"Okay, maybe a little."
"Have you told him?"
"No. It's too soon."
"Is it though?" Isla asks gently. "Because from what you've told us, he's clearly in love with you too."
I think about that constantly. The way Carter looks at me. The way he touches me like I'm precious. The way he's planning his future around me.
But saying it out loud feels huge. Permanent. Terrifying.
So I keep it inside, even though I feel it constantly.
Chapter 10
Carter
Everything isperfect for exactly sixteen days.
Then my father shows up at practice.
I'm running drills when Coach Davis calls me over.
"Lynch. Visitor."
My father stands by the boards, dressed in his usual expensive suit, looking like he owns the place. Which, given his donation history, he kind of does.
"We need to talk," he says without preamble.
"I'm in the middle of practice."
"This can't wait." He looks at Coach. "Give us a few minutes?"
Coach nods, of course he does, because my father is Richard Lynch and no one says no to him and I follow him to an empty corridor.
"What do you want?"
"To give you one more chance to fix this situation before I do it for you." The tone in his voice makes me worry about what he has planned.
"Fix what situation?"
"The journalist. This... relationship." He says the word like it's distasteful. "It's affecting your game, your focus, your draft prospects. Scouts are asking questions about your judgment."
"My judgment is fine." If scouts are thinking I can’t play my game because of Lennox, they are crazy.
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, you've let a woman who publicly attacked you manipulate you into defending her. That's not judgment. That's weakness." I feel like we are going to argue about the same thing over and over again.
"She didn't manipulate me. She wrote a fair article?—"
"Fair? She exposed private team issues to the public. Made you look incompetent as a leader." He steps closer. "And now you're dating her. Do you understand how that looks?"
"I don't care how it looks."
"Then you're a fool. The NHL is watching. They want players who are focused, disciplined, who don't get distracted by relationships that make them look weak." He pulls out his phone, shows me a series of texts. "Look. Scouts commenting on your 'emotional instability.' Teams questioning whether you can handle the pressure of professional hockey if you're this easily influenced."
My stomach drops. The texts are real. I recognize the names, scouts I've met, coaches who've shown interest.
"That doesn't mean?—"
