Dad considers that for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes. “I know how it works. He’s paving the way.”
“I’m terrified of going to this wedding, Dad.” My voice wavers with emotion. “It keeps me up at night.”
His expression sobers.
“Not only have I gained weight, but everyone will be looking at me and talking behind my back.” I take a deep breath, resolving not to cry. “My friend is coming with me for moral support. And that’s the end of it. You know how hard this is going to be for me, so don’t make it even harder.”
He exhales heavily, looks at the ceiling, and turns away. “Fine. I’ll switch my room to a double and he can take the couch.”
“Every time you say something that makes me sound like a child, I’m going to tell you something about me you really don’t want to know.”
His brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
I put up a palm. “I’m done, okay? He’ll stay with me in the room you’ve kindly already booked for me.”
He barks out a single note of laughter. “You think I’m paying for the room Beaumont’s going to seduce my own daughter in?”
“I did a threesome once. And I was the only woman.”
“No!” he yells, his expression a mixture of horrified and furious. “I can’t unhear those words, Talia!”
“Then let’s end this conversation. I’ll see you at home later.”
I walk out of his office then, his assistant Josh pretending to be immersed in whatever’s on his computer screen. Then I wait around the corner, making sure Dad doesn’t come flying out of his office to hunt down Lucien.
After about a minute, I decide it’s safe for me to go.
Hopefully.
Chapter Ten
Lucien
* * *
Isaac’s out for at least a week with a cervical strain. Tonight was our first home game without him, and the mood in the locker room is somber.
We lost 4–3, but it doesn’t matter that the game was close. Our backup goalie, Lennox, did his best, and I think he feels worse than any of us, which is saying something.
He’s a twenty-one-year-old who moved up through the minors, and he’s a hard worker. He puts in extra ice time before and after practice. This was a chance for him to prove himself, and from his expression, I know he’s gutted he didn’t do it.
“Hey, man.” I hold my fist out to him. “Good game. We fought hard. Best thing to do is let it go so you can be a hundred percent tomorrow.”
He halfheartedly hits my fist with his own, his shoulders slumped.
Silas claps him on the shoulder as he passes. No one needs good teammates more than they do on the days they play like shit. Sometimes there’s a reason—stress at home, the inevitable aches and pains of playing a grinding schedule—but sometimes you just don’t have it and there’s no explanation. Those games are the worst.
I used to lie awake half the night after a bad game, replaying every mistake and asking myself why I didn’t do better. Our owner hired a mindset coach who works with us now, and it’s been good for me.
A shitty mindset is like an injury. The body and mind are connected, and if your mind’s not where it needs to be, your body won’t be either.
Carter comes over to us, sweat dripping from his hair. He’s stripped off everything but his pants and is about to get in the shower.
“Let’s go get a drink at Duck’s,” he says, looking at me and then at Lennox.
“Yeah,” I say.
Lennox just looks at the floor.
