Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zaiah
Leaning forward, I squint through the rain-splattered windshield to see the top of the building in front of me. Lights pour from windows here and there, but the highest level is all lit up. “It’s in this one?”
“That’s what the website says.” She pauses while I search for a parking space. “We can cancel.”
“You’d love that, but no.” My own stomach squeezes. The way she’s laid out her dad’s personality, he sounds like a bit of a bully. Family is important, though. Personalities can change. We grow up, and our parents are forced to recognize that eventually.
However, hearing her stories makes me immensely grateful for my family. They played the perfect wingmen tonight. They might be a little off-center, but they’re the greatest.
“There’s one,” Len says, pointing at an open spot on the street. “No parallel parking either.”
I smile as I put my blinker on and scoot into the space. The rain has stopped. Streetlights reflect off the remnants dotting the windshield but at least we won’t get more wet. Putting the car in park, I peer over at Len, who has her hand raised in the air, brows lifted.
She frowns. “You left me hanging.”
I slap her hand, making sure to grab it and pull her over the console to place my lips on hers. Kissing her is like an adventure. She takes us through a story. Soft and gentle, then the climax, ending with a caress that has me wanting to do it all over again. I could write my own stories in her lips. In her body. In her.
And I’m not the writer.
“You ready?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “It’ll be good.” Despite her words, she peeks up at the hotel, forehead crinkling.
I get the feeling someone is trying to convince themselves to take the next step, so I do it for her. Opening my door, I start to get out. She follows.
Once we’re on the street, she takes my elbow while we head inside. “Looks swanky,” I mutter as we enter a foyer with the biggest chandelier I’ve ever seen. Everything is highlighted in gold, right down to the flourishes on the columns. “You’re rich, aren’t you, Len?”
She squeezes my arm. “I mean, I’m not rich, but my dad’s owned the team for a while.”
I’m not a stranger to his name. In fact, when she first told me, I’m pretty sure my mouth unhinged from the rest of my face. What are the odds that his daughter would go to the same college I go to, let alone be dancing on a table when I happened to walk by?
Those are divine odds, if you ask me, and I don’t believe a wink in that stuff.
“We probably should’ve dressed differently,” I say, realizing how we completely clash with the old-money charm of the hotel.
“Look who’s nervous now,” she tells me, hitting the button for the elevator. “Act normal. One thing my dad doesn’t do is throw his money around, so there won’t be a dress code. He’ll probably show up in khakis. He hates pretentious people, so there’ll be none of that.”
“What does your house look like?” I ask as the elevator lifts, beeping through the floors.
“It’s a…house.”
“Is it a mansion?”
She laughs. “No. I mean, it’s not small, but my dad came from nothing. You’ll see when you meet him. He prides himself on work ethic. He’s more blue collar than white collar, I promise.”
The elevator doors open, and I fit my hand through hers. “Is this okay?”
She nods, squeezing me. I stare down at where we connect, her long, slender fingers clutching mine. Honestly, it feels better than I could’ve imagined.
“You with me?” Len asks.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
The way she lights up is a beacon beckoning me out of the darkness Trish left me in. She’s like a lamp that’s been finally turned on.
She’s gorgeous.
Len gives her last name to the host, and we’re seated in a small, offset room with only a few tables, making me feel better about the jeans I’m wearing. If I’d known where we were eating, I would’ve gone to the game dressed nicer. I was so looking forward to spending time with Len that the dinner afterward was the last thing on my mind.
“Oh, here he is,” Len states, standing with a smile on her face.
I rise with her, looking over my shoulder to find a man my father’s age, though his hair is slicked back and gray. Not the kind of gray that denotes their age, but the kind that says distinguished . She was right. He’s wearing khakis with a button-up, the two buttons at the top left open.
“There’s my Pumpkin.” He hugs her, and they embrace for a while, making me wonder when they saw each other last. I know she hasn’t seen him since I moved into the suite, yet I’ve seen my parents.
When they back away, she gestures toward me. “Dad, I’d like to introduce you to Isaiah James.”
Her dad spins, holding his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Isaiah. I’m Chad Robertson.”
“Mr. Robertson, nice to meet you.”
