15. Blakely

CHAPTER 15

BLAKELY

My knee bounces uncontrollably beneath the small table at the cafe, my iced coffee untouched before me. My chest is tight, and I might pass out any minute.

I glance at my phone, checking the clock for the millionth time. Any minute now?—

The bell chimes above the door, signifying someone coming into the cafe. I don't even have to turn around to know who it is. Who I asked to meet me here after another unsuccessful attempt to stop his antics.

My body remembers his presence, and my skin tightens, my stomach twisting as he slowly lowers into the seat across from me. His eyes are hopeful, but he looks almost as uncomfortable as I feel as he folds his arms over his chest.

I study Brian for a few more moments, taking in the rigid line of his posture, the way his eyes dart to everything but mine. Maybe he’s ashamed of the way he's been acting.

“Thank you for meeting me,” I manage to work the words around the massive knot clogging my throat. I hate that it’s come to this. I hate that I can no longer sit across from somebody I thought I loved without feeling wildly uncomfortable. But he’s seen to that.

A server comes up to our table, asking him what he would like before I can continue, and he orders his usual coffee before silence falls around our table again.

“Did you catch the pretty-boy Badger with another girl?” he asks, not a hint of civility in his tone.

The words sting, but I do my best not to flinch. “No,” I say. “Not that it's any of your business. I didn't ask you to meet me for that.”

He nods, something like understanding flashing over his features as he takes the mug from the server, who then heads off to another table. “Then you finally want to talk about the audition?”

I gape at him, utter confusion washing over me. “Do you honestly think that after everything you've put me through, I would actually ask you to meet me here so we could talk about your audition for the reality show?”

He looks perplexed, like that's exactly what he thought, and I let out a deep sigh of frustration I’ve held since leaving him.

“You know that you’d benefit from the reality show too,” he says. “You know we’re amazing when we skate together. Even if we didn't work out as a couple, we’re fire on the ice. We’d get in if we auditioned together?—”

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever skate with you after what you've done.”

“I haven't done anything to you,” he argues.

“You've done everything, Brian. You’ve harassed me with your texts and calls and showing up to my apartment. All of which I’ve documented in case I need it. I have cameras installed around my apartment now, so I have enough proof that you’ve been crossing boundaries for way too long. We are over . We are never getting back together. And I will never skate with you again.”

He furrows his brow, shaking his head like he's at a loss for words. Fear laces into his features, the realization that I've been keeping tabs on everything he's been doing finally settling in to his thick skull.

“I asked you here, not to make amends, but to deliver a message of my own. I would like to move on with my life in a healthy way. And, against my better judgment, I want to give you an opportunity to do the same.”

“You want to move on with that fucking guy?—”

“It doesn't matter if I want to move on with the entire Badgers’ starting lineup,” I cut him off. “That's my right. You no longer have a say in what I can and cannot do anymore. I don't know why you ever did in the first place, but that's a conversation for my therapist, not you.”

His lips go tight, but he doesn't respond.

“You will stop texting me. You will stop calling me. You will stop showing up at my place and leaving letters on my windshield. In no way would that ever win me back, and in no way are we ever going to be in each other's lives again. You’ve made sure of that.”

When he does nothing but narrow his gaze, I continue.

“I’m giving you the chance to move on with your life without me in it. Without me even being a thought in your head. Without any consequences. But if you so much as text me again, call, show up, send an e-mail, or a letter in the mail, I will take everything I've documented and file an order of protection against you.”

“That's ridiculous. You don't need protection from me.”

“Then prove it,” I fire at him. “Leave me alone. Move on.”

He shakes his head, and I can see the resistance in his eyes. He hates losing, he always has, even if it's something as ridiculous as a board game. So I continue with what I know will be the nail in his coffin.

“Not only that,” I say. “But you must know that I now have connections beyond your wildest dreams. Not just with the coach of the Bangor Badgers, but the owner . And that owner happens to know a lot of people. He has a ton of great relationships with wealthy executives, including the producer of the reality show you're so desperate to get on.”

His eyes flare wide, and I'm not surprised, but ultimately disappointed that the threat of the police isn’t enough to scare him. A small warmth pulses in my heart for Mr. McClaren, and how easily he’d agreed to my request when I spoke with him the other day about this very thing.

“Exactly,” I say, nodding to his apparent fear. “All it will take from you is one more move against me, one more question, one more plea, one more anything , and I’ll ask Mr. McClaren to make one phone call of his own, and your skating career will be over. You won't even be able to teach, let alone compete. Are you understanding me?”

Brian visibly swallows, then nods. “You've made yourself very clear.”

