Again, my thoughts stray to what Ross told me. To my conversation with Jordan. If the Storm is picked apart by a new owner, it’s going to leave a massive hole in my life.
“I do lots of things for myself,” I tell Bea. “I go to the gym every morning. I eat pizza with you on Friday nights when we don’t have a game. I...” I can’t think of anything else. “I eat your Halloween candy when you’re not watching.”
“That’s mine,” she says, grinning.
I drop my arm around her shoulder, pulling her against me. “You need to learn to share, Bee. And candy is bad for your teeth. Better let me eat it all.”
She giggles. “No.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I have the world’s smartest, funniest, kindest, most wonderful daughter. I love coaching hockey. I love my team. I have everything I need.” I smile at her, my heart squeezing at how adorable she is, all big eyes, pink noseand cheeks, and dark hair sticking out from under her knit hat. “I love you more than anything in the world, and I am very, very happy. Okay?”
She nods, seemingly satisfied. “Okay.”
“Okay. What do you want for dinner? Pizza?”
“We had that last night.”
“How about we have candy for dinner and pizza for dessert?”
She giggles again. “That’s backwards.”
We watch the sky until Bea gets hungry, and as we head inside, I spot a shooting star.
I don’t make a wish, though. All I need is right here.
CHAPTER 6
JORDAN
“I can’t letyou up to see Mr. Sheridan without an appointment.”
I spent the entire weekend thinking about what Ward said, listing out my options and replaying the conversation.
For the first time in a decade, I’m going to talk to my dad. The arena receptionist won’t even consider letting me up, though.
“I’m his daughter.”
She gives me a gentle, apologetic look. “Maybe you can call him, then?”
She doesn’t believe me, a situation of my own making. At twenty, I changed my last name to Hathaway, after my mom. They’d raised me out of the spotlight. Only Ward, Georgia, and probably Alexei know that their boss is my father.
“She’s with me,” a low, unwelcome voice says behind me.
The receptionist’s smile turns welcoming and admiring, like she’s under a spell. “Good morning, Coach.”
“Good morning, Dana.” I can smell his bodywash or laundry soap or something clean and fresh. Sharply masculine. “Can you please let Ross know we’re coming up?”
“Absolutely.” She picks up the phone without another word, because when Tate Ward says jump, people don’t argue, they ask how high.
He swipes his lanyard and the barriers open. “Let’s go, Jordan.”
Like a child, I follow.
He presses the button to the top floor, where my dad’s office is. “You actually showed up.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to my friends.” There’s a determination in my voice that surprises me.
Tate glances down at me. Tall, so tall. I look away but can still feel his gaze on me. What’s he thinking? The moment stretches, and this feels like the world’s slowest elevator until reality hits me: I’m about to speak with my father after ten years.
