17. Blakely

CHAPTER 17

BLAKELY

“It's been three days, kid,” my dad says after he’s called me into his office after practice. “You've been moping around, and I think I have a right to know what it's about. It's Christmastime, your favorite. I've never seen you this down. What's going on? Are some of the guys giving you a hard time on the team? Because I thought we moved past that?”

Dad's questions roll off his tongue in that quick way that only happens when he's nervous about something. I rub my palms over my face, chiding myself because I thought I'd been hiding it better.

“None of the guys are giving me a hard time,” I say. “No more than usual.”

“Then what has you looking like you're ready to fall over at any minute?”

“If I ask you something, will you be one hundred percent honest with me, Dad?”

Apprehension builds in my chest, knowing I'm about to ask him the question I've been thinking about for three days.

Three days since my fight with Lawson.

Three days since I may have messed up the best thing that ever happened to me.

“You know I will,” he says. “Haven't I always told you that the truth is the best way even if it hurts?”

I nod, and swallow hard. He had always told me that, which is probably why I was so afraid of asking him. His answer could hurt. Badly.

“Did you encourage Lawson to take that meeting with the owner of the Seattle Sharks because of what I told you? Because I told you we were together?” I’d heard from Pax—well, from Monroe who heard from Pax—that Lawson’s agent had set a meeting.

Dad's brows furrow together, a steep sense of hurt shaping his features. “Heck no,” he says. “Do you really think that I would do that? The last thing I would ever do is try to insert myself into your life with that level of control, kiddo. I assumed you knew that by now.”

I blow out a breath, shaking my head. “I'm sorry, Dad,” I say. “I do know that. I really do. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, I'm just... I'm a mess. And I had to be sure.”

“Listen, honey,” he says, walking around his desk and leaning on the other side so he can look down at me. “I advised Lawson to take that meeting because it's bad business not to. He's just a kid starting off in his career, and he's got an agent and a lawyer and a coach probably telling him different things about what he should and shouldn't do. He's got talent. And he’ll go places. While I hope he stays with the Badgers for a very long time, I'm not the kind of coach who’s going to not tell him about interest.”

I nod, my stomach souring.

Right after the fight, I’d been furious with Lawson. So damn angry with him for not just simply understanding my side of the story. But after a night of crying, and a lot of deep breathing and soul searching, I realized that I never once put myself in his shoes.

How would I feel if he’d hidden a secret that could affect my career? How would I feel if he’d shared so many intimate details with me, shared vulnerable moments with me, but still didn't trust me enough to tell me this vital part of his life?

I’d feel used and betrayed. It's not like I ever really came out and told him how much I cared about him, all in fear of rushing things or rejection.

“I'm guessing you told him about our relationship and he assumed that I was playing the dad card and trying to get rid of him?” Dad asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

“And now y'all two aren't talking?”

I shake my head, the ache in my chest intensifying. It’s only been three days, but I didn't realize how I’d gotten so used to being in contact with him every day. Getting his texts, hearing his laugh, listening to him groan during lessons and challenging me at every turn on the ice.

He’s done his best to avoid me, all under the guise of needing space, which I completely understood. Even during our fight, when he left, he didn't storm off. He hugged me and kissed me and let me know that he needed to get his head on straight. It was an endearing move that only he could manage, and I wasn't sure I deserved it.

“I should have just told him from the get-go,” I groan. “None of this would have happened if I would have just told him.”

“He'll come around,” Dad says. “If he doesn’t, he's an idiot. I don't really take him for one, but I've been proven wrong before.”

I force out a dark laugh. “So helpful, thanks, Dad.”

“Look, you may have made a mistake, but you decided to keep your connection to me a secret to protect your career and with damn good reason. Lawson should know that. He should know that it’s not just about him, it’s about the whole team.”

“The vets,” I say. “Stokehill, Torrington, Kiplin, Ritchford. They all know. And now he knows that they knew.”

“Ah, I see,” Dad says, nodding and folding his arms over his chest, causing his Badgers jumpsuit to shift. “That's part of it, isn't it,” he says. “Wolfe didn't like being one of the only ones in his friend group not to know. But that's not their fault, nor yours. You weren't part of this team until this year, and they knew you were my daughter the minute I became their coach. It's not fair to hold that against you.”

“Isn't it though?” I ask. “I had plenty of opportunities to tell him. Especially when I knew that we weren't just casual anymore.”

My father's studious gaze narrows on me. “Then why didn't you, honey?”

