Coach’s daughter. Team captain. Vegas.
It’s the kind of headline people love.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Daniel continues, “I know we talked about it briefly, but I wanted to remind you so no one important gets blindsided.”
I have a good idea who he means by “no one.”
I stare at the wall, pulse thudding.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Thanks, Daniel”
I hang up and stand there for a second, phone still in my hand, staring at nothing.
I walk back toward the living room, already figuring out how to break it to Talia.
She’s in the kitchen, setting her bag down on the counter, when her phone buzzes.
She glances at it.
Her eyes widen.
“What?” I ask.
She holds up the screen like it’s evidence.
“Dad,” she says, voice thin. “He wants us over for dinner. Tomorrow.”
For a second, the house feels too quiet.
Like even the walls are holding their breath.
I glance at her phone and read the message.
Dad:
Tomorrow. Dinner. You and Jake. 7 p.m.
I drag a hand down my face.
Perfect timing, Daniel would call it.
Talia is still staring at her screen like it might detonate.
“Why is he inviting us? He usually just ignores me because he’s so busy with hockey,” she says quietly.
My brain is already moving. Calculating angles. Outcomes. Damage control. I don’t answer right away.
“Jake?” she prompts.
I exhale slowly.
“We have to tell him.”
Her brows knit together. “Tell him what?”
“I just spoke to Daniel. He reminded me the media can access public records. If this gets out, it won’t stay quiet. We need to move fast. I’d rather he hear it from us. Wouldn’t you?”
