“Your mother is perfectly fine. Actually, she basically kicked me out of the house.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “She said, ‘Go check on Sloane, Julian. I have a feeling she needs her dad.’”
He brushes his rough thumb over my cheek.
“And like always, she was right. So stop worrying about us and tell me what’s going on.” His eyes narrow, half teasing, half deadly serious. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ or I swear I’ll start breaking noses. And just so we’re clear—I’m not naming names, but a cocky athlete and a certified jackass are at the top of my list.”
I let out a watery, broken laugh.
“It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got time. That bus isn’t leaving for another hour.”
I inhale deeply, the icy air burning my lungs.
I look at the snow. I look at my boots. Then I look at him.
I can’t keep it in anymore—not with him. He’s the only man in the world, besides Cohen, who deserves the truth.
“Dad… do you remember the article?” I ask quietly. “The one that started this whole mess? The mystery girl at the club… the one Cohen got photographed with?”
My dad’s jaw tightens instantly. The vein at his temple starts to pulse—the warning sign every Lakewood player knows and fears.
“Yeah,” he growls.
“She wasn’t a fan,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
I close my eyes.
“It was me.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
I don’t even hear the wind in the trees.
I crack one eye open.
My dad is frozen. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide with total shock—like I just told him I’d decided to become a die-hard fan of the rival team.
“You?” he repeats. “You… and Becker? At the club?”
I nod miserably.
“Yeah. I was the angel. I mean—Cupid, technically.” My voice wobbles. “It happened months ago. Before he became my client. You know when. And then… then it happened again. And then I actually started getting to know him and—”
Shock.
Disbelief.
Then realization.
His face turns red. His hands curl into fists.
“Becker,” he snaps. “Did he touch you?”
He starts to turn, already ready to hunt Cohen down and commit murder, so I grab his arms.
“No! Dad—stop! This isn’t his fault!”
“Sloane—he’s my player, and you’re my daughter—”
