We stare at each other, and the air between us crackles with electricity. I feel the sparks, and I wonder if he does too.
“You’re too used to people backing down from you. I’m not one of your teammates or your puck bunnies. I don’t give a fuck that you’re Patterson Cross. Got it?”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” he says, his voice dripping with venom.
“The only mistake I made was thinking there was something between us.” I hold his gaze. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.”
I turn and walk away. When he says my name, I don’t stop. The opposite door slams closed, and instead of leaving, I loop back around through the side corridor that connects to the administrative wing. My father’s office is at the end of the hallway, and the door is half open.
I stroll toward it and hear Patterson.
“Coach, you have a second?” His voice is more on edge than usual.
I hear the creak of my father’s chair as he shifts.
“What’s on your mind?”
“It’s about the portrait schedule your daughter posted.”
“And?”
“She scheduled me for three sessions next week, and I’ve got practice and games and media obligations. Three sessions is a lot of time to carve out while also practicing.”
I press my back against the wall and realize I’m holding my breath.
“Patterson.” His chair creaks again, like he’s leaning back to study him. “My daughter has painted for galleries across Europeand for influential people across the world. If she believes she needs three sessions with you, then you’ll give her that.”
“But—”
“This isn’t up for discussion. Now, it’s time for me to have a talk with you. Sit.”
I hear a few footsteps.
“This rivalry you two have needs to stop.”
I have to press my hand over my mouth to keep from saying something.
“Sir, with all due respect, she broke my brother’s heart,” Patterson manages.
“And what does your brother have to do with you? Can you not think freely or have your own opinions outside of his?” my dad asks.
I’m not sure anyone has ever asked Patterson that. The silence drags on.
“We don’t get along,” Patterson says.
“Try,” my father tells him.
“I have.”
“Then try harder,” my dad says. “The team is talking about it. I’ve noticed how tense you get when she’s around. That stops right now.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“When it comes to your sessions, you’ll show up and do whatever she asks without one complaint. If Kendall tells me you’re giving her issues, I’m going to be your problem.” My father’s voice hardens. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of my office because I have actual work to do.”
