Chapter Seventeen #2
I hold my hand up to stop him because I don’t think I can hear another word.
“You left my mom to raise a child on her own. A child you both had a hand in making.”
And for the first time since I walked in, the truth lands with brutal clarity.
He didn’t disappear because he didn’t know I existed.
He chose not to be a father. He chose not to be in my life.
“I did follow up with her, Brinley,” he says finally. “I did ask her to give me proof.”
My pulse picks up. “What does that mean?”
He folds his hands on the desk. “I kept an eye on things. Your mother was hard to track down. She tends to move around, and she gave birth to you in a different state. But news travels, especially when someone has resources and knows where to look.”
The way he says it makes my skin prickle.
“I found out when she had you,” he says. “I had my people reach out, and I requested a paternity test.”
My breath stutters. “You—what?”
“It came back positive,” he says calmly. “You are my daughter.”
The way he says it, more as a fact and without an ounce of feeling, nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
“And then?” I ask, barely audible.
He shifts in his chair. “Then I made your mother an offer.”
My stomach twists.
“She was struggling,” he continues. “I suspected that’s what she wanted when she first showed up after my game and dropped the bomb on me. She needed money, and she knew she didn’t have the means to fight something like this.”
I shake my head slowly. “You paid her.”
He nods. “We had an agreement. She would never tell anyone, and she would ensure this never became public.”
The room starts to feel smaller.
“Did you make her sign paperwork?” I ask.
The thought of my mom keeping this from me makes my heart ache.
“Yes.”
“An NDA?”
“Yes.”
The confirmation feels like a physical blow.
“She didn’t ask for much,” he adds, almost defensively. “Far less than she could’ve demanded. But maybe she knew what kind of fight this would become.”
My throat burns.
“She accepted it because she didn’t have a choice,” I whisper.
He doesn’t deny it.
I sit there, staring at the desk, trying to reconcile the idea that my entire existence had once been reduced to a transaction. That my mother’s desperation had been leveraged into silence. That my father had always known and chose to erase me anyway.
“You didn’t want me,” I say.
He stiffens. “That’s not—”
“You didn’t want me,” I repeat, louder now. “You wanted me gone.”
Silence stretches.
“I had a career,” he says. “A future to protect. A reputation.”
“And I was inconvenient,” I say.
He doesn’t argue.
My hands tremble in my lap. “How did you know it was me at practice? How did you know I was here?”
He hesitates just long enough for my stomach to sink.
“You were flagged when you transferred,” he says. “Your name. Your age. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”
“And before that?” I press.
He sighs. “You were noticed when you first arrived in town.”
An uneasy feeling settles in my chest.
“You’ve been aware of where I am this whole time,” I say.
“I’ve been staying informed,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“And Cooper?” I ask, standing abruptly. “Did that cross your desk too?”
His gaze sharpens.
“I’m aware you’ve been spending time with one of my players,” he says carefully. “I’m not accusing you of anything, but like I said, I have a program to protect, and I don’t need any unnecessary distractions.”
He doesn’t have to say it.
The implication in his voice is clear.
Heat floods my face. “You think I’m using him.”
“Cooper Rowden has a whole future ahead of him,” he says evenly. “He needs to stay focused. I’ve seen how quickly personal matters can derail everything. I won’t have that hanging over my program.”
The words settle between us, like this is just another decision he’s already made.
I let out a breath that turns jagged. “You selfish bastard. All you care about is yourself and your precious hockey team. You don’t care about Cooper. You don’t care about what he wants.”
He doesn’t argue.
He doesn’t defend himself.
He just watches me like I’m proving a point he already calculated.
And that’s what finally cracks something open in my chest.
It’s not the money. Not the paperwork. Not even the years he chose silence.
It’s this.
The way he looks at me like I’m a problem he needs to fix. A situation he needs to make disappear. Not a person standing in front of him.
Certainly not his daughter.
“I didn’t come here hoping for a relationship,” I say, my voice unsteady no matter how hard I try to lock it down. “I came because I needed answers. Because I deserved to hear the truth from you.”
“And now you have,” he says.
There’s no apology or softness in his voice. I nod while biting down on my lip to contain the tension rising in my throat.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I guess I do.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything else. If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll crumble in front of him at the loss of something he’s made clear he can’t give me.
So I turn and storm out.
I barely make it out of his office before it hits.
Every step down the hallway and out of the building feels like a mile. My pulse pounds in my ears, my chest tight enough that every breath takes effort.
The door to his office clicks shut behind me, and that’s when it hits. I press my lips together, blinking hard as I keep walking. I don’t bother slowing down until I push through the doors, and the cold air hits my face.
All this time, I’ve wondered about my father. Who he was and if he knew about me.
Maybe if he had, he would have come for me?
But he did know. He never missed his chance.
He made a choice, and somehow, that hurts more than his silence ever did.