They've known about the fallout since high school—well,theirversion of it anyway. I never told them the full story, only that Zach broke my heart and that I needed to get out of town for college. They never questioned it, just supported me like they always do.
"The game was great," I say, grabbing a piece of avocado toast and taking a bite. "Zach's team won."
Dad's brows lift. "Oh yeah?"
I nod, mouth full, bobbing my head like a happy seal. "Mhm. Four-two. It got pretty intense near the end. The other team was playing dirty—checking guys into the boards, tripping, all that."
Dad chuckles, stirring his coffee. "That's hockey for you. Can't spell sportsmanship without a few bruises."
Mom rolls her eyes, smiling. "Your father thinks blood on the ice counts as strategy."
"Hey," Dad says, raising his mug defensively, "it builds character."
Then Mom turns back to me, her smile softening. "Still, that's great news. I'm happy Zach and his team won."
Dad nods, grinning. "Yeah, that's really great. He's always been a solid player—no surprise there."
Mom chuckles. "Still, it must've been exciting to watch in person."
I just smile, trying not to look too giddy. Because, yeah—itwasexciting. Maybe a little too much.
Mom tilts her head, giving me that gentle, knowing smile only moms seem to master. "I guess you two are trying to patch things up, huh?"
I freeze for half a second.
When I finally glance up, both of them are staring at me—curious, expectant, and way too amused.
I clear my throat. "We... are," I admit softly, eyes dropping to my plate.
Mom's smile grows warmer. "That's really nice to hear, sweetheart. I know things ended rough back then, and it took you a long time to get over it."
"Yeah," Dad chimes in, voice softer than usual. "We know how your falling out really did a number on you."
"It did. But I'm okay now. Really." I manage a small smile.
Their words make my chest warm in this weird, unexpected way. It's been years since Zach's name came up in this house without the room going awkwardly silent.
"Don't get me wrong," he says, setting down his coffee and leaning back with a grin. "I love that boy like my own—but hestill broke my little princess' heart." He raises an eyebrow, half teasing, half dead serious. "I trust you're not making it easy for him? That young man's got some groveling to do, right?"
"Dad!"
Mom laughs, lightly swatting his arm. "Oh, leave them alone," she says, giving him a playful glare. "Let the kids resolve their own issues. I'm sure our daughter wouldn't just forgive him easily unless he really earned it."
And yep, there it is—my face heating up like someone just cranked the thermostat.
Because—yeah—if singing his heart out and confessing his love for me in front of an entire hockey arena doesn't count as groveling, I don't know what does.
It was ridiculous, mortifying,andabsolutely the sweetest thing ever. And I've always had a soft spot for grand gestures, even the cheesy ones. Especially the cheesy ones.
Dad lifts his hands in surrender, smiling all innocent. "I'm just making sure, darling."
I roll my eyes, trying to hide a grin. "Don't worry, Dad. He's working for it."
Dad nods, clearly satisfied, a proud little smile tugging at his mouth. He even throws me a wink, like I just passed some secret dad-approved test.
*****
After my shower a few moments ago, I slipped into the outfit I picked for tonight's party at the hockey house and went for some light makeup—just enough to look alive and not like I rolled out of a Netflix coma.
