TWO MONTHS LATER
“HOW DO you feel about being called this year’s most anticipated rookie, Ryder?” the reporter from Sportsnet asked. Jared was clean-cut, with a strong jaw and a lazy grin, no doubt a holdover from his past years of playing pro. I’d watched him on TV since I was a kid and dreamed about this exact fucking moment. Countless other athletes had sat at this same table, answering millions of questions to a room full of eager reporters just waiting for the next sound bite over the years. I’d pictured myself up here more times than I could count.
This should’ve been a dream come true, but the question grated on my skin, not because it was at least the one hundredth time they’d asked it since they’d started calling me that a week ago. Of fucking course it wasn’t—that would be too easy. No, I hated the question because every time I answered was a lie.
I smiled at the reporter, keeping my collected mask in place. “Nothing could make me happier, Jared. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He gave me a genuine smile and continued the standard questions. This press meeting wasn’t really about me. I’d just been thrown up here as filler until our new coach was announced. If you asked me, all this secrecy was bullshit. It was hockey, not a fucking soap opera, but apparently, the league was taking things in a more dramatic fashion because they were announcing the Bruins’ new coach on live fucking TV, and I was the lucky bastard being used to fill airtime until he showed up.
I answered on autopilot, no one sensing that the mask I wore of a young, excited hockey player was complete bullshit.
“I know you worked hard for this, Ryder. Sacrificed a lot like all players do. Why don’t you tell us a little about that.”
Fuck, his words stung. The muscles ticked in my jaw with the effort to keep my carefree facade in place. I was just named the most anticipated player of the season; no rookie wouldn’t be high off that. Except Jared was right. I had made a sacrifice to get here, and every day, I wondered if it was worth it because in moments like this, I swore it fucking wasn’t.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to answer. “You know, same thing as everyone else. Late nights, early practices. Learned to push through the pain years ago.”
The lie tasted like acid and burned down my throat, where it landed heavily in my stomach. I rubbed my palms over my face, hoping I just looked tired after practice and not fucking heartbroken. I needed them to move on with their questions to something more technical related, or I was going to fucking lose it up here.
The same woman who’d announced my entrance walked up to the podium and tapped the mic twice. She wore a black tailored jacket and matching pencil skirt. She was objectively hot. Not that it mattered. Fucking Alex had encouraged me to bury myself in pussy like he’d been doing, but I had no fucking interest. The only person I wanted didn’t want me back, and no one mattered but her.
The woman tapped the mic again, and the room went completely silent. She smiled. “I’m excited to announce the new coach has arrived and will be coming out to meet you in the next few moments.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement, the reporters too busy talking with each other, speculating who it could be, to pay attention to me. I should care who our coach was—we’d be spending a lot of time together—but truth was I couldn’t give a shit, and I wasn’t sure when I would again.
The man in question walked through the door behind me, bigger than life. I vaguely recognized him as the coach for the Seahawks. He looked like a decent enough guy as he came up to me and grasped my hand, giving it a firm shake. “Good to meet you, kid.”
My answer caught in my throat as I met his eyes. They were a familiar hazel brown rimmed with crisp green-apple centers. The world tipped on its axis, everything feeling wrong and out of place as my brain tried to process that he had identical eyes to Sidney.
The woman announced his name, and all the pieces clicked into place. “Let me introduce the Boston Bruins’ new coach, Mark King.”
Fuck. I tried to push down the rage bubbling inside me as I stared at the asshole who’d practically abandoned the most amazing girl I’d ever met, but my grip tightened on his, not letting his hand go when I really fucking should’ve.
“You’re Sidney’s dad?” I practically spat the question, unable to hold back just how pissed I was.
My new coach pulled his hand from mine, breaking our awkward handshake, and stared me down. “So, you’re the guy.”
“I’m the guy.” My blood pulsed in my ears. They looked so fucking similar, him just a hyper-masculine version of her, and my brain finally caught up to the fact Sidney had never told me her dad was a coach.
He must have seen my confusion because he continued, keeping his voice low so as not to tip off the press as to what we were talking about. All they’d see is a regular first meeting between a coach and player. “You know, I’m not surprised she hasn’t mentioned me. She’s never been a fan of fame or anything that comes with it.”
His words confirmed my thoughts. This fucktwit asshole coach is Sid’s dad.
He didn’t notice the tension that filled my shoulders. “She’s pissed that I don’t see her much, but that’s pro hockey life. I don’t have to tell you; you know how it is. Who’s got time to head back?”
For fuck’s sake.
This whole time, I thought Sidney didn’t want to stay together once I was on tour because she was afraid of the unknown, but it was clear now that she knew exactly what she was afraid of. Rage roiled in my stomach.
“No, I don’t get it. Your daughter is fucking spectacular. What is wrong with you?” I hissed the words at him.
Sid’s dad—her dad—shrugged at me. “You’re new to this, kid. Trust me, one day very soon, you’ll understand.” His hand landed on my arm, and I flinched. “Before you know it, there will be a million people pulling you in a million different ways. Everyone will want a piece of you. Me, the girls, the fans, the press. Young players always think they’ll be able to balance a normal life, but it’s not possible.” He patted my shoulder. “We’re better off as lone wolves.”
I shook off his hand, and my skin tightened with the effort to keep it together. I didn’t want to be a lone wolf. No wonder she hated everything about this life. This was the example her dad had set all these years?
