“It wasn’t a wedding,” I say quietly. “We eloped. This summer, when the season is over, we’ll have some kind of party or celebration.”
Dad grunts. “And I suppose I have to pay for it.”
“You pay for nothing,” Viktor interjects. “We do not need your money.”
“You know, you owe Nathan an apology,” Dad continues like Viktor didn’t even say anything. “You humiliated him by getting married so soon after the