7. TATE
TATE
Fucking McKinnon, bitching at me about the fundraisers he’ll have to attend this year during practice.
It’s standard at other schools, but he’s had it easy because Daddy pays for everything.
Oh, to have a rich parent who actually cares about you.
I’ll never know what that’s like. McKinnon takes his father for granted.
And of course, my fucking brother is falling hook, line, and sinker for the rich brat.
I can see it in Luke’s eyes. I don’t think Luke knows it yet.
Their budding relationship isn’t ideal for me, but other than my verbal protests, I don’t plan to do anything about it.
He’s smiling again. If McKinnon puts that smile there, so be it, but if McKinnon breaks his heart, he’s going on a permanent field trip to a mining camp deep in the Rocky Mountains.
Anyway.
I have my own problems. Real problems. I did something spontaneous. Something I didn’t put much thought into.
I never fucking do that shit. I’m calculated, meticulous, always in control. I don’t do things on … what’s that phrase people use? Right, a whim.
Never. No whims. I lead a whimless life.
But Clarence came in with his bullshit again, and I’m living with the ever-present pressure cinching my skull because I need to find a husband before Luke loses everything he sacrificed his childhood for.
… and then Ryan.
Marrying Ryan was the only thing that made sense to my animal brain. Until he left, and another feeling took over.
One that promised my destruction.
Taking it back, never speaking to Ryan again, that’s the logical move.
Am I going to do that? Absolutely fucking not.
I want him more than I’ve wanted anything, so why shouldn’t I have him?
I have enough self-control, and with the way I’ll dictate things, I can keep things between Ryan and me controlled at all times.
Isn’t that what marriage is actually for?
And I have a legitimate reason for bringing Ryan to Shadowridge. Money. I’m well aware of all the legacy bullshit in the elite circles. Henry won’t be an easy sell, but with Ryan’s help, it’s a possibility.
The only thing that can cure me of that sour mouthful from McKinnon this morning is the text I got from Ryan.
I shut the door to my office to drown out any small bit of noise that might interrupt my viewing.
He’s awake at this ungodly hour, too, likely also just finished with practice.
But he sent the text as I was getting ready to step onto the ice.
Dollface
Will you be there on Saturday?
Does that mean he wants me there? Or he’s gathering general information? I can’t tell. Fuck. I’ve never cared either way before, but if a gun was held to my head, I’d be forced to admit that I want him to want me there.
Just kidding—about the gun part. I’d never hand over information, even at gunpoint. But the metaphor stands, and I’m forced to face the nagging reality that his answer matters to me at all.
Unfortunately, there’s zero chance I’ll make the game with my obligations here, which means he shouldn’t be there either.
I grit my teeth, staring at the message, willing the words to change.
I’m not used to this, having to give someone—other than my uncle—what they want.
Or fucking compromise. I don’t compromise. I don’t settle for less.
I have plenty of ways to make Ryan marry me, but that won’t make him mine, and I want him to be mine. Still, this has to be done carefully. He can’t run around doing whatever he wants and belong to me at the same time.
Me
Who said you were allowed to go?
I smile, thinking about how mad that’ll make him. The dots appear right away, but a knock on my door interrupts playtime. My phone continues to buzz as I pocket it.
“Come in,” I snap.
The dean opens the door with a sheepish duck of his head. “Sorry, bad time?”
Fuck. I slide my casual smile into place and do my best to appear apologetic. “Sorry, Patrick. Fighting with the boyfriend.”
I can’t suddenly show up with a husband. Might as well get him used to the idea that I have a boyfriend first. He won’t like who it is, unless I manipulate the situation. Everyone has a pain point you can press on.
“Oh? Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
“I don’t usually advertise my bedmates, but this one’s a keeper. What’s up?”
He runs a hand through his chestnut hair, taking a seat in front of my desk.
It takes all my willpower not to glare. I want to finish my conversation with Ryan, who’s still texting me.
The angry cadence buzzes in my pocket. It’s getting harder to fight the smile from my eyes.
But Patrick clearly needs reassurance about something.
His posture’s stooped, his tie’s loose, and it looks like he hasn’t been shaving or trimming his scruff.
Actually, the look suits him. It’s more him than the uptight accountant thing he’s got going on most of the time.
