afternoon. Had he even noticed I wasn’t here this morning?
Dad set his spoon in the sink and leaned against the counter to study me. “I can make eggs if you want.”
A noncommittal reply, as expected. Instead of accepting his bland response, I came all the way into the kitchen to mimic his position, facing him with my back to the island. Then I tried Marco’s way.
“I’m not actually hungry, but Marco said we should talk and I’m bad at conversation starters.”
His brows went up, and he took a slow sip. “What are we supposed to talk about?”
“Us?” I didn’t mean for it to be a question, but Dad seemed to understand.
“Do you want to talk?”
His question took me by surprise. I’d prepared myself for a quick rebuttal that everything was fine. It never occurred to me he’d ask what I wanted. I studied him studying me, watching as his gaze landed on the hickey and his brows pulled together slightly.
The subtle expression was enough for me to push forward a little more. “I think I do. A lot has changed for me the last few months, and I’m ready to be an active participant instead of simply reacting to all the shit raining down on me.”
He nodded slowly. “What do you want to talk about?”
Questions flooded my mind, jockeying for space. In the end, I didn’t choose one. It simply slipped out.
“Why did you leave?”
My breath became sharp in my chest, slicing my throat as he flinched, and all my fears rushed forward. This was the part where he politely asked me to get out. I’d gone too far, pushed too much, he was trying to be nice, and I’d forced his hand. My fault. My fault.
My. Fault.
“I didn’t leave, Avery. Your mom took you, cleared out our bank account, and moved to Dallas when I was away at playoffs. I came home to an empty house.”
Shock quickly gave way to comprehension, then anger. It never occurred to me he might be lying. Mom had proven over and over again she couldn’t be trusted.
“You didn’t decide we were too much of a distraction from hockey and move out?” My voice came out like the hurt little girl I’d been all those years ago.
A reflection of my own rage flashed in his eyes. “No. I won’t speak against your mom, she did what she felt she had to, but I would never give you up for a game. I was served with divorce papers and a restraining order stating I wasn’t allowed to contact you. Even then, I tried. Spent a couple of nights in jail after I got drunk enough to show up at your house.”
My mouth hung open. “That’s not what… I didn’t know.”
“I couldn’t do much from Boston, and I was tied down with my contract. I asked for a trade, but they refused. As soon as my contract ended a couple of years later, I retired. TU offered me a job building a hockey team, and I took it so I could be close to you.”
“Why didn’t you fight it?”
“You were crying. The night I showed up. You were crying and calling for your mama. Not sure you even saw me, but you clearly needed her.”
I didn’t remember the night he was talking about. The move from Boston to Dallas was a whirlwind, and Mom painted it as a grand adventure. I did remember asking for Dad every night, wondering why he never came home from his games after they were knocked out of the playoffs.
Eventually, she told me Dad was never coming home. He’d decided to stay in Boston and play hockey. Later, she added the details about his family being too distracting and how I was too much for him. Or not enough, depending on whatever imagined slight she was freaking out about.
I should have known the entire situation was bullshit.
Dad wasn’t the touching type, but he put his mug down and stepped closer to rub his hands up and down my arms. “I stayed close in case you needed me. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, and I’m sorry I’ve been fucking this up since you moved in. I was so happy when you showed up I didn’t want to risk making a mistake and chasing you away.”
Tears dripped off my chin in a slow, steady stream, and I leaned forward to wrap my arms around him. I hadn’t hugged my dad in twelve years, and it was awkward at first, but we both relaxed as I cried against his chest.
The sobs emptied me out. When I calmed down, I felt raw and tender and new. I should probably thank Marco for forcing my hand because without him, I would never have broached the subject. Dad rubbed my back for a few seconds longer, then eased away.
“Now will you tell me about what made you leave?”
I let out a watery laugh. The drama with Scott felt like it had no place in my current life, but I didn’t entirely trust my tentative happiness. Marco wanted me to read his texts, but I was done. I wanted to move forward. After I explained what finally drove me away.
Dad moved back to his side of the kitchen and retrieved his cocoa as I spilled the story. Unlike with Cole, I didn’t leave anything out. If Dad and I were going to have a real relationship, I didn’t want to start off by lying to him.
Except about Cole—that secret wasn’t only mine to share.
By the time I finished, his knuckles were white around the handle of his mug. “I know people at Easton. Give me a half hour and I can ruin that kid’s life.”
A rush of warmth filled me at his protective response. “Not necessary. I took care of it myself.”
“I’m trying really hard not to come at your mom, but I need to say this. That bitch never deserved you.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, wiping away the moisture on my face along with my dignity.
“Tell me if anyone makes trouble again, okay? I already warned my boys to keep their grubby hands to themselves. You don’t want to know where Reece has been. Speaking of the team, I know you’re working hard with Cole, but he seems to have a handle on his class now. Could you maybe give him a breather from the tutoring? Just until the end of the season. He’s been distracted lately, and I want his full focus on hockey.”
I pulled in a slow breath, considering my options. Dad was right in that Cole wasn’t playing quite as good as he had been early in the season. He was wrong about the distraction though. This was my chance to tell him the truth about me and Cole, but I let it pass. I’d believed Dad saw me as a distraction from hockey for twelve years, and it stung to think the same false assumption might be true right now.
My conversation with Marco aside, things with Cole were progressing faster than I’d ever intended. I thought about him all the time. Spent most of my free time with him, including several nights a week. Smiled when he texted or called or just showed up.
It didn’t seem excessive until I thought about how little time I spent doing anything else. I’d put the push for the editor position on the backburner, I hadn’t worked on a single story for the summer writing intensive, and I hadn’t realized for over a week that Marco had broken up with Shonda despite three straight days of ice cream for lunch.
My days began and ended with Cole, and I didn’t want to stop spending time with him. I didn’t want it so much that I should probably take a step back and reassess what the fuck I was doing. We’d stopped being friends with benefits a long time ago.
“Yeah,” I finally answered Dad. “I can cut back on the tutoring sessions.”
A sour feeling twisted in my gut, but I was doing the right thing. Cole deserved for me to get my shit together, and he definitely needed to refocus on the team. It would only be a few weeks, just until they got to the playoffs. Besides, I didn’t want to be responsible for Dad flexing his newly activated protective instincts on Cole.
With the matter settled, Dad nodded at my neck. “Is that one going to cause problems?”
“No.” I definitely wasn’t going to tell him about Cole now.
“Okay.” He eyed me over his mug as he took a long pull.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not going to interrogate me about my sex life?”
He shuddered. “I’m not going to demand you tell me about your life, and I definitely don’t need details. I want to know—in vague terms—because I’m your dad and I care about you. I’d also like to meet anyone my daughter lets close enough to suck on her neck like a vampire.”
Guilt pricked me with sharp little talons, but I smiled through it. “I’ll let you know if it gets serious.”
Hopefully, I could figure that out myself over the next few weeks… while fighting the urge to run to Cole every five minutes. Maybe one more night, then I could start my Cole detox. I really should explain to him face to face. The immediate excuse made me shake my head and push away from the counter to grab my own hot chocolate, a poor substitute for what I really wanted.
Cole—all the time, with no baggage or external complications.
Fuck, I was hopeless.