My hand freezes on the camera. “Nick never asked me out.”
“He mentioned it in the locker room, just floating the idea. Coach heard about it within the hour.” Callan shakes his head. “The message was clear.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s your dad.” Callan studies me. “Want you to be aware of how it is.”
“Did he put you up to this talk? To scare me away?” I ask.
“No, I’m telling you so you understand. Store the information away for a rainy day.”
The words sink in as I realize my father almost traded Nick Banks over a passing comment. The thought makes me nauseous. I can’t be the reason my father destroys anyone’s career, even someone I despise.
A sigh escapes me. “I’ll date whoever I want. Trust me.”
“I believe you.” He holds up his hands. “You’re working against a lot. It’s risky for everyone involved. Consider it a friendly public service announcement.”
“Thanks, I guess. Maybe I’ll attach a warning label to my wrist.” I set down the camera and pick up my sketchbook, settling into the chair across from him. “Okay, enough about my dad’s overprotective bullshit. Talk to me about something else. The goal is to capture you in your element.”
“Great.”
“I’ve found that the more I chat with people while I’m doing this, the more personality comes out in the portrait. Makes it mean something.”
He considers my words. “What do you want to know?”
“Whatever is on your mind,” I say.
“Now you sound like my therapist.” He cracks a grin.
“I’ve been told I’m a great listener. Just know that what you share within these walls stays here. It’s the artist’s promise. But we can start small. Tell me, did you always know you wanted to play hockey professionally?”
“Oh, so it’s an interview?”
“It can be.”
He talks about growing up in Minnesota and learning to skate on frozen lakes. His younger sister is a pediatric nurse in Chicago, and his expression shifts when he mentions her. I think it’s cute how his parents still attend every game they can drive to because it’s something they’ve always done.
When he speaks about this team, it’s with pride and affection. It’s admirable how he creates space for everyone to be their best on the ice. It’s a captain quality that’s less about commanding and more about encouraging. He talks with pride about the rookies he’s helped bring up over the years, and I see why my father chose him to lead the team. Callan is a green flag, a charming, safe space.
“Big game tonight,” I say. “You ready?”
“Always ready. You coming?”
“Nah,” I tell him.
“Too bad. Your dad thinks you’re our lucky charm.”
I smile. “Trust me, I’m not. That’s all you guys.”
“Yeah, we can’t afford another loss.” He rolls his shoulders. “I need everyone locked in. No distractions.”
“Think you’ll get that?”
“Depends.” He pauses. “Cross has been off this week. Can’t figure out why.”
As I open my mouth to respond, the knob clicks and swings open. Patterson steps inside, and the air in the room changes instantly.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter, sitting up straighter.
