Of course I don’t argue out loud. Instead Audrey steps forward and reacquaints herself with my dad before introducing Josh, who fawns all over my father, telling him what a big fan he is. When their love fest is over, he turns back to me. “What areyoudoing here would be a better question.”
“I…I got tickets from…”
I’m not sure I want to finish my sentence, but before I can even try, my dad, as usual, doesn’t wait to hear what I have to say. “And why are you driving a BMW? I know you didn’t buy it, so who owns it?”
He glances at Audrey and Josh, who both turn to me. Well, here goes nothing. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”
Audrey grins wildly at my admission. My father looks flabbergasted. “You’re dating someone?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’m borrowing his car until I buy a new one, which should be this weekend.”
“Who?”
I take a deep breath. “Sebastian Deveau.”
My father’s reaction is priceless—at first. He blinks his big gray eyes. His mouth twitches, then falls open, and then slams shut. He looks confused, startled and quite frankly flummoxed. But then it becomes exactly what I dreaded—smug. “My little Shaynie is dating a hockey player?”
I feel the anger make my body rigid. So rigid I don’t even respond with a nod. He laughs a big, deep belly laugh. Audrey must understand how this is making me feel, so she hooks her arm through mine again and says, “He’s a really great guy.”
“Yeah, despite his profession,” I add bitingly.
My dad stops laughing at that, but the smug smile doesn’t die with the laughter. “Oh, we’re all great guys when we want to be.” Then he steps forward and pats my shoulder as he pushes open the door to the arena. “See you later, honey. I don’t want to be late.”
His words were condescending and flippant. And as we enter the arena behind him, flashing our passes at the security guard there, I watch him trot away, and I fight the urge to flip him off behind his back, in front of all the people milling about the concourse. Most of whom are recognizing him and pointing with excited smiles on their faces.
“What the hell does that mean, that we all are when we want to be?” Josh asks to no one in particular.
“It means he thinks Seb is acting like he’s not a womanizer but really is,” I mutter back. “Just like dear old Dad was.”
Josh and Audrey don’t respond because, really, what do you say?Sorry your dad was a womanizing manwhore and just acted like a complete douche.I glance at the passes and the section marked on them and start heading down the concrete corridor in that direction, even though the last thing I want is to watch a hockey game right now.
Two hours later and I’m regretting being here even more. The Winterhawks are about four minutes away from losing the second of two here at home, which would put the series at 2–2. The energy in the building is tense, and it’s even worse on the ice.
The Winterhawks were up 2–0 early in the first and added a goal to that in the opening minute of the second period, but the Thunder captain, Levi Casco, scored two goals. And a defenseman named Duncan Darby stole the puck from Sebastian and scored at the beginning of the third to tie the game. Then the Thunder’s assistant captain, Jude Braddock, scored, giving the Thunder the lead. If they win this game, it’s going to be a nightmare going back to San Francisco. The Winterhawks will have lost the momentum and probably some confidence.
There’s a faceoff just left of the Thunder goalie and Jordan wins it, shooting the puck back to Sebastian, who spins to get free of Darby and manages to get a shot off on net. The Thunder’s goalie blocks the shot, but the puck bounces off him and Seb clambers for the rebound shot as the Thunder team converges on him. He gets the shot off, but, unfortunately, the goalie gloves the puck. The whistle blows, but the shoving and swearing with the pile of Thunder and Winterhawks players in front of the net doesn’t stop.
I can see, even from here, the frustration all over Sebastian’s face. The linesmen both get in there and start to tug on jerseys, breaking up the scrum.
As the ref gathers the puck for another faceoff, I watch Sebastian glide toward Jordan. Braddock’s jaw keeps flapping, and he must say something that gets to Jordan, because he spins back to Braddock. They both drop their sticks but not their gloves and start shoving each other. Sebastian skates over, I think to break it up, and Braddock’s mouth starts moving again, and then suddenly Sebastian’s glove is flying over Jordan’s shoulder and Braddock is tumbling backward onto the ice after getting a solid punch to the side of his helmet.
Whistles blow. Seb is hauled off to the penalty box and a second later so is Jordan because, even though the whistle had blown, he dropped his glove and skates at Braddock.
“You’ve got a feisty one,” Audrey murmurs, and I can’t tell if she’s impressed or horrified. I don’t look over to find out. I’m too busy glaring at Sebastian in the penalty box.
“He just cost them the game,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, but Josh hears me.
“Yeah, you can’t pull the goalie and go hard to the net when you’ve got two guys in the box. This one is over.” He sounds like a kid who just found out Santa Claus isn’t real.
And three minutes later it’s confirmed. The Thunder win 4–3, tying the series and ending this one with a massive brawl on the ice. Every single player on the ice is shoving or punching someone and the players on the bench are yelling at the other bench, sticks up and curses hurling.
“We should go,” I say quietly.
“I thought Seb said we should go downstairs after the game and meet him in the family lounge,” Josh reminds me.
“I don’t know about that now…” I caution, my instincts from childhood kicking in. After losses like this, my mother learned to stay away. Just head straight home and don’t expect my father to join until the wee hours of the morning, if at all.
But then our conversation from the other night, the one he started while taking off his clothes in my bedroom, comes back to me.