His grip is firm, and for a moment, I forget he’s Len’s dad as I peer into the eyes of a well-respected man in my sport. He’s like Jerry Jones, the owner of the Cowboys or Vince McMahon of WWE. Everyone knows who they are. They’re at every game and event. They’re a symbol of the team as much as the star is.
He pats my bicep and walks around me. “Isaiah James, I feel like I’ve heard that name before.”
Len clears her throat. “Dad’s a walking stat machine, so don’t get too big of a head.” She smiles at me and then at her dad. “He plays for Warner, Dad. You probably saw his name mentioned.”
“Well, you’re right. Isn’t that something? My only daughter dating a hockey player. I never thought I’d see this happen.”
Len chokes on her water, and the both of us laugh.
“You didn’t think I saw you two on the Jumbotron?” He winks at me before turning his attention toward Len, who’s sporting a cherry-red face.
“Sorry about that, sir,” I intervene. “I often find myself taken by her.”
“I just like to make my daughter embarrassed, that’s all.”
I sit back in my chair, relaxing more and more. I half expected a tyrant to walk into the room. When I saw the foyer, I was pretty sure we were meeting a Rockefeller and I’d have to know what spoon to eat my appetizer with. But as Len promised, he’s down to earth.
A menu moves into my vision, and I thank the waiter while he hands the rest of them out to the table.
“So, Isaiah, are you any good at hockey?”
“Dad!”
I laugh along with him, and Len sends me a look.
“He’s the highest scorer for the Bulldogs. He’s a winger. He’s had three hat tricks in his career, including one this season, and his stats are solid.”
“Wow. Stalker.”
Her mouth drops a little. “I requested your stats for…the thing I have to do.”
“Then memorized them?”
She shrugs. “I have a very proficient memory. And if you’re wondering, yes, I’ll remember this moment for a very long time.” She draws the last words out, trying to give me a hard stare.
Her dad laughs. “I like you two.” He takes a sip of his water and is still smiling when he places it back on the table.
“Well, I hope you like me.”
He waves her away. “You know what I mean. I like you two together.”
“He could be a serial killer.”
“Is he?”
“No.”
I shake my head. Her mind is still an enigma to me, like an exquisite puzzle I love trying to work out.
“I’m only saying, you’ve known him for five seconds.”
“I trust my daughter’s judgment implicitly.”
She keeps her eyes on him, and I avert my gaze to scour the menu. I can’t even pronounce half the items offered. I look for a safe word like chicken or steak—
Holy shit. The steak is a hundred dollars.
I’m scanning the menu for chicken when her dad says, “Feel free to get what you want, I’m paying.”
I smile at him, but there’s no way I’m getting a hundred-dollar steak from this guy. I just met him. I find a menu item with chicken and as much as I can decipher from the words around it, it’s edible.
Soon, we’re giving our orders to the waiter as another server comes over with a bottle of wine and fills our glasses. I don’t even know if I like wine.
“Only the one glass if you’re driving my daughter around,” her father says, playfully glaring at me. I recognize the tease in his voice, too. My father has dad humor for days.
“So, what are your plans when school ends?”
For a few seconds, I mistakenly think he’s talking to Len, but then he looks at me expectantly. “I plan on coaching peewee back home, sir. I’ll be graduating with a degree in business economics, so a job offer close to home would be nice.”
“Sounds like you want to be a team owner with that kind of degree.”
“I…never really thought about it before. Seems out of reach.”
“Well…”
“Oh, here we go,” Len interrupts.
“You could learn a little something from this, too, sweetheart.”
“Dad, I’ve heard your rah-rah speech a bunch of times.”
I glance between the two of them. “I would like a rah-rah speech.”
Her father hits the table with a hammer fist, making me jump. “You can do anything you put your mind to. You just have to work at it. One foot in front of the other. You keep solving problems, eliminating obstacles one at a time. I wasn’t born into a hockey family. I didn’t have any hockey friends. All I had was a love for the sport, and look where I am now. I’m sitting in a rooftop restaurant with a panoramic view of the city that my team— my team—played in. I have a controlling factor in what they do. I’m set for life. I could retire right now. If you want something, you go out and fucking get it.”
