“He put his hands on you,” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod.
“And I…” He looks around the office, frantic, like he’s waking up in a room he doesn’t recognize. His eyes land on the framed photo of the Titans team from that year—the season he was so desperate to save, the season that made him blind.
With a sudden, violent motion, my father reaches out and slams the photo face-down on the desk.
The glass cracks.
He grips the edge of the desk, knuckles white, head hanging low.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he roars. The sound is agonized. “Why didn’t you tell me, Talia?”
“Because you wanted him!” I yell back, the truth finally exploding out of me. “He was your star recruit! The program was struggling, and you needed a win. I knew how much he meant to the team. I didn’t want to be the reason you lost him. I didn’t want to be the reason you failed.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
He looks up slowly. He looks wrecked.
“You think…” Voice shakes. “You think I care about a recruit more than you? You think I care about a winning season more than you?”
“You loved this team,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“Oh, Talia,” he whispers.
He reaches for me. I walk straight into his chest. The hug is messy. Desperate. Too tight.
“I’m sorry,” he says into my hair, words shredded. “God, Talia, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry you thought you had to carry it alone to protect my job.”
“It’s okay,” I sob into his shoulder. “I know now. After Alistair… after you fought for me… I knew I could tell you.”
He holds me tighter. The realization that he almost lost me—not just to a transfer, but to silence—shudders through him.
Eventually he pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. His eyes are red, but the guilt has hardened into resolve.
“I’m calling the league,” he says. “I’m calling the Blackwood athletic director. I don’t care if he’s their star player. That kid will never set foot on my ice again.”
“Dad,” I say. “Do it because it’s the truth. Not just because I’m your daughter.”
“I’m doing it because he’s a predator,” he says flatly. “And he’s done.”
He takes a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he looks at the door.
“Reid,” he says.
My heart stutters.
“He knew,” my father says. It’s not a question.
“He’s the only one who didn’t try to fix me,” I say softly. “He just waited. He’s the only one who made me feel safe.”
My dad looks at me. He sees the truth of it in my face.
“I love him,” I say. “I’m not hiding that anymore.”
He studies me. After a long moment, he exhales, shaking his head with a wry, watery smile.
“You’re stubborn,” he mutters. “Just like me.”
