Chapter 42

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Riggs

"Push, Patches," Ivy says as I squat. The bar resting on my shoulders isn't loaded with the maximum amount of weight I can lift, but it's heavy enough and add in the fact that Ivy is relentless, and I've lost count of the reps. "Engage your core, push through your whole foot, and get that fucking bar in the air," she snaps.

"You are the fucking worst," I grunt as, legs shaking, quads on fucking fire, I straighten.

"Yup," she says cheerfully. "Now, give me three more."

Christ.

But I grit my teeth and manage to push through the trio of reps, each harder than the last, and I can't lie, I'm relieved when she helps me rerack the bar.

"Stretch," she orders, nodding toward Lake, Leo, Storm, and Bear, all of who've been equally tortured and are "stretching" on the mat behind me.

And by stretching I mean they've become prone piles of men who've lost all will to live.

I join them, flopping down and making a half-hearted attempt at a figure four.

Thankfully, Ivy has turned her attention to other matters?—

Or matter , singular.

Knox is working on some sort of combination squat—his back leg in a resistance band that's been hung from a chin-up bar, a dumbbell in both hands as he curls his leg behind him and descends, slowly enough that I can see almost every muscle in his body working.

How do I see this?

Because he's shirtless and wearing the smallest pair of gym shorts I've ever seen.

Why—one might ask—would a hockey player have crammed himself into those tiny shorts?

Let's just say that Ella is devious and determined on her own, but put Kit, Ella, and me together?

We're spreading happily-ever-afters like fucking glitter bombs, bitches.

Or those were Ella's words, anyway.

My part in this was to make sure Lake made the bet…and to make sure that Knox was the one to lose it.

Storm, considering he spent half the night putting his hotel room back together last time Knox pulled a prank, was only too happy to assist—both in getting Knox to join in and ensuring the sneaky bastard lost.

And now I present…short shorts.

Which seem to be doing the trick—Ivy has been avoiding Knox like the plague, even though she's normally riding his ass to push harder—and now he's the only one left to work with her one-on-one.

"Your knee is in the wrong position," she snaps, reaching forward as though to correct it then drawing back, probably because Knox is still squatting and her leaning in means that she's nearly received a faceful of Knox's junk.

"My knee is in the correct position if I want to target the abductor," he says, locking gazes with the petite redhead.

Or horns, one might say.

Because you don't question Ivy—not if you want to be able to walk the next day.

"Excuse me?" I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

"I said what I said." Knox grunts as he does another rep.

"If I wanted you to target the abductor," she grits out, "I would give you a list of exercises for that. We're working quads, glutes, and hammies right now?—"

"Those muscles are strong enough." A nod down at his legs on display.

Ivy's color begins to rise.

"I need to work on…"

I rotate my head, see that Lake's registered the same thing I have.

Imminent death.

Or hate fucking.

He nudges Storm and Leo while I knock my foot against Bear's. There are hand signals and raised brows, nods to the door and mouthed admonishments as we peel ourselves up from the floor and creep out of the room.

Because I don't want to be in Ivy's crosshairs when she's done with Knox.

Because I want those short shorts to have the opportunity to work their magic.

And…because I'm ready to go home to Ella.

I start down the hall but stop when I see my dad standing a few feet away, reclining back against the wall.

Scowling.

And just that quickly, all the amusement I soaked up from riding on Ella's matchmaking coattails disappears.

Because—

Here my dad goes again.

I can tell just from his expression that I'm about to get a verbal reaming.

So much for him changing.

Something twists in my gut.

It doesn't matter. I don't need him.

He pushes off the wall, scowl deepening as he takes in the lot of us hobbling in his direction, but he doesn't say anything as the guys peel off, Lake pausing with raised brows, silently asking if I want him to stay. I wave him on. I need to handle this shit on my own, need to prove to my dad once and for all that I'm not going put up with him treating me like garbage?—

"Can you believe this shit?" he asks, shoving his phone in my face.

I blink at the screen, trying to process the images in the quick flash he gave me, but it's there and gone so quickly that I don't.

"Some asshole is talking about Nova's pictures online"—Nova was recently featured online in a national magazine—"and he says they're uninspired and juvenile ." My dad makes a sound of disgust and pockets his phone. "I was with her when she took some of these. The woman finds art in the smallest details." He scoffs and starts walking for the exit. "Certainly much better than an idiot pecking away at his keyboard."

He's complaining about a negative review Nova received.

What the actual fuck?

I'm unable to comprehend that for a moment, not when I was so primed for a fight, ready to yell and scream and stand up for myself.

But he's standing up for my friend, my family.

He's not giving me a hard time—in fact, he hasn't since the game he and Ella attended, since that conversation with my woman. Yeah, he's given me a few tough critiques, but none have been laced with any of the meanness from before, and I can't disagree that they've been helpful.

It's…

Like having my old dad back.

My throat goes tight.

That hope in my belly grows.

I've missed him.

"Gah," he snaps, voice echoing down the hall before he marches back, tosses up his hands. "And then there's that woman at the salon. It was bad enough she fired Ella after that terrible appointment, but the gall of her trying to switch to another stylist! Like anyone could have done better." He shakes his head and starts off down the hall again. "I'm glad that Kit banned her from coming back. She'll regret it. She damned well will. I've seen her work. I know…"

Maybe I do.

Maybe I really do have him back.

Just thinking that is like removing a thorn from the bottom of my foot, like in one instant, the small stab of pain that has been jabbing at me for years is gone.

I can walk without thinking about it.

I can be pain-free.

"Come on, son!" my dad calls. "I know what will cure those sore muscles. A dip in the lake and apple fritters."

Shaking myself, I hurry after him as fast as my sore legs can carry me. "Absolutely fucking not on the dip in the snowmelt-fed lake?—"

He looks at me, mouth opening, argument in his eyes.

"—but hell yes on the apple fritters."

My dad slows, eyes on mine, expression unreadable for several long moments.

Then he chuckles and shakes his head. "I'll take that. Come on," he adds, walking forward again. "I want to get a hot one, and Freida says they don't bake any more after three o'clock."

I don't ask how he's on a first name basis with Ella's favorite baker. I just…

Embrace this.

That my dad is here and he cares and he's fulfilling the promise he made to me.

Showing me. Following through. And…

He's finally back.

He still needs to get his own place, though.

I'm tired as shit of running into him in my kitchen wearing only his tighty-whities.