Chapter 9 #2
His thoughts drifted to two nights ago. The team had just dropped that second overtime game during the road trip.
Frustrated and exhausted, he’d called Vivian from his hotel room.
For nearly twenty minutes, he had paced the floor while complaining about the blown opportunities, defensive breakdowns, and how the fucking puck refused to bounce their way.
By the time he came up for air, he realized she’d barely said anything in response. When he’d asked her what was wrong, she tried to brush him off, saying it was nothing.
He’d persisted until she finally told him the truth.
That day would’ve been Phil’s thirty-first birthday. That was when she admitted she’d taken the day off from work and driven to the cemetery. He’d heard the hitch in her voice.
There he’d been, narcissistically prattling on about a stupid hockey game, while Vivian was in pain.
The conversation was more difficult after that, because he didn’t know what to say, excruciatingly aware there was nothing he could do to comfort her from halfway across the country.
They’d said goodbye, and he’d spent the rest of the night wishing he could be with her, to hold her and let her cry on his shoulder.
Instead, she’d been left to grieve alone.
That was when he tried to figure something out; if he’d known that day was coming up, would he have done anything differently? Could he have done anything differently? He was the coach. It wasn’t like he could just skip games.
Now, he hadn’t seen Vivian in eight days, thanks to schedules that refused to cooperate.
Then he considered Ellie’s comment again. For the first time in forever, hockey hadn’t been the only thing consuming his thoughts. Maybe that was progress. But was it enough progress?
Inside the office, Ellie’s voice floated into the hallway again. “So, how’s your ankle?”
Dean frowned.
“Still a little swollen, but overall, it’s fine. Even so, I’m thinking about milking it a little longer,” McKenna replied lightly.
“Why?” Ellie asked.
“It’s kind of nice having Tank wait on me hand and foot. He actually carries me to bed, which would be romantic if he didn’t employ the fireman hold, simply so he can smack my ass along the way.”
Both women laughed.
Dean didn’t. One, because he didn’t need to hear any specifics about his daughter’s physical relationship with one of his players, and two, because he didn’t even know she’d hurt her ankle.
Which just proved the guilt he was feeling was well founded. He’d been letting work—and Vivian—distract him.
He hadn’t known his daughter was hurt, that she was engaged. And he absolutely hated that she thought she needed to wait until hockey wasn’t weighing on him before sharing one of the happiest moments of her life. As if a couple of losses mattered more than her.
Although…wasn’t that exactly what he’d taught her to expect?
His stomach lurched.
Without another glance toward the office, Dean quietly pushed away from the wall and walked back to the elevators. His lunch with McKenna would have to wait. He didn’t want to impose on her time with Ellie, even though he knew both women would insist that he join them.
He closed his office door behind him—something he rarely did—hoping that would keep people out.
Lowering himself in his chair, he sat there, staring at nothing. The scouting reports were exactly where he’d left them and the game film was still waiting to be viewed.
For once, none of that felt important.
All he could think about was the daughter he’d promised himself he’d do better for. So much for that. He leaned back, tilting his head upward, studying the ceiling as his thoughts rushed from one thing to the next.
Since he was taking himself on one hell of a guilt trip, he filled up the tank and kept on driving as he considered his brief phone call with Vivian this morning.
She’d tried to sound upbeat but exhaustion had frayed the edges.
Apparently, Pip had a fever, stuffy nose, and a cough that had kept them both awake most of the night.
She’d had to cancel lunch, and while he completely understood, he’d been disappointed.
His first instinct after they hung up had been to blow off work and grab his keys.
But he’d shut that down hard. It wasn’t like he could just arrive at her house whenever he wanted.
Pip didn’t know there was anything between him and her mom, so he couldn’t go barging in with chicken noodle soup and children’s Tylenol without confusing the little girl.
Besides, he had a meeting with the GM this afternoon. One that he couldn’t miss.
Dean rubbed his forehead wearily. Couldn’t miss…or wouldn’t?
Ugh.
He was full of the could I/would I questions today.
And while it was annoying, he understood that the answers mattered.
If he and Vivian were really together—no secret relationship—would he have rescheduled the meeting so he could spend the day making tea, taking Pip’s temperature, and convincing Vivian to get a couple hours of sleep?
