His jaw tightens slightly. “Because she’s my daughter.”
I don’t react right away. I already know that. He might not know that I do. But the way he says it—like that alone should shut this down—doesn’t sit right.
“And?” I ask.
“And when my daughter starts showing up around my team,” he says carefully, “that becomes my concern.”
“Who I’m spending my time with has nothing to do with hockey. She came to a game,” I reply. “That’s not exactly crossing a line.”
“It is when people start talking.”
There it is.
“Talking about what?”
“You know how this works,” he says. “One picture. One rumor. It doesn’t take much.”
I hold his stare. “She’s not a rumor.”
“She is when she’s with you.”
That lands heavier than he probably intended.
“I don’t want her around this program,” he continues. “Around the noise. Around the attention.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on her?” I ask.
“I’ve been informed.”
The phrase makes my jaw tighten. Suddenly, the incident in the alley behind Broken Saddle doesn’t feel so random anymore.
“You don’t get to call me in here and tell me who I can spend time with,” I say. “You sure as hell don’t get to try to run her out of town.”
“Rowdy—”
“No. If this is about hockey, say it’s about hockey.”
His expression hardens. “You’re too valuable to this team to lose focus. You’ve got a future most guys would kill for.”
Now it all makes sense.
“You need to think long term,” he adds. “Careers get destroyed over less.”
“Are you worried about my game,” I ask quietly, “or about your reputation?”
That’s when he stands.
And that’s when he stops calling me Rowdy.
“Cooper,” he says, voice low and detached. “I’m telling you one last time to stay away from her.”
“And if I don’t?”
His eyes hold mine. “Then I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”
It’s not a threat, but a warning.
My whole body hums. I can’t tell if it’s from the hit or the tension simmering under my skin.
