"I… haven't told him," I explain because this is obviously hurting Conner and I feel like a total asshole suddenly. I didn't even think to consider if it would bother Conner that my family doesn't know about us. "I wanted to tell them in person, but we haven't gotten together yet. I wasn't hiding us. My dad is just… well, even before the whole debacle with Beckett, he was protective. I know he likes you, but when I was a teenager his only dating rule was no hockey players.”
Conner snorts, his perfect mouth twisting into a bit of a sneer. “Ironic. Your dad was the biggest player in the league at one point.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard. I made the mistake of Googling him once when I was younger,” I admit and shudder. “But I’m not a kid anymore and you’re not just some random hockey player. Beckett didn’t play and look at how well he treated me. And is still treating me.”
"Yeah, I kind of pointed that out to your dad," Conner tells me. "And he came at me kind of… growly to say the least. Basically made it clear that if you were involved with someone, especially a hockey player, you shouldn't be."
“He did what?” The wind is now whipping around us, biting at my cheeks, which is a mixed blessing because if the cold wasn’t swirling around us I’d be overheating with anger.
“Yeah. Listen, Mac, this is… complicated now,” Conner tells me, pushing himself off the side of the barn that he was slumped against and stuffing both hands back in his pockets. “Your dad is my coach and no coach wants their daughter with one of their players. Not a fucking one. It makes the whole work situation a ticking time bomb. I’ve struggled enough to last a lifetime with my coaches in the last two years.”
“Look, my dad will be fine after I explain everything to him,” I reply, but it feels like Conner isn’t listening. He’s back to staring at that stupid snowy field behind me. “He’s just a little annoyed because he heard the news from someone else.”
“Mmf,” Conner grunts. I have no idea what that sound means.
“Your video was… a little gruff,” I say as that stupid Instagram clip Heather showed me plays in my head. “You’re going to missnothingwhile you’re away.”
His face finally softens, and he looks at me again. He blinks and exhales long and slow. “I panicked. You hid us from your dad, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to be the one to confirm it. Hey new coach, I’m banging your daughter, but don’t let that influence how you treat me on the ice.”
"My dad is a professional. He's not going to punish your career," I argue, starting to get annoyed because why can't I breathe properly. Why does my chest hurt? "He likes you Con. And your family. And he will see you're treating me right. That's all he cares about. I'll talk to him."
“When? Because we get on a plane together for a week-long road trip today and I don’t think this is something you should just spring on him and then leave me to deal with the aftermath,” Conner replies. “I have to concentrate on being a big part of getting this team into a playoff position, Mac. I can’t be wasting time kissing the coach’s ass because he’s pissed I’m dating his daughter.”
Oh.
He looks so… distant. Like he’s saying something more than he’s said. Like he’s made a decision that he hasn’t articulated yet but no matter what I respond here, he’s… ending this? I think that imaginary corset just cracked every single rib. It’s impossible to fill my lungs with air at the moment. Tears prick the backs of my eyes.
“So… we should, what? End this?”
“I’m just saying it’s complicated,” Conner snaps, like I’m being dense. “Don’t you get that? My sports psychiatrist told me to keep everything to do with my career simple. Get back to basics. Like you said, play without a name on my jersey. Now the name on my jersey is ‘coach’s daughter’s boyfriend’. This is complicated.”
“Yes, and you don’t do difficult,” I reply, stepping back from him. Oh God, I have been such a damn fool. “That’s been your problem all this time, hasn’t it? Nothing has ever been hard for you. Not hockey, not women, not anything. And so when things started getting hard in Brooklyn you turtled. Just closed up and panicked and let it all fall apart. And you’re going to do that with me too. Cool. I get it. Why work at anything when something else will be thrown your way.”
“What the fuck, Mac,” he whispers, his eyes wide and sad. “That’s what you really think of me?”
I almost smile at that. “No, actually. I can’t even begin to explain to you what I really think of you because you don’t deserve to hear it right now. And I’m not sure it even matters.”
I push past him and shove my key in the lock. “Go on your road trip, Con. Play like there’s no name on the back of your jersey. Not Garrison and definitely not the title of boyfriend.”
I shut the door in his face and put the chain on the door before stomping upstairs, almost falling because I miss a step when the tears start blurring my vision. He's still pounding on the door as I drop my bag and coat in the hallway and lean against the wall covering my face with my hands, which are immediately coated in tears. That stupid fifth-grade teacher's voice fills my ears again.
'You, Mackenzie have always been and will always be a have not, not a have. And the sooner you accept that thebetter off you'll be.'
Conner Garrison is the crown prince of hockey so of course he doesn't want me. Not now that it takes work. I'm not the type of person people fight for.
And that’s when Conner Garrison breaks down my front door.
Chapter 30
Conner
If I’m honest with myself, I think I did come over here looking for a way out. It wasn’t a plan or even a clear thought, but as soon as we started talking, I could see it was headed that way. And I just stood there and let it happen.
Having a sports psychiatrist has been a much-needed humbling experience. The first couple of sessions were just me talking. A lot. Explaining my version of my entire career up until now. The next two were this man pulling at threads with pointed questions. Getting me to unravel truths behind the highlights and lowlights of the last seven years since I was drafted.
Doctor Wayne nevertellsme anything. He leads me to my own conclusions. And I've come to admit to myself and accept, that being a Garrison in professional hockey means I don't have to worry about missed opportunities. Another one will always be handed to me. Like the Portland Riptide. I've come to swallow the uncomfortable truth that they only picked me up for my name. I'm still given more slack, status, and leeway because of my family's legacy than someone else might get, on and off the ice. Am I as talented as I think I am? Maybenot. So I have decided to work even harder. Not for anyone else but for myself.
But today, right this minute, it hits me that that whole mindset should also applyoffthe ice. I remember when I had that childhood crush on Mac and why I never did a thing about it. Because there were easier options. Girls who lived closer were showing blatant interest, and were much less of a challenge, with fewer obstacles. My whole life has been about the low-hanging fruit. Sad but true.
