13. Lila

Chapter 13

Lila

My chance to get Sabrina alone finally presented itself, and the location wasn't much different than the place I'd pissed her off—in the workout center at the arena in Charlotte.

We'd had a team meeting this morning, followed by a morning skate, and then everyone was heading out for their pre-game naps and routines, but I'd overheard her tell Anastasia she wanted to spend some time in the gym before she left.

I'd done a light off-ice workout myself before practice, so there was no point in going into the gym again. Plus I didn't want to distract her from her own routine, especially on game day.

But we did need to have this talk, and we needed to do it before the festering bullshit messed her up for another game.

As I expected, she went from the workout center to the showers, then came into the locker room, one towel around her hair and the other around her body. She probably only expected to find a few staff members wandering around; the equipment managers were always hard at work, and some of the coaching staff were usually nearby.

From the look on her face when she saw me, she definitely hadn't expected to find me here. Or at least, I was the last person she hoped she'd see.

She shot me a withering glare, then went to her locker stall and started pulling out another set of shorts and a team shirt. With those on the bench, she continued drying off from her shower.

I didn't watch her get dressed; we were all used to seeing each other naked, but staring at her while we were the only ones in here would be seriously disrespectful. And anyway, with everything hanging in the air between us, getting caught ogling her would not help our situation.

Once she had on her shorts and T-shirt, I turned her way. As she toweled her hair, I cleared my throat. "Look, I'm…" I swallowed hard. "What I said about you having everything handed to you—I'm sorry. You're right—I don't know what your life has been like." I paused, studying her. "Something tells me no one does."

She eyed me warily, her guard still firmly in place.

But before I could try again to get past those defenses, her shoulders dropped, and she pushed out a breath. She sat down on the bench, watching herself play with the towel between her long fingers. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic as she murmured, "No one does, no."

She sounded tired. As if she were absolutely wrung out, and not by her gym routine.

I chewed my lip as I studied her. Then, cautiously, I moved closer, sitting down on the bench but leaving some breathing room between us. "You don't have to tell me. But… I'm curious."

Sabrina turned to me, strands of wet hair falling in front of her eyes. Why was it so hard to resist brushing them out of her face and tucking them behind her ear? She drew the tip of her tongue along the inside of her lip. "Why do you want to know?"

I half-shrugged. "All I've ever had to go by is what people have said. I, um… I thought it was the whole story." I had to almost literally swallow my pride before I added, "Apparently I was wrong."

She lowered her gaze again. "Is that why you don't like me? Because you think my dad handed me a hockey career?"

When she put it like that, I sounded like an even bigger asshole. Sighing, I nodded. "I've seen so many girls struggle to get to even major juniors. I thought…" I exhaled. "I'm sorry."

She studied me through her lashes, and I fully expected her to tell me I was full of shit before she stormed out.

Instead, something in her seemed to… collapse. She slumped a little, all the remaining anger melting out of her expression, replaced by what looked like pure fatigue. " No one knows the truth about my dad's influence on my career."

I swallowed. "What is the truth?"

She searched my eyes as if to ask, "Do you really want to know, or are you just going to shoot down whatever I say?"

Before I could insist I was coming from a genuine place, though, Sabrina took a deep breath and started talking, the words tumbling out as if she'd been holding them back forever and just couldn't anymore.

"Everyone's convinced my dad's name has been my golden ticket to everything hockey. And maybe it has been. I…" She sighed heavily and lifted a shoulder in a minute half-shrug. "I can't control the decisions or assumptions people make. The part people don't know is that the only thing my name might have gotten me is some more open doors. And yes, I know, that's a privilege. I know a lot of people don't have that. It isn't fair." She turned to me again, her eyes filled with fatigue and sadness. "But once those doors are open, I still have to earn the right to stay. I still have to play hockey. And the part people don't realize is that I had to fight hard to even learn to play in the first place."

I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean my brother had everything he could ever need at his fingertips. He was skating before he was out of diapers. He had private coaches. My dad coached him. He took Mark to practices with him so he could learn from professional coaches and teammates." Sabrina swallowed like it took some work, and she shook her head. "I didn't have any of that. I learned to skate young because my mom wanted me and my sister to learn. But hockey?" She swiped at her eyes, which had started to well up again. "I wasn't allowed to play hockey. Not even in the driveway."

My lips parted. "What? Why not?"

"Because my dad thinks women's hockey is a joke. And he didn't want his name being used to legitimize the sport." She leaned back, letting her head rest against the divider between locker stalls. She closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, she sounded even more exhausted. "He hated that I was involved in getting the League off the ground. Even after I got married and changed my name, he didn't want me doing anything related to hockey—especially playing—because everyone still knew I was his daughter. So his name was still getting dragged into it." She rolled her eyes. "He was pissed that I changed my name, and then he was pissed that I was dragging his name near women's hockey. I can't win, I swear."