“Good,” I say. “And I know you're angry. I know you're pissed off and probably trying to think of a way around this, but I assure you, you won't. You should be focusing on the fact that you're lucky that I’ve given you this warning. I could’ve easily called the police, filed the order of protection, and had Mr. McClaren kill your chances at any sort of a career. The only reason I haven't is because I don't need to be as toxic as you. I don't need to wield that power and laugh as it plays out. But test me, and you'll find out.”

Brian nods again. “I understand. You won't hear from me again. I don't even know who the fuck you are anymore, Blakely, but it's not a good look for you.”

A sharp laugh escapes my lips, and I shake my head. I anticipated a barb like that, and it bounces right off the shield I have built for myself since leaving him. “Of course you don't know who I am,” I say, scooting back from the table. “You never met me. It's amazing what someone can become when they're no longer being suffocated.”

I don't bother saying goodbye, having already paid for my untouched iced coffee. I leave him sitting at the table alone and don't look back.

Once I've made it into my car, tears roll down my cheeks, the kind of happy relief that only comes from doing something that seemed impossible in the beginning. My chest unravels in a way that's almost dizzying, and hope flares to life in the heart that he tried to break.

I get myself together, and head toward the practice arena, knowing Dad will be there. This is the last piece of business on my big-girl agenda today.

I find Dad in his office, his usual haunt if practice isn't actively happening, and smile at him as I knock on his open door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, sweetheart?” he asks, waving me in to take a seat across from him. “Should we order some lunch?” He shoves his tablet to the side, whatever he’d been working on forgotten as he gives me his full attention.

It almost makes me want to cry again, the instant support I have from him, but I manage to swallow it down and take a deep breath.

“I'm not sure you'll want to eat with me after I tell you what I need to tell you,” I say.

Dad's smile falls, his mustache drooping in the way it does when he frowns. “Are you in trouble?” he asks. “Are you hurt?” His eyes dart over me like he can see or detect any unknown ailment, some parent superpower he thinks he has.

“I'm perfectly healthy,” I say. “And I guess it'll be up to you if I'm in trouble or not.”

Dad studies me, then leans back in his chair.

“I didn't intend for it to happen,’ I start off. “But I can no longer deny that I may have…sort of…fallen in love with one of your players.”

A rumbling laugh tumbles from Dad's lips, so much so that his shoulders shake. He lightly smacks the edge of his chair and blows out an exaggerated breath. “Is that it? Whew, from the way you were acting, I thought you’d stolen the Zamboni and went on a joy ride or something.”

Shock ripples through me as I gape at my father.

He clears his throat, fastening a serious look on his face again. “Sorry, honey,” he says then shrugs. “It's just that I'm your dad, and you haven't really been able to hide anything from me since you were eight and tried to smuggle that wild baby fox you found in our backyard inside your room.”

I shake my head, cringing at the memory of me trying to hide the fox from him. It only lasted about a half hour before he took a tearful me to the nature reserve where we handed the baby fox over. Of course, I knew the creature would be better off, and I’d gotten to go visit him frequently that summer, but it’d been my first real heartbreak. Dad had been there every step of the way, just like he always has been.

“So, you know about Lawson?”

“You haven't really tried to hide it that well,” he says. “You two are like two peas in a pod lately. Plus, the whole hypothetical convo kind of gave it away.”

“But I hang out with Pax and Nash and?—”

“I know that, sweetheart,” he cuts me off. “But you don't look at them the way you look at Lawson.”

“Are you mad?”

“Nope.”

“Are you disappointed? I’m the skate coach, after all. This might look bad for the team.”

“Nope, you could never disappoint me. And it won't look bad for the team. You've told me, and I'm sure that you'll tell Mr. McClaren too. And that'll be that. I know you would never allow it to affect your work. Honey, you know how proud I am of you for all you've done, and you can look at our team and know that you've made a difference. Why would you ever think that this would bother me?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, searching for whatever fear had been tangible when I walked in here. But in truth, my father has never given me a reason to believe that he wouldn't support any decision I made.

“You're kind of the best dad ever, you know that right?”

“I try,” he says, doing a little drum beat on his desk. “So what should we order for lunch?”

I laugh softly, the stress and the worry about everything that’s happened lately melting out of me, replaced with this intense happiness that I can barely even describe.

“Whatever you want,” I answer. “I'm buying.”

“Steak and lobster it is,” he jokes, reaching for his phone and pulling up the delivery app. “Oh, and honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Off the record,” he continues. “If he ever hurts you, I'm going to make him skate laps until his legs fall off.”

I laugh, nodding. “I would be surprised if you didn't, Dad.”