"Can I ask you something?" His voice changes, going quieter, the professional edge receding. "The nest."
My breath stops.
"Someone mentioned it?" I manage.
"No. Nobody mentioned it." He looks down at his coffee mug, turning it between his hands. "Your mother had one. You know that. After she passed, I boxed everything up because I couldn't look at it. The blankets, the pillows, all of it. I put it in storage and told myself I'd deal with it when I was ready." He pauses. "I was never ready. And it occurred to me, watching you grow up, that I never talked to you about it. About what it meant to her. About whether you might..."
He trails off, his jaw working, and I realize my father is sitting across from me, trying not to cry.
"I have one," I whisper. "I've had one since freshman year."
He nods, pressing the heel of his free hand against his eye. "I should have known. I should have asked. You were always so much like her and that was your favorite place in the whole house." His voice comes out rough. "Your mother would have known what you needed. She would have seen it in a heartbeat and she would have sat with you and helped you build the damn thing." A breath shudders out of him. "I didn't know how to look for what I couldn't see, Iris. I thought I was giving you space. Turns out I was just giving you room to hide."
My chin trembles. "You didn't fail me, Dad."
"Feels like I did."
"You raised me. Alone. You moved across the country and built a career and made sure I had everything I needed." I reach across the table and take his hand, his fingers closing around mine. "Mom would be proud of you.I'mproud of you. You really... it’s not weird? Me as an Alpha with a nest?"
"No, Iris. It’s not. I just... I need some time," he says finally, clearing his throat, pulling his hand back to wipe his face. "To process all of this. The relationship, not the nesting. Everything about you is beautiful. I need time, but it’s not because I disapprove, Iris. I just want to get it right."
That’s not how I thought this was going to go. "Take whatever time you need."
"The meeting tomorrow still happens. I need to see the boys in my office and have a conversation with them face-to-face." He straightens in his chair, the coach settling back over the father again. "And I need to deal with Chad before he sets foot on my field again."
"Okay."
I stand, pulling my coat tighter around me, my keys biting into my palm. He walks me to the door, his hand finding my shoulder as I step onto the porch. The early spring air immediately cuts through my coat, my breath clouding between us.
"Iris."
I turn back to see him standing in the doorway.
"Your mother would have liked them." He manages a smile. "She would have liked the way you are around them and how happy they make you." I nod, not trusting my voice as he says one more thing. “I’ll get there, baby girl. I’ll do better, I promise.”
I step back up to him and hug him tight. “That’s all I need, Dad. That’s all I need.”
quentin
Coach'sofficesmellslikecoffee and old playbooks, the shelves lined with binders going back at least a decade. A framed photo of the team's first conference championship sits on the corner of his desk next to a mug that says World's Okayest Dad, which Iris told me she bought him as a joke when she was fifteen and he's used every single day since.
My shoulder still aches from yesterday's hit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Milo is beside me, his knee bouncing, his hands gripping the armrests with all the subtlety he can muster. Which is none. Iris is on his other side, her hands folded in her lap. I can’t read her but I know she talked with her father last night and it’s either the end of us or the beginning and I’m not sure which is more terrifying.
Because now the three of us are sitting across from him while he finishes his coffee and lets the silence do its work.
Coach sets the mug down and folds his hands on the desk. His eyes move between the three of us several times before he speaks. "I spoke with Iris yesterday but now I want to hear it with all three of you in the room. How long?"
"Since the auction," Iris answers. "Almost two weeks."
He nods, his gaze shifting to me almost as if he’s making sure that Iris and us are on the same page. "And what is this? What are we calling it?"
"A relationship," I say, realizing he wants Milo and I to be as confident as Iris was last night going to him. There’s no more hiding, no more beating around the bush. If he disapproves, it is what it is but I have to let him know the truth. "The three of us."
Our coach leans back, folding his hands over his stomach. "You understand the position that puts me in. My daughter, two of my players. The optics alone—"
"We understand," Iris cuts in. "That's why I came to you last night instead of letting the sideline be the only version of this you got."
Coach holds her gaze for a moment, then turns back to me. His expression doesn't soften but it doesn't harden either. He's measuring something specific, and I know what it is before he asks. "What does a Beta want with my Alpha daughter?"