“Sid’s fucking amazing,” I snapped at him, my voice carrying through the room. I barely noticed the press staring at us as rage exploded from me until I was screaming at him. “She loves you. You can’t even make time to see her? You can’t take a fucking weekend out of your schedule?”
His eyebrows rose at my tone. “Kid, you’re fucking close to ruining your career. No girl is worth that.”
“She’s your fucking daughter.” My hands tightened into fists. “Not. Worth. It? You have no fucking idea what you’ve been missing.”
“You’re making a mistake, Ryder.” He didn’t look sorry for what he’d done. The asshole looked smug.
I lost control of my anger and shoved him hard until he stumbled back. I took advantage of his off-balanced position and slammed my fist into his face, enjoying the loud crack of bone. “My only mistake was not choosing her.”
Noise in the room came crashing back around me as I looked away from her dad. Every reporter in here had their camera pointed at me and was excitedly speaking into their microphone.
I took one last look at Sid’s dad, glaring up at me from the floor. “Asshole.” I stepped over him, walked out of the room, and called my manager.
He answered immediately. “What the hell, Jax. You know you just ruined your career.”
“Get me a meeting with the manager for the Senators,” I demanded and hung up the phone. Sidney better be ready because I was coming for her. This time, I wasn’t letting go.
SIDNEY
Mia: Facetime 5 minutes.
Me: I’m in the middle of something right now.
Who cared that “something” referred to bingeing back-to-back reality TV shows on my Saturday night. They didn’t need to know how pathetic my life had become. The shrill ring of FaceTime interrupted my show as a window popped up on my laptop screen. I was about to close it when Anthony’s text came through.
Anthony: Answer the call, Cupcake. You’re going to want to see this.
Curiosity officially piqued, I clicked the Accept button and was immediately met with two giddy faces.
“This had better be good.”
“You have no fucking idea.” Anthony’s wide smile took up most of his face as he typed something into the chat. “Sent you the link.”
I hesitated a moment too long, and Mia groaned. “Just click it.”
The link brought me to a sports news site, and apprehension settled in my gut. I met my best friends’ faces. “Guys, I don’t want to hear anything about him.”
“Oh, honey, this you’re going to want to see,” Mia insisted, and I clicked Play.
The newscaster was talking in front of a paused video, but I was too focused on Jax’s still image to process what he said. Jax looked good, hair in his signature ruffled state, and he was rocking that adorable dimple of his. It was a sweet, torturous type of pain to see him living his new life. For how much it hurt to be separated, I was so fucking proud of him.
I sucked in a breath when the newscaster played the video. The image of Jax standing as a man walked into the press conference room took up the full screen. I sucked in a sharp breath as my dad grasped Jax’s hand. Holy shit.
I searched the screen for the title, and there in bold letters was “New Coach for the Boston Bruins Meets This Year’s Star Rookie.” The air in my lungs started to burn, and I was forced to let it out. “What the hell is happening?”
“Just keep watching.” Anthony startled me—I’d forgotten they were there.
My dad and Jax stood close together, having a low, private conversation the microphones couldn’t pick up. Even without words, I could see Jax’s growing agitation. The muscles in his neck ticked, and his hands fisted at his side. Whatever they were talking about, Jax didn’t like it.
My dad pulled back and put his hand on Jax’s shoulder, continuing to talk. He looked at ease, obviously not seeing the rage written across Jax’s face.
“Sid’s fucking amazing.” Jax’s voice carried through the room. Jesus. They were talking about me. It felt like seconds before Jax pushed my dad backward, and I held my breath, watching them. Jax was fighting my dad. Jax was fighting my dad, for me!
I gasped when Jax landed a punch and laid my dad out on the floor. “My only mistake was not choosing her.”
He punched him. He punched my dad. My heart stopped, then doubled in speed as his words sank in. Gratitude and terror pummeled me at what he’d done. He’d just publicly ruined his career. All because he knew how much my dad hurt me. There was no way he’d be allowed to play for the Bruins now. Pain lanced my heart, and my eyes burned with tears. I couldn’t let him do this.
“What time did this happen?” I asked my friends, not caring who answered.
“Two hours ago,” Mia replied. “Sidney, what’s that look on your face? What are you going to do?”
Determination filled my veins. “I’m going to fix this.”
I hung up the call with them and immediately dialed my dad. It took several attempts before he answered, and I sucked in a breath when I saw his face. There were some bandages on his nose and a faint purple hue of new bruises already forming under his eyes. By tomorrow, he’d look like a raccoon with two black eyes.
“Sidney, if you’re calling to defend your friend, don’t bother. I’ve already cut him from the team.”
“Then uncut him.”
“What? How do you think this works? Do you think I can just let players go around punching me? You’re supposed to be smart.”
I swallowed hard, knowing he was right but not caring. “You owe me. You owe me for every missed birthday or forgotten supper.” My voice rose with each word as years’ worth of anger flowed from me. “For every time you promised to see me but didn’t show up. For every single hour that I waited for you and every tear I cried.” I sucked in a breath, making sure to articulate every single word. “You. Owe. Me. Explain to the media it was a misunderstanding or some kind of social stunt and uncut him.”
My dad stared at me, stunned for several seconds, before letting his breath out on a sigh. “Okay, Sidney. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You better, Dad, because I’ll never talk to you again unless you fix this.”
