He stops at his office door, hand on the handle, and turns to me, livid. The fluorescent lights catch the gray in his mustache, the lines around his eyes that weren’t there when I was a kid.
When did he get so old?
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he asks, opening the door and letting me walk in.
I sit in the chair in front of his desk, one I used to sit at when I was growing up. Not much has changed here. His office always smells like coffee and the wintergreen mints he keeps in his desk drawer and eats like candy. Championship photos line the walls, and motivational quotes he’s collected over thirty years are in cheap frames between them. On his desk, facing outward so visitors can see it, sits a framed picture of me in my skating costume. I was young, naive, and Olympic-bound. That was the year before I got injured, and my entire life changed.
I used to love that photo. Now it feels like a version of me that never existed.
My father moves behind his desk, but doesn’t sit. He crosses his arms—a position I’ve seen him take with players a thousand times. This is thedisappointed coachpose. Theyou fucked up, and now you’re going to hear about itstance. I’ve had my fair share of ass chewings over the years, but I have a feeling this will be the absolute worst.
“It ends, Kendall. Right now. You’re not to see him again,” he demands.
“I can’t agree to that,” I say.
“What about Jameson?” The words come out low.
“It was fake,” I tell him, refusing to lie. There is no denying what we were doing.
My father glares at me, realizing Patterson and I have been seeing each other for longer than he thought.
“This has been going on for months.” He says it with disdain. “You’ve been sneaking around with one of my players for a few months. I don’t know who you are anymore, Kendall.”
“I was going to tell you. After the season, after?—”
“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t sit there and tell me you had planned to lie to me.”
“To protect you. To protect him. Dad, if?—”
“I said,don’t. But apparently, you can’t follow rules.” His palm slaps the desk, and I flinch. “Don’t pretend this was about protecting anyone but yourself. You wanted to have your fun without facing consequences. That’s what this was.”
“You think this is a fling?” I question.
“Yes.” He comes around the desk, getting closer. “Wait until your mother finds out about what you’ve done. You’re selfish.”
The words land like a physical blow. I actually feel them in my body, a hot, sick twist beneath my ribs.
“I’m happy.” I don’t look away from him. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“He’s one of my best players, Kendall. One of the best in the league.” He says it like I’m stupid, like I somehow missed this obvious fact. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And you know how these men are. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.”
“Patterson isn’t like that.”
“Yes, he is.” He’s close enough now that I can see the broken capillaries in his cheeks from stress. “Every single one. I’ve watched it happen a hundred times. Pretty girl catches their eye; they chase her until they get what they want, and then they move on to the next. You’re Coach Hart’s daughter. A trophy. A conquest. Something to brag about in the locker room.”
“He has never treated me like a trophy.”
“Then why the secrecy? Why the sneaking around?” He throws his hands up. “If this is so real, so pure, why didn’t either of you come to me? Because you knew it was wrong.”
“No, it’s because you would’ve acted unhinged, like this!” The words explode out of me. “You would’ve lost your mind and threatened his career and treated him like shit. I asked that we hide it because you’re overprotective, and look”—I gesture at the space between us—“here you are, proving me right.”
“Don’t you dare blame your scheme on me.” He laughs bitterly. “It’s not my fault you’re a liar.”
Those words hurt.Liar.He’s never called me that before.
“I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I hid it. But I’m not sorry I fell in love with him. I won’t apologize for that.”
“End it right now, and we can all walk away from this, and I’ll forget it ever happened,” he says.