"Wow," I whispered. I considered everything she'd said, then I moistened my lips. "Can I ask something else? Again, you don't have to answer."

She met my gaze, eyes wet but curious.

"With all the shit everyone said about you riding your dad's name…" I hesitated, not sure how to continue.

In a resigned voice, she asked, "Why did I change it back after I got divorced?"

I nodded.

Sabrina stared at the floor again and gave a wet, miserable laugh. "Everyone's convinced I did that so I could land a contract in the League. Because Dad's name definitely carries more weight than Ty's."

"Right," I said quietly. "I, um… That's what I heard."

Her laughter, such as it was, faded, and she watched herself tracing the logo on her water bottle with her thumb. "I knew that's what people would think. And I dreaded it, because…" She sighed and shook her head. "At the end of the day, I'd rather let people say I'm using my dad's name for nepotism than keep Ty's name."

That caught me off-guard, and I stared at her. "Why's that?"

Sabrina brushed some wet hair out of her face. "The thing is, no matter what the rumors say, I didn't retire from competition because of Ty's money." She turned to me. "I retired because Ty didn't want to be married to a hockey player. And he did everything he could to keep me from playing."

"What? Why? And how?"

"Why?" She huffed a near silent laugh. "Who knows? In hindsight, he married me for exactly the reason everyone thinks the League signed me—because of my dad. He loved the idea of being Doran McAvoy's son-in-law. When I wanted to declare myself for the draft the first year of the League, he had a million reasons why I shouldn't." She started ticking off the points on her fingers. "It would make my physique too hard and unattractive. The women's teams usually play on the road while the men's teams are at home and vice versa, so we'd barely see each other. It…" She dropped her hand onto her thigh with a heavy smack. "I don't know what the real reason was. Just that I got tired of fighting about it, especially because I'd spent my whole life fighting so hard against my dad over the same thing, so I just… gave in."

"That sounds…"

"Miserable?" She laughed bitterly. "You could say that. And I mean, Ty wasn't physically abusive or anything. I wasn't afraid of him. He just knew how to wear me down mentally and emotionally until he got whatever he wanted. By the time I realized I needed to leave, I couldn't. He had control of all the money. Everything was in his name. I couldn't afford to get my own place, never mind a lawyer." She sat up a little and rolled her shoulders. Then she turned to look right in my eyes, and though hers were still wet, there was a fierceness I hadn't seen before. "That was when I reached out to Laura Davies—Seattle's GM."

I straightened. "You did?"

Sabrina nodded. "She coached me in major juniors, so I knew her. I reached out and told her the God's honest truth—that I wanted to leave my husband, but I didn't have the means, and that I wanted to come back to hockey. I knew I wasn't ready to play again—not yet—but if I could get out from under my husband's thumb…"

"Oh my God," I whispered.

"Yeah, it was…" She laughed dryly and ran a hand through her wet hair. "So she fronted me enough money to get out and get a lawyer. She promised me it was no strings attached, but I busted my butt for ten months to get back in condition. Once I was, she offered me a PTO, and after I proved at training camp that I was still a solid player, she gave me a one-year deal."

Jesus. I felt like the worst human being on the planet after hearing Sabrina's side of the story. There'd been so many rumors and assumptions about her—every one of which I'd swallowed whole—and no one had come to her defense. "Did your family help you get away from your ex?"

Sabrina shook her head again, staring at the lockers with unfocused eyes. "My mom and sister supported me a lot emotionally, and they encouraged me to leave, but they were both struggling financially."

"Really?" I stared at her. "Your dad is richer than God, but they're…?"

She nodded. "He and Mom had a prenup, and Dad's lawyer threatened to turn it into an ugly custody battle if she didn't back down on splitting assets. She was scared to death of losing custody of us, especially my sister and me, so she took a small settlement and walked. The money she does have now is from working a regular job all these years."

"Holy shit. Your dad doesn't sound like, um…"

"Like the super nice family man who adored his kids and was devastated when his bitch of a wife took them and left? Yeah, I know. Amazing what does and doesn't make it into the press." She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Sort of like how everyone still thinks I left Ty because I decided to become a lesbian."

That rumor had definitely made the rounds. As had the photos of her with the woman she'd dated—or at least hooked up with—after her divorce. "So you're bi, then?"

"No, no, I'm a lesbian." She reached up to knead the back of her neck with both hands. "Just a little slow on the uptake, I guess. And then before I had a chance to really come to terms with it and come out to my family, someone outed me." She stared up at the ceiling, still rubbing her neck, and I thought her eyes welled up again. "God, I would absolutely kill for some goddamned privacy."

"I bet."

"Everyone thinks being a McAvoy must be the greatest and most privileged thing ever." She lowered her hands and turned to me, and yep, there were fresh tears clinging to her lashes. "But all it's ever brought me is public humiliation."

