1. Emma

"Fuck off."

"Emma," Dad warns, even though he could out-swear a sailor.

"No. No. No, and no." Since when did this suddenly happen between now and last week when I saw both him and Mum for dinner at my flat?

We glare at each other over my desk, which is high above London, with glorious views of a bustling metropolis. "Emma," he tries again. "I'm retiring. Someone has to take over. I want to keep it in the family."

"Then ask Uncle Jock, for fuck's sake," I growl, my Scottish accent barely a distant memory nowadays popping up out of nowhere, irritating me further. It's not that I don't like it, but everyone, and I mean everyone, focuses on the ‘cute accent' instead of what I'm saying. I have worked long and hard to adopt a more neutral-sounding tone. But this news is all kinds of wrong.

He leans forward, hands on his knees. "I want you to take over the Nessie Warriors."

"Do you need me to say it again? This time with feeling? Fuck off, Daddio." My laugh is nervous—an octave higher than normal. He can't be serious. I've got hashtags to schedule, tweets to compose, and a brand-new boyfriend who actually knows how to cook. He wants me to leave all this to take over a sports team? Yeah, right.

Dad raises an eyebrow, all stoic-like, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch. That's not a good sign.

"Look, I don't know the first thing about ice hockey," I protest, hoping reason will sway him. "And I really don't want to."

He doesn't budge; he just gives me that look—the same one that used to make me do my homework before I could watch TV. It's not going to work this time, though. No way.

Dad clears his throat, a raspy sound that sends up a red flag.

"Em, there's something else," he starts, and suddenly, I don't like where this is going. "I've got a bit of a ticker problem."

"Ticker problem?" My voice sounds weird.

"The old heart. Doctors say it's time I stepped down, for health reasons." He looks at the floor, then back up at me with eyes that aren't just asking, they're pleading.

"What? What kind of heart problem?" My insides twist into a Gordian knot. When did my invincible dad get a heart problem?

"Nothing to write home about. Just need to take it easy, is all." His attempt at nonchalance falls flat, and we both know it.

"Jesus, Dad." The knot tightens. Guilt creeps into my chest, heavy and uninvited. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to worry you." His shrug doesn't fool me. Worrying is exactly what I'm doing right now. "It's fine. I needed to see out the last season but now, I have to do what's right for your mum and you, Emmie."

"Ugh! Dad!"

"Look. Pre-season training kicks off in three months, and they need leadership after last season's fiasco."

"And somewhere in your head, you think I'm the right person for this job? Are you nuts? Dad, I can barely keep my cactus alive!" I sound shrill and unpleasant, but this is one major grenade he just chucked at me. Well, two, for fuck's sake. Taking a deep breath, I calm myself and plaster that PR smile on my face that was battered into me in my last job before I landed this dream gig as Social Media manager to a very hot online fashion mag. It's a world away from ice hockey. A universe, even.

"Emma..." There's that tone again, the one that used to get me to finish my veggies.

I bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough to taste the iron-y tang of panic. Dad's eyes are those of a puppy that's just shredded your favourite shoes but still hopes for a cuddle.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Fine," I concede, throwing my hands up in surrender because he's got me in a corner now, and I don't have any way out. Damn him. "I'll think about it."

"Thank you, Emmie."

"Thinking about it doesn't mean yes, Dad. It means I'll entertain the absurdity for a moment, in between IG, TikTok, Facebook, and trend analysis." My mind races, already plotting an escape route from this madness, but I draw a blank.

"Fair enough," he says, getting up to leave, but not without a parting shot. "Who knows? You might even enjoy it."

"Doubt it," I grumble as he walks around my desk to kiss the top of my head before he chucks me under the chin and leaves me to contemplate the hideousness of this ‘inheritance'.

This is pants. Pure fucking pants.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Think about it, and then let him down? Think about it, and God forbid, take the team? Think about it, and then hire some ice hockey genius to run the team and just nod along at board meetings. Ohhh. Maybe. Yes, that could work.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I grab my phone and Google ‘ice hockey for dummies'. Just in case.

"Yeah, nope. I'm out," I mutter, throwing my phone down as the barrage of results overwhelms me instantly. There's no fucking way I'm diving into that cold, icy mess.

I close my eyes and lean back in my chair, thinking about the last time Dad called me ‘Emmie' with that much sincerity. He's always been tough as nails, a pillar of strength. But now? He's human and vulnerable, and if I say no, what kind of daughter does that make me?

Fuck this.

It means moving back to the Highlands of Scotland for a start, leaving my beloved job, my boyfriend, my friends. It's nuts even to be thinking about it.

Picking my phone up again, I pull up the photo of Carrick and me. It's a super cute selfie taken on Portobello Lane last weekend when the sun was shining, and it was gorgeous and summery. My red hair is in a messy bun, but my blue eyes are sparkling. His light brown hair is ruffled, and his green eyes dancing.

I zoom in on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, and the way his crooked smile always makes my heart skip a beat. Somehow, I got lucky meeting him at an event last month. Yeah, I'd be a certifiable idiot to leave him. I'm definitely punching above my weight. He is perfection and I'm well, me. Slightly curvy, okay, a lot curvy, which is a euphemism for being a bit plump. But I love food too much to ever be skinny, so I gave up trying.

But then there's Dad's face, in my mind's eye—a guilt trip deluxe if there ever was one. I know what he's asking isn't just about running a team; it's about family. Commitment. Legacy. Ugh.

Just… ugh.