“You didn’t want me,” I say.
He stiffens. “That’s not—”
“You didn’t want me,” I repeat, louder now. “You wanted me gone.”
Silence stretches.
“I had a career,” he says. “A future to protect. A reputation.”
“And I was inconvenient,” I say.
He doesn’t argue.
My hands tremble in my lap. “How did you know it was me at practice? How did you know I was here?”
He hesitates just long enough for my stomach to sink.
“You were flagged when you transferred,” he says. “Your name. Your age. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.”
“And before that?” I press.
He sighs. “You were noticed when you first arrived in town.”
An uneasy feeling settles in my chest.
“You’ve been aware of where I am this whole time,” I say.
“I’ve been staying informed,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“And Cooper?” I ask, standing abruptly. “Did that cross your desk too?”
His gaze sharpens.
“I’m aware you’ve been spending time with one of my players,” he says carefully. “I’m not accusing you of anything, but like I said, I have a program to protect, and I don’t need any unnecessary distractions.”
He doesn’t have to say it.
The implication in his voice is clear.
Heat floods my face. “You think I’m using him.”
“Cooper Rowden has a whole future ahead of him,” he says evenly. “He needs to stay focused. I’ve seen how quickly personal matters can derail everything. I won’t have that hanging over my program.”
The words settle between us, like this is just another decision he’s already made.
I let out a breath that turns jagged. “You selfish bastard. All you care about is yourself and your precious hockey team. You don’t care about Cooper. You don’t care about what he wants.”
He doesn’t argue.
He doesn’t defend himself.
He just watches me like I’m proving a point he already calculated.
And that’s what finally cracks something open in my chest.
It’s not the money. Not the paperwork. Not even the years he chose silence.
It’s this.