I sit with that for a few more moments, despite the fact that I've sat with it for three days straight. I know the answer, but I sound like a coward even when it’s only in my mind.

Oh well, here goes.

“I was terrified,” I admit. Tears gather at the back of my eyes, but I try to hold them back. “I was terrified because of the relationship that I’d been in too long and got out of what felt like too late. And I felt like I was just getting some semblance of independence back, some sense of self when Lawson kicked in my door. I didn't plan for him to happen, and I was afraid that if I allowed it to happen, I would fall right back into the same codependent pattern where my world revolved around a man.”

Dad nods, shifting off his desk and coming to sit in the chair right next to me. “That's a normal response,” he says. “Did you tell him that?”

“There wasn't much time for me to explain myself, especially when I didn't really even understand it myself. And he, understandably, wanted to get away from the situation before he lost his head.”

“That shows real maturity,” he says. “Even if he’s still being a jerk to you the last few days.”

“He's not being a jerk,” I argue. “He's just taking time.”

Silence falls between us for a few moments, but I already feel slightly better now that I know my dad had nothing to do with the Sharks meeting. Just talking things out with him always makes me feel better.

“You mentioned before that you loved him. Is that true?” he asks, and my eyes widen as I look at him. “It's an easy question honey. Do you love him?”

I can't bring myself to say the words out loud, mainly because I believe if somebody is going to hear them, really hear them, it should be Lawson, so I give my dad a nod.

He blows out an exaggerated breath, whistling on the end of it. “Then you need to tell him everything you told me,” he says. “You need to explain yourself truthfully, and if he's a good man, he'll understand your reasoning. He'll want to put in the work to move on.”

“And if he's not? If he can't move past it?”

“Then I'm definitely trading him to the Sharks,” Dad says, laughing at his own joke.

I smile, but I can't help the raging uncertainty that swallows me whole. I know that Lawson is a good person, but he has no obligation to move past what I kept from him or to turn down an offer from his favorite team just for me.

In fact, when I think about it like that, it's selfish as hell for me to even want that for him. Because even though this is new between us, I've never felt anything as strong or powerful, but that doesn't mean he feels the same or that he should be expected to give up everything to see if we work out.

“Are you going to be okay?” Dad asks.

“I'm going to be okay,” I say confidently. Either way, I had to be okay, but I would definitely plead my case.

I reach for my phone in my pocket, rising from the chair and heading toward the door. I think better of it at the last minute and turn around, wrapping my arms around my dad. Hugging him like I’m four years old again after taking another bad fall on the ice.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say before releasing him.

“Anytime, honey, you know that.”

I flash him a smile and then head out of his office, frantically typing a text to Lawson.

Me: Will you please meet me at the practice arena tonight for one more private lesson?

I send the text quickly before I can chicken out, adrenaline soaring through my veins as I await his response. After ten minutes go by and he hasn’t texted back, I'm assuming he's still firmly in the I don't want to talk column, but then my phone buzzes.

Lawson: What time?

Me: Five

Hope flares through me at his response, and I'm not sure if he'll agree to it, especially since I know that his meeting with the Sharks owner is at seven thirty.

Lawson: I can only do an hour

Relief barrels through me so quickly I almost want to cry again, but I feel like I've had enough of that in the last few days.

Me: That's all I'm asking for.

He doesn't respond to that or send any other text afterward. I do my best to distract myself with the few hours I have until we will meet up. I use that time to try to gather my words in the best way possible and make a few very important phone calls while I'm at it. Definitely makes me look completely vulnerable and lovestruck after I get off the phone, but I don't really care at the moment.

And by the time five rolls around, I'm already laced up and on the ice, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest as I wait.

And wait.

Lawson isn't usually late, which makes my heart plummet to the bottom of my stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he thought it over and doesn't think I'm worth hearing out. Because he has to know that's what this is about, right? He can't honestly think that all I wanted to do was give him some more pointers on how to win the next game. Maybe he?—

I hear skates hit the ice, and I look up from where I’ve been studying mine, watching him glide over to me looking as gorgeous as ever. Instead of his usual practice gear, he’s dressed in a pair of black pants and dark blue thermal.

He comes to a stop before me, his already tall frame towering over me even more in skates, and somehow I feel like we're right back where we started. Only this time, he's the one resisting our connection instead of me. Funny how the world works out that way.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, my voice cracking despite the fact that I have practiced this speech six thousand times in my head already. “I was thinking we could work on some balance drills?—”

“Wait, this is actually about practice?” he asks, and his voice sounds raw too, like his emotions are being scraped over his vocal cords.

