“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t do it.” He leaned back in his chair, and the leather creaked. “When your mother died, you were so young. I thought if I could keep you close, you’d be safe.”
The tears came before I could stop them. I’d told myself in the hallway that I wouldn’t cry, that I’d be strong and handle this like an adult.
I was crying anyway.
“I needed you to be invisible,” my father said, his voice going quieter, “because I was terrified of losing you too. If you stayed in the background, then nothing bad could happen to you. But instead, I made you disappear, even from yourself.”
“I didn’t know how to be anything else,” I said through tears. “I didn’t know how to want something that wasn’t about being near you.”
“And that’s on me.” My father’s jaw tightened. “I should’ve pushed you to build your own life instead of orbiting mine. If I’d seen what I was doing, I would’ve stopped it. But I was selfish. I wanted you close because you were all I had left of her.”
Years of grief sat between us. Mom’s death had carved hollows in us both, and we’d been filling the space with hockey instead of each other.
My father turned to Tolrek. “You should’ve come to me sooner.”
“Agreed,” Tolrek said.
“But.” My father paused. “I also know my daughter well enough to know that if she chose you, and she’s willing to risk everything for you, then you’re worth it.”
Surprise showed on Tolrek’s face.
“She doesn’t do anything halfway,” my father said. “So if she loves you…” The word caught in his throat, and he had to force it out. “Then you’re the real thing.”
My father leaned back in his chair, linking his arms across his chest.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “There are terms you two must follow if you want to continue this relationship with this team and in this arena.”
I tensed.
“First, Haley won’t work with Tolrek’s footage anymore unless it’s team-wide breakdowns. Mark will handle individual sessions with the defensive unit from now on.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“This protects you both,” Dad said. “No one can say you’re giving him favorable analysis. No one can question whether I’m giving him ice time because of you. The optics matter, whether we like it or not.”
The logic made sense.
“Second, the team needs to know. Not the media yet, however. We need to get ahead of this.”
“When?” Tolrek asked.
“Team meeting tomorrow morning. I’ll handle it.”
My belly dropped.
Tomorrow morning, my father would stand in front of twenty-three professional hockey players and all the staff and tell them his daughter was sleeping with their first-line defenseman. Players I’d analyzed for years. Ones who’d nodded at me in hallways and treated me like furniture.
They’d all know, and some would think I’d been spreading my legs instead of doing my job.
“Haley.” My father’s voice cut through the spiral. “Look at me.”
I did.
“I’m handling it,” he said. “Not you. Me. And anyone who has a problem with it can come talk to me directly.” He pulled in a breath and released it. “Third, I don’t care what you do outside this arena. But inside, you’re staff, and he’s a player. No displays or complications. You maintain professionalism at all times.”
“Understood,” Tolrek said.
Emotions flickered across his face before he locked them down, though I knew exactly what he was thinking. The tape sessions were done. The hours we’d spent in my office, heads bent over footage, learning each other through hockey, were over. Mark would take my place, and I’d lose the excuse to be near him during the day.