If I'd felt like an asshole before… Jesus.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "For all of that, and for…" I chewed my lip as heat rose in my face. "I'm sorry."

"I know." She stared down at her wringing hands again. "You didn't know. Most people don't. And there's a ton of rumors and bullshit backfilling what everyone doesn't know, so they think they do, and…" She waved a hand in a heavy, tired gesture.

"Still. I'm sorry. It's… I obviously didn't have the whole story. None of us did." I grimaced. "I should've known what we all heard was…" I trailed off, not sure what to say.

"It's all been repeated so many times and so many ways…" She shrugged. "I can't blame anyone for believing it. And it isn't like I've ever done much to change the narrative."

"Why not?"

Another shrug, this one heavier than before. "The handful of times I've tried, I just get painted as a spoiled brat. The only thing I've ever been able to do to prove my dad wrong about anything is to play hockey like it's what I was born to do."

I nodded as she spoke. "I'm surprised your dad hasn't changed his tune about you playing. Even if he's got a stick up his ass about women's hockey, you're…" Why was I blushing? Because I felt like I was blushing. "You're really good."

A faint smile curled her full lips, but it faded fast. "I'd love to think he'll come around one of these days. But if the World Junior Women's and Olympic medals haven't convinced him…" She trailed off into a sigh.

"Ugh. Yeah. That sounds like someone who's seriously committed to his narrative."

"You have no idea," she muttered. "Plus, even if he could get past me having the audacity to be a woman playing hockey, he hates my playing style. That's literally the only thing he's ever acknowledged about my involvement with the sport—that I shouldn't do it, and that my playing style is wrong."

I blinked. "What? Why? What the hell is wrong with the way you play?"

She gave another ghost of a laugh. "Because I'm a playmaker. If I'm that happy racking up assists, I should just play defense and be done with it."

"For fuck's sake," I said, rolling my eyes. "The points benefit the team exactly the same way whether you get the goal or the assist. And you get a ton of goals, too!"

"I know, but he was always out for glory. And apparently if I absolutely must sully his name by playing women's hockey, I should at least be a goal scorer more than anything else. That would be almost respectable in his eyes."

"But he'd still shit on it."

"Absolutely." Sabrina's shoulders sagged again, and she wiped a hand over her face. "All I've ever wanted to do was play hockey, and I've done that. I'm doing it. It just doesn't seem like too much to ask for my dad to be proud of me too."

My heart dropped into my feet and the guilt over what I'd said the other day burrowed even deeper. "No, it's not too much to ask." I slid a little closer on the bench. "I'm sorry, Sabrina. I really am. For what I said, and… God, that you have to play with that albatross around your neck. It's…" I chewed my lip as I searched for the words. "Honestly, knowing what you've been up against all this time—it's even more impressive that you're as good as you are."

Sabrina stared at me as if she hadn't heard me right.

"I've always envied you as a player," I admitted. "Yeah, I thought you had it easy getting to that level, but I always wished I could play as well as you. But realizing now that you had someone holding you back all this time?" I whistled, shaking my head. "That's incredible ."

Some color bloomed in her cheeks, and she managed a small smile. "Thanks. I just wish other people could see it." She dropped her gaze to her wringing hands. "I wish my dad could see it."

"Fuck him."

Her head snapped up.

I shrugged. "He's done everything he can to stop you. The best revenge is to play like hell and show the world that you're an even bigger generational talent than he ever was."

Sabrina's lips parted.

"I get that you want his approval," I went on. "I would too. But since he's going to be a dick about it, I say make sure that whenever he talks trash about women's hockey—especially you playing it—people are like, ‘bruh, have you seen what your daughter is doing out there?'"

She stared at me, then laughed. "So, play so well that he looks like an ass whenever he talks shit?"

"Exactly!"

Her laughter had some more feeling this time. "I've always said most of my success has come from spite and stubbornness. Might as well stay on that track."

"That's the spirit." I held up my fist, and she bumped it. Sobering a little, I said, "And I mean it—I'm sorry."

"I know." To my surprise, Sabrina gathered me into a hug. As her damp hair cooled the side of my face, she said, "Maybe it wasn't so bad, because I think this conversation is exactly what I needed."

My heart fluttered with relief. "Still. I'm glad this helped, but I'm sorry about what I said."

"I know you are." Drawing back, she smiled at me, oblivious to how utterly gorgeous she was, even under the harsh locker room lights. "We're good."

"Okay. Okay, great." I laughed just to get my breath moving. "What do you say we go find something to eat? We've got warmups in a few hours."

"Sounds good." She gestured over her shoulder. "Let me put on my shoes."

As she did that, I basked in the broken tension and the settling dust. Maybe she was right and this conversation was something she needed. Maybe the end did justify the means.

But I still felt awful for what I'd said and for what a bitch I'd been to her.

And I was more grateful than she could imagine for her forgiveness.