“I was thinking we could work on some balance drills,” I continue. “While we talk. Or rather, I talk and you do your best not to say anything back.”

He gapes at me, and I shrug.

“I don't want you to feel obligated to say anything, so this is your free pass to just listen and work on your balance.”

“Okay,” he says, his eyes trailing me up and down in that way they do that makes me feel melty all over. My heart flutters like it's trying to come back to life after three days of being numb.

I start us off with the drill, slowly skating around the rink and carefully extending one leg behind me, focusing on holding the pose as we round the corners. Lawson falls into the drill easily since we've done it dozens of times before.

“I know I owe you the biggest apology in the world,” I say after we've completed one round and start on our second. “I should have told you probably fourteen times before I actually did about who my dad was. In the beginning, I didn't tell you because I wasn't telling anyone who didn't already know. I didn't want anyone to make any assumptions about how I got my job, and even Mr. McClaren didn't know when he hired me. Now he does, and so do the vets, but that's it. No one else. But that's still not good enough, because you weren't just any other player. Not after a few weeks anyway. And I was lying to myself, over and over again. Every time you made me laugh, every time you made me feel safe, every time you gave me the space to be completely open and honest with you and be vulnerable when it came to all the situations with my ex. I lied to myself, saying that you were just a friend, a new companion that I was lucky to meet but wouldn't be lucky enough to end up with. I lied to myself and said that you were every bit the arrogant playboy the media made you out to be. That there was no way you were actually serious about the little arrangement we agreed to in the beginning. I lied to myself saying that this was all just fun.”

“Are you saying it isn't fun?” Lawson asks, his usual cocky tone taking some of the heavy out of the situation and making me chuckle softly.

“Everything with you is fun, Lawson,” I say as we make another lap. This time switching legs. “That's another thing I lied to myself about. I chalked it up to coincidence, because really nobody can have that much fun doing absolutely nothing, right?” I shake my head. “So I didn't tell you, and a part of me was terrified to give you that final piece of myself because then it would mean not only admitting to my mistakes of keeping it hidden from you in the first place, but also that this thing I felt for you was real . Like really real . And I’d just gotten out of a situation where I stayed too long and left too late and I didn't want to become dependent on anyone else again. And even though I knew you’d never be the kind of man who demands I follow you around or do what you want to do, I was scared. I was scared of giving my heart away again and making the wrong choice.”

We switch legs again, and I focus on the ice instead of looking at Lawson, because I'm just terrified of what he'll look like when I say my next bit of truth. “But then I realized that the kind of love I feel for you is the kind of love I've never felt for anyone before. It's healthy and vibrant and consuming in a way that is motivating, not suffocating. I love you because of the way you make me feel—safe and seen and heard—and I love you because you're hilarious and talented and so damn infuriating that you actually make arguing with you exciting. I love you in a way that scares me because I know that if you asked me to, I would go to Seattle with you. Right now, no questions asked. I know the Sharks are your dream team, and despite the Badgers being my home, I would go with you. I love you so much that I've already spoken to Mr. McClaren about it just in case the moment arises.”

I skid to a stop near the exit, swallowing hard before I look up at Lawson. His hazel eyes are wide and churning, and he looks like he's about to say something from the way his lips part, but I shake my head.

“There are no obligations here,” I say. “Remember? I don't want you to say anything back. I just wanted you to know where I was at. And that I'm sorry and I know these excuses don't make up for what I did, but I hope you at least know that my reasoning had nothing to do with my trust in you . It was about trusting myself, and it was damn hard to trust my heart after I’d given it to somebody who didnothing but abuse it for years.”

I give him a soft smile and shrug. “But then a hero walked into my bar, and I found out I'd given it away without even realizing it.”

I glance down at the watch on his wrist, reaching between us to turn it so I can read the time.

“You have to go,” I say. “You need to get ready for your meeting.”

“You really don't want me to say anything,” he says, his voice a whisper between us.

I shake my head. “I don't want you to make any rash decisions because of what I’ve said. I want you to do what you've been doing, which is think on it. I just wanted you to have the entire truth while you did it.”

I skate backward, stepping up through the exit, glancing over my shoulder to look at him one last time. “Good luck at your meeting,” I say, then glance down before meeting his eyes again. “You're weaker on that left leg. You need to do more lunges to work on it.” I hurry and turn around, wanting to leave before I can say anything else, like beg him to tell me what he’s thinking.

His laughter is real and raw and echoes behind me as I leave him standing there on the ice, my heart in his hands.