He’s not my type, but he’s an attractive man.
“You said you’ve got some donors with deep pockets this season.”
“I did. Something happen?”
He rubs his hands over his face a few times. “I was on the phone with Shae last night; he wanted to warn me he’s cutting way back with donations once Ace has graduated.”
Shae McKinnon. Ace McKinnon’s father and VIP alumnus. Also, Patrick’s best friend. Patrick’s like an uncle to McKinnon because, of course, he is. Everything in McKinnon’s life is rainbows and unicorns. “Yes, as I expected. I have a plan.”
“I guess I didn’t really expect it. This place meant so much to him and Grace, I thought he’d carry on for a few years. Do you really think we can fill the gap? We haven’t done much fundraising for the team since Shae’s firm began helping us out.”
The coach they had before me was a hack.
He should have been fundraising all along, but he relied on McKinnon’s generous donations for the hockey team.
Shae McKinnon could own his own NHL team with what his architectural firm pulls in.
A college team was probably pocket change to him.
He began funding the team before his son attended Shadowridge U.
I suspect that was his way of ensuring his son entered on a high note, beefing up the team with top-quality gear and a supreme coaching staff.
It enabled them to afford me.
And yet my wage is still abysmal compared to what I rake in from hockey nights at the brewery.
I lean back, exuding as much confidence as I can.
If all goes well for me, this could be my last year here.
I don’t really care what happens to the Shadowridge Scorpions after that.
But—as Uncle taught me—you never leave a bad trail.
That’s how they catch rats. I’ll make as much effort as I can and crack my whip at my players, but if they don’t win a cup this year, it doesn’t affect me too much.
Besides, it’s good for these young men to become self-sufficient.
They’ve been coddled by their parents. They’ll never survive in the real world if someone doesn’t make them take responsibility for their own lives.
That I love doing. There’s an odd satisfaction I get from it.
“I know I can. We’ll be fine.”
He visibly relaxes. “Knew I could count on you for that.” He lets out the breath he was holding. “So, a boyfriend, hey?”
“Aaaand it’s time for you to go.”
Patrick stands. “I can’t help my curiosity. You’re …” he trails off. I get it. It’s hard to find a word that describes me.
“Yes…?” I raise a curious brow. What does he think I am?
“Such a mystery. As much as we talk, I feel like I don’t really know you.”
Hmmm. Maybe I’ve been slipping for a lot longer than I thought.
Uncle always pushed my limits with what he called my social facade.
As soon as he was out of the picture, I let a lot of stuff go—fewer social outings, less fake friends, less of my personal information shared.
But all of that is what maintained my coach’s costume.
I’m going to have to tell him a bit more, but it’s only going to feed his curiosity, not curb it. Uncle Jasper’s laughing from his grave. This is exactly what he wanted. This is what having a spouse means. I’ll always have to peel back the layers enough to keep people satisfied enough to stay away.
Maybe I can use this to my advantage. Having someone explain Ryan would help me with getting Ryan to like me.
“He still likes going to nightclubs,” I invent. “I can’t go with him this weekend, and he’s pissed because I don’t want him to go without me.”
Patrick leans his palms on the back of the chair, chuckling. “You do like this one. You’re jealous. Didn’t peg you as the jealous type, VanCourt.”
I’m more than just the jealous type. If I could, I’d leash Ryan and drag him around with me everywhere—my very own human pet. But society would frown upon that.
“What do I do about it?”
“Unfortunately, I think you just have to let him.”
“Let him?” My jaw locks. Fuck that. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“If you’re that insecure about your relationship, maybe there’s a deeper issue at play.”
It’s hard not to scoff. People like Patrick can speak in luxuries like that.
It’s a fucking luxury to feel an ounce of security.
People who’ve always had security speak about it as if it’s something normal to have.
Not having it is abnormal. Being unable to feel secure is a deep issue.
But what if control is all you have? All you’re capable of?
I would have given anything to have been raised by the parents who loved me.
Would love have made a difference for a brain like mine?
Hard to say, but maybe I would have been taught better coping mechanisms.
Instead, I have the ones that Uncle Jasper taught me. They’ve served me well, but even I know they’re fucked up.