He looks at my hand, so close to his. "What are we doing, Lennox?"
"I don't know. But it feels like something."
"It feels dangerous."
We stare at each other, and the air between us is charged with possibility.
Then his phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
He checks it, and his expression changes. "Shit."
"What?"
"My father. He's coming to campus this weekend. For the big game." He runs a hand through his hair. "He wants to meet with me beforehand. 'Discuss my future.'"
"That doesn't sound good."
"It's not. He knows about the article situation and wants to micromanage how I handle it." He stands. "I should go. Need to call Maya, make sure she knows to avoid him if he's here."
"Carter, wait?—"
But he's already leaving, and I'm left sitting in the coffee shop with two half-finished lattes and the feeling that I just saw something vulnerable he didn't mean to show.
I pull out my phone and text Isla:I think I'm in trouble.
Her response is immediate:What kind of trouble?
Me:The Carter Lynch kind.
Isla:Called it. What are you going to do?
Me:No idea. But I need to figure it out fast.
Because writing an objective article about someone is hard enough.
Writing one about someone you're starting to care about might be impossible.
Chapter 6
Carter
My father arrives Friday afternoon,unannounced except for a curt text:In town.Meet me at the hotel. 7pm.
I consider ignoring it, but Richard Lynch doesn't accept being ignored.
I show up at the Thornhill Grand Hotel at seven exactly. He's waiting in the lobby bar, looking every inch the former NHL star, tall, broad, graying but still imposing.
"Carter." He doesn't stand, doesn't smile. Just gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit."
I sit, pissed off that he thinks I’m a dog he can talk to me like this. I’m not in the mood to fight with him.
"Scotch?" He signals the bartender without waiting for my answer. "You look tired."
"It's been a long week."
"I imagine. Between that journalist's hit piece and the upcoming tournament, you must be under considerable pressure." The drinks arrive. "Tell me you're handling it."
"I'm handling it."
