“You lost that right long before Aubrey was born,” I grit out. “Don’t ever call this number again.”
He laughs, the same low, taunting sound that used to precede every slammed door. “You always were mouthy. Tell your little lady I said hi.”
Click.
The call drops, leaving static echoing in my head.
“Everything okay?” Rooks asks, voice tentative.
“Yeah,” I lie, shoving the phone into my waistband. My breathing’s all wrong again, too shallow, too fast.
Thorn yells from center ice. “You skating or standing, Harrison?”
I grab my stick, push back onto the ice, and bury every thought under the rhythm of my blades.
The last thing I need is that man creeping back into our lives, especially now that Oakley and Aubrey are both under my roof.
I force my focus back to the ice. The next drill starts, and I push hard out of the zone, chasing the puck down the boards. My blades bite too deep, my stick hits the ice half a beat late. Rooks’s pass ricochets off my skate and dies at center.
“Focus, Cap!” one of the rookies yells, but the words barely register.
That voice—his voice—won’t stop playing on a loop inside my head. I can’t hear anything else. Not the play calls, not the drills, not the guys skating past me. By the time Thorn blows the whistle again, I’m already expecting it.
“Bench. Now.”
I skate off, slower this time, chest burning. Thorn meets me halfway, his eyes narrowing at whatever he sees on my face.
“Helmet off.”
I yank it loose, the strap snapping against my chin.
“Something on your mind, Harrison?” His tone isn’t angry. It’s that low, measured calm that means he’s one second away from benching me entirely.
“Just a bad call,” I mutter.
“Your head clearly isn’t in it, and you’re skating like you’ve got weights tied to your ankles. Great idea for future drills, but I need you game-ready.”
I swallow hard, looking past him toward the rink glass. The reflection staring back doesn’t look like the man that left home this morning. He looks strung out and panicked.
“Was it Oakley?”
I shake my head once. “No.”
Thorn studies me for another long second before motioning toward the tunnel. “My office, now.”
“Thorn, I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Harrison.”
The authority in his tone cuts through whatever argument I might’ve had. I grab my stick and head down the tunnel, the sound of the team resuming drills echoing behind me. Thorn follows, closing the door to his office once we’re inside.
He doesn’t sit. Just crosses his arms and stares me down.
“You want to tell me what’s going on, or you want me to start guessing?”
I scrub both hands over my face. “Someone called. Someone who shouldn’t have my number.”
His brows knit. “Reporter?”
