I followed his gaze. “Who's that?” But I knew exactly who it was. Perfect timing.
“My father,” he said flatly. “I need to handle this before he causes a scene.”
I reached to stop him. “Need him distracted?”
He stared at my hand. “My father is complicated.”
“So is mine,” I lied, though I meant it in a general sense. “Besides, maybe you need backup.”
But then his father’s voice cleaved the celebration. “Cole! There you are—magnificent performance, though your positioning was sloppy in the second.” Edward Armstrong-Wells approached with the confident stride of a man accustomed to commanding attention. He was impeccably dressed, radiating the kind of wealth that came from generations of privilege. His smile was sharp and calculating as his gaze swept over me dismissively before settling on his son.
"Father." Cole's accent had sharpened, matching his father's aristocratic tones. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Surprise visits keep one honest," Edward replied, clapping Cole on the shoulder with enough force to make him tense. "I flew in this morning. Couldn't miss celebrating my son's triumph, could I?"
Phoenix noticed how Cole's jaw clenched at the possessive emphasis on “my son.”
"And who's your friend?" Edward's attention turned to me with predatory interest. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
"Phoenix," I said, extending my hand with my most charming smile. "I work in promotional events." It was Phoenix Calder, but I wasn't giving him that.
Edward's handshake was firm, testing. "Promotional events. How...modern." The dismissal was subtle but unmistakable. "Cole, perhaps you should introduce me to your teammates. I'd love to meet the men who've had the privilege of playing alongside an Armstrong-Wells."
"Actually," I interjected before Cole could respond, "from what I've seen, natural talent only gets you so far. It's the work ethic that makes champions. Cole was just telling me about his training regimen. The discipline required for his position is remarkable."
Edward's eyebrows rose slightly. "Was he indeed? Cole's always been modest about his natural gifts. Though I suppose discipline is important for those who weren't born with inherent talent."
The insult was wrapped in praise, but I caught the way Cole's hands clenched at his sides. "And years of hard work," I ground out, not sure why I was irritated when daddy dearest was spouting just as I expected.
"Spoken like someone unfamiliar with true breeding," Edward replied with a cold smile. "Excellence runs in bloodlines, young man. The Armstrong-Wells family has been producing exceptional men for generations." I felt Cole's temper flare at the casual arrogance, but he stepped forward before I could respond.
"Phoenix is right about the work," Cole said quietly. "Bloodlines don't shoot pucks."
Edward's expression darkened almost imperceptibly. "Don't be modest, Cole. False humility is beneath you." He turned to me with renewed interest. "Tell me, what exactly do these promotional events entail? You seem rather young for such a...sophisticated position."
The question was loaded with implication, and I knewDaddyhad already assessed and categorized me. Probably accurately.
"I coordinate between athletes and corporate sponsors," I replied, maintaining my composure. "Building relationships, managing appearances."
"How fascinating." Edward's tone suggested it was anything but. "And I suppose you find hockey players particularly...receptive to your services?"
The innuendo was subtle enough to maintain plausible deniability, but clear enough to supposedly make me embarrassed. To say hockey players were firmly in the closet was an understatement. Beside him, Cole had gone very still. Even a Brit player with their wardrobes—because of course they called them that—wouldn’t find coming out any easier unless you were in Narnia.
"Father." Cole's voice carried a warning.
"What? I'm simply making conversation with your new friend." Edward's smile was all teeth. "Though I must say, Cole, you've always had a tendency to collect strays. Remember that dreadful boy from university? What was his name...Ashton?"
Cole's face had drained of color. "That's enough."
"Oh, but we were just getting acquainted." Edward placed a possessive hand on Cole's shoulder. "Phoenix, was it? Such an unusual name. Rather theatrical. Tell me about your family background—are you from Denver originally?"
I recognized the interrogation for what it was. Edward was looking for weak points to exploit. But there was something else in the older man's manner—a cruel pleasure in watching his son squirm. I had to remind myself not to care. "Originally from California," I lied smoothly."My family's in real estate." They had a one-bedroom hovel, before it was demolished, anyway.
"California real estate. How...volatile." Edward's grip on Cole's shoulder tightened. "Cole's learned to be more careful about his associations since that unfortunate incident four years ago. Haven't you, Son?"
Whatever had happened, it was clearly a weapon Edward wielded with practiced ease. Cole's mask was slipping, revealing flashes of old pain and newer rage. I also knew Cole hadn’t had anything to do with the betting scandal, as he’d been brought in the season after.
"I should get back to my teammates," Cole said through gritted teeth.