Of course, he would.
The answer flashed fast—but there was another voice in the background, casting doubt.
It was easy to imagine himself being the kind of man who put his family first. Easy to say the words, but harder to do when the thing on the other side wasn’t hypothetical.
The meeting was an important one, especially in light of those last two losses.
His answers to the GM’s questions, as well as his game plan going forward, could quite possibly impact his continued work with the organization.
The old Dean had believed that providing for Ellie and McKenna was him being helpful, that it was enough. He’d been wrong.
He tried to put all of this aside because, right now, the point was moot.
He and Vivian weren’t a couple. Hell, he wasn’t even sure all their sneaking around could be called dating.
Vivian had put a limit on this thing between them right from the outset, determined to protect Pip.
That alone told him that, despite all his soul-searching, there was a good chance the answers he was seeking didn’t matter.
Maybe he and Vivian were never going to be anything more than friends with benefits. They’d certainly been building a pretty solid friendship…mingled with incredible sex.
Dean groaned, hating every bit of that description. Even if it was accurate.
“Put it all away,” he murmured to himself. He needed to mentally prepare for his coming meeting, and stressing out about Vivian and McKenna wasn’t helping his fucking headspace right now.
He’d just opened his notes on his computer, determined to concentrate on the task at hand, when his office door flew open and Victor stormed in. He slammed the door behind him as he stomped over to Dean’s desk.
Leaning forward, Victor pressed his fists to the flat surface. “Are you fucking sleeping with my sister?” he barked.
Dean froze—just long enough that Victor’s angry eyes grew even darker.
His hesitation was damning, so Dean scrambled for a stall. “What?”
Victor huffed. “Seems like a pretty fucking straightforward question. Are you sleeping with my sister? All I need is a yes or a no.”
Dean wasn’t sure how to respond, because there was nothing simple about that question. Vivian had specifically asked that they keep this thing between them, and he was pretty damn sure that Victor—after Pip—was on top of the list of people Vivian didn’t want to find out about their affair.
Besides, he wasn’t sure if Victor was fishing or if he knew for a fact what was going on.
“Why would you ask that?”
Victor drew in a deep breath, as if to steady himself.
“Belle overheard Viv canceling lunch plans today with someone named Dean. She also mentioned Viv’s been glued to her phone lately and that she wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Viv FaceTiming with a guy one night when she stayed over.
Then there was a man’s Stingrays sweatshirt in the laundry the other week.
Vivian said she’d borrowed it from you at the firepit a few weeks ago because she was cold and forgot to give it back.
Belle accepted that lie at the time, even though she knew Vivian wasn’t wearing that sweatshirt when she left that night.
She was wearing one of her own. So I’m asking you again. Are you sleeping with my sister?”
Dean rubbed his jaw wearily, aware he was skating on very thin ice here. “Vic,” he started. “It’s complicated.”
Victor’s expression turned murderous. “Are you dating her?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Dean shook his head—instantly aware that he’d made one hell of a mistake.
“So she’s what?” he yelled. “Some kind of fucking booty call?”
Dean scowled. “No! She’s not a booty call.”
Victor straightened, his fists still clenched. Dean suspected that if he was any other man, Victor would have already laid him out on the ground. It was only the fact that he was Victor’s coach and a friend that had his buddy holding back. For now.
“What the fuck is she if she’s not a booty call and not your girlfriend?”
“Complicated,” Dean replied, because that was the only word he could come up with that worked in this situation.
Victor raked a hand through his long hair roughly. “Yeah? Well, you need to fucking uncomplicate it. Jesus Christ, Dean! You know what Viv has been through. How the hell could you use her—”
“Goddammit! I’m not using Viv,” Dean snapped. “I would never use her. Never hurt her.”
The vehemence in his tone took some of the wind out of Victor’s sails. Dean wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“Never, huh?” he said, more to himself than Dean.
“I’m pretty sure Viv doesn’t want more from me than…what we have.” That was nice and vague, but it was the best Dean could come up with.
“Which is?”
Dean shook his head, unwilling to go there. He’d already said too much. “Maybe you should have this conversation with Viv.”