I sit up straighter. “Len says you weren’t rich growing up?”
His gaze morphs into a sort of sad recollection. “My dad was a factory worker, and my mom worked part-time at the local library shelving books. They’re wonderful people. But I had seven brothers and sisters, so we didn’t have much. I knew from the time I was a little boy that I wanted more. I hated seeing my father come home tired and angry only to get up the next day and do it all over again. He worked his body to an early grave. That’s not the life I wanted.”
I take a deep breath, letting his words consume me. My father’s an accountant who owns his own business. He’s always pushed me to create something of my own, like Len’s father. “It’s inspiring, sir.”
He leans forward. “You have your whole life ahead of you. It’s scary, for sure, but start now. It’s never too early. It’s never too late. It’s all about what’s in here.” He hits his chest.
“Dad, can we get off the Ted Talk, please?”
He peers at Len, then back at me. “She’s heard it all before.”
She glances away, staring out at the panoramic view. Tension rises after that, and confusion flickers through me. I don’t understand where her head is at, and by the time we’re pushing away our desserts, I’m hoping Mr. Robertson will leave for the restroom so I can ask her what’s wrong.
Her dad seems fine—nice, even—but I’m cautiously optimistic. Len isn’t the type to overexaggerate when it comes to people.
“Thanks for dinner, sir.”
“Yeah, this place was good. One thing I love is a good, hearty meal.”
“You’ve had your fair share of McDonald’s, Dad,” Len says.
He lifts his shoulders. “An indulgence from a past life. I can’t give up those cheeseburgers that barely pass for meat. Addicting.”
“I can’t even tell you the last time I had McDonald’s.”
He hits me on the shoulder. “Young guy like you has to stay in shape for the season. I know how it is. Oh.” He stands, waving. I glance behind me and see another gentleman enter the room and make his way toward us. “Jenkins, this is my daughter who I was telling you about. The writer.”
“Ahh, nice to meet you. Lenore, right?”
“Yes,” she says, bluntly. They shake hands, but Len acts anything but cordial.
“I look forward to meeting with you after you graduate.”
I peer between the two, not sure who the guy is.
When Jenkins leaves, Mr. Robertson settles back down again, but Lenore remains standing. Her hard stare focuses on her father.
He looks up. “What?”
“Who’s Jenkins, Dad?”
“He’s the marketing arm for the team.”
“Dad.”
“Oh, it couldn’t hurt to meet him, sunshine. You act like you hate the sport, but we both know you’re only being…difficult. You grew up a fan, and here you bring me a boyfriend who plays hockey. You can’t detest it that much.”
“I don’t want to work for your team.”
“I don’t see any other job offers coming through.”
Her jaw clenches. This is the first time I’ve seen Len mad. Furious, actually. “I haven’t even graduated yet.”
“You have to do something.”
“Obviously,” she grits out, throwing her napkin on the table.
“Lenore…” He peers at me and back at her. “We can discuss this later.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m sick of you not hearing me.”
“Just…calm down.”
Len starts to shake. I’ve been around my sister enough to know that those words are like putting a lit match on dry timber. Tears spring to her eyes, and I can’t anymore. I see what she was saying. He turned from a fun-loving father to someone who doesn’t even see what he’s doing.
“Excuse me, sir. I know it’s not my place—”
“It certainly isn’t.”
Nerves skate over my skin, but I’m not going to let anyone talk badly about her and that includes her father. “Lenore’s going to make you proud no matter what. Even if it isn’t what you want her to do. This scenario reminds me of your story about growing up. About how you did the seemingly impossible. She may not know what she’s going to do yet, but she’s more like you than you might think. She’s going to be someone, and she’s going to do it without your help.”
Mr. Robertson presses his lips together. I stay staring at him because I don’t know what else to do. Soon, though, a soft touch caresses my arm, and I peek over at a gorgeous face, eyes rimmed with tears.
“Come on,” she states, pulling on my arm.
I let her take me away, but over my shoulder, I call out, “Thanks for dinner. It was nice to meet you.”
She tugs even harder, and when we’re out of the room, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.
“I think that went well.”
She chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Only you, Zaiah James. Only you.”