"It is what it is." His voice shifts into something more settled. "I'll be back on the ice before you know it. And when I am, you can watch. You live on campus now, so no excuses."
"I'll be in the front row," I say.
A small silence. The good kind, the kind that used to feel comfortable.
"Speaking of hockey," I say. "I have to tell you something. I should have mentioned it sooner."
"What?"
"When I first transferred, I went to one of your practices." I let the slight embarrassment color my voice naturally. "Well, youweren’t there, of course. I was so upset about everything, and ended up going to see what your life was like before I got here.”
He’s quiet.
"You went to practice," he says.
“Yeah.”
"Did you talk to anyone?"
"Not really. I watched for a bit and left." I hesitate. "Cody, honestly? After what happened to you, I was glad I'd gone. I thought maybe if I'd seen the team in person, I'd be able to figure out whether anyone had anything against you. I even suspected Julian for a while—"
"Julian." His voice shifts. "Why Julian?"
"I don’t know. I was angry. Really angry." I hesitate. "I even thought about your dad at one point." I keep my voice light, trying to make a joke out of it.
The silence this time is different.
"My dad," he echoes, and I know he doesn’t like a single word I’m saying. I thought maybe he’d understand. It’s clear that I was wrong.
"I was scared and grasping at anything." I soften my voice. "I didn't find anything. I just needed to feel like I was doing something."
"You shouldn't have been asking questions." I can hear the tightness in his voice. "You don't know what you could have walked into."
"I know."
"You should have told me the second I woke up."
"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn’t. I can tell you’re getting better now. Your dad told me not to stress you, but I’m telling you now, right? That’s what matters." The guilt I let through is real, just not for the reason he thinks. "Do you remember anything? From that night?"
"No." Sharp. Immediate. "I don't recall a damn thing. Don't ask me that again."
I go quiet, blinking at his harsh tone.
"Sorry," I say softly.
He exhales. The warmth returns, the tool deployed. "I just don't want you in situations you can't handle alone. That's what you have me for."
I stay quiet. I hate when he dominates me.
"What are you doing right now? You sound like you're outside."
"I am." I take a breath. "I got a job. I'm actually walking in right now, so I only have a second—"
"What do you mean you got a job?"
"Yeah. A coffee shop near campus. I just started this—"
"Adela." The patient measured tone. "You're the mayor's daughter. You don't need a job."
