14. Chapter 15
Mara
My father is already waiting when I walk into his office.
No clipboard. No coffee. Just him, standing behind his desk with his arms crossed and the look on his face that I've known since I was seven years old. The one that means this conversation is already over.
I close the door behind me.
"Sit down," he says.
"I'll stand."
He exhales through his nose. Studies me for a second.
"The Bowman called this morning." He picks up a folded piece of paper from his desk and sets it back down without opening it.
"He's framing your removal from the conditioning program as a staffing adjustment.
Liability optics, he says." The word comes out like something sour. "But we both know what it is."
"A power play."
"Yes."
At least we agree on that much. I wait.
"I went to Bowman last night." His jaw tightens. "I told him if he was going to move my daughter off a program she built, he was going to have to justify it in writing. Real cost justification."
I blink. That's not what I expected.
"He said he'd reconsider." My dad's eyes meet mine. "Under one condition."
There it is.
"He’ll let you keep doing your program," he says. "Officially. Your role, your contract, your sessions. Everything stays as is."
My chest opens up for exactly one second before I see his face.
"But."
"But Kincaid has to go." He says it without expression. "Not traded. Not benched. Just gone from your orbit completely. No contact outside of sessions. No private conversations. No." He stops. Looks at the wall. "Whatever it is the two of you have been doing."
"We haven't."
"Mara." His voice breaks on my name, just slightly. He clears his throat. "I'm not asking about the details. I'm telling you what it costs."
I stare at him. "So you had to get involved between me and Bowman."
He doesn't deny it.
"You want me to end it." I cross my arms. "That's what you're actually saying."
"I want my daughter to keep the career she been building.
" He finally moves, dropping into his chair like the conversation is wearing him down.
"I want you to keep your reputation. I want this team to stop being a circus.
" He presses two fingers to his temple. "And yes.
I want you away from a man who has turned this entire organization upside down since he got here. "
"He's not the one who leaked the story to that blog."
"It doesn't matter who leaked it."
"It does."
"Mara." He looks up. "It doesn't matter because the story exists.
Because people are watching. Because you are my daughter, and I am this team's coach, and the two of us have to walk into that rink every single day.
" He stops again. Runs a hand over his face.
"I can't do this job if I'm watching you get pulled into his wreckage. I can't."
The silence after that sits heavy.
I look at my father. Really look at him. The lines around his eyes. The gray at his temples that wasn't there three years ago. The way he's gripping the edge of his desk like he's trying to hold something still.
He's not wrong that it's gotten complicated. He's not wrong that Bowman will keep using me as leverage as long as there's something to leverage.
"You're not giving me a real choice," I say.
"I know." He holds my gaze. He doesn't quite look at me when he says it, his eyes dropping slightly to the desk. "I'm sorry."
That's what makes it worse. He means it.
I straighten my jacket. I look at his chin instead of his eyes and I keep my hands at my sides and my voice, when it comes, is completely level.
"I'll talk to Dane."
My father nods once, and I walk out before either of us can say anything that makes it harder.
I see Dane outside the east equipment hall. He sees me from twenty feet away. The way I'm standing tells him before I open my mouth.
He stops in front of me. Waits.
"Walk with me," I say.
We go to the end of the corridor where it dead-ends at a supply closet nobody uses. No cameras. No teammates. The fluorescent light above us flickers once and steadies.
I keep my back straight. Eyes forward.
"I'm resigning from the conditioning program," I say.
Dane doesn't move. Doesn't speak.
"It's the right call." I make myself look at him. "The blog post isn't going away. My dad is under pressure from the GM. The longer this goes on, the more it costs both of us."
"Mara."
"I'm not finished." I take a breath. "Whatever this is between us.
It has to stop. Not because I want it to.
But because every time we're in the same room, it gives Bowman something to use.
against my dad." My voice threatens to crack.
I don't let it. "He's not built for this.
He can't separate it. He sees you and he sees everything going wrong at once, and I can't keep asking him to live with that. "
Dane is so still it's almost frightening.
"You're choosing him," he says.
"He's my father."
"I know who he is."
It's not an accusation. It's just quiet, and that's worse.
His jaw sets. Then he gives me one small, slow nod, like a man absorbing a hit he knew was coming. Something raw crosses his face for exactly one second before he puts it away.
"Okay," he says.
That's it. No argument. No attempt to change my mind.
Part of me wanted him to fight. Which is exactly why I can't say that.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I mean that."
He looks at me for a long moment.
"You don't have to apologize to me." His voice is low. Controlled. "You're not doing anything wrong."
That's the part that breaks me a little. He's not making this cruel. He's making it easy.
I should walk away now. I know I should.
He speaks before I can move.
"But I need you to hear me." His eyes hold mine. "I'm not going to beg. I'm not going to show up at your door or make this harder than it already is." A pause. "That's not who I am."
"I know."
"Good." He glances away, then back. Something raw crosses his face and disappears. "But Mara."
I wait.
"If you walk away," he says quietly, "I won't chase you."
He lets that land.
"You can’t just erase what we started."
He turns and walks back down the corridor.
I don't watch him go. I press my back against the cold concrete wall and stare at the ceiling and let myself have exactly thirty seconds to feel everything I just chose not to say.
Then I pick up my phone and text my dad.
It's done.
His reply comes in under a minute.
Thank you.
I read it twice. Put my phone away.
And I walk back out toward the rink like nothing happened, but I so badly still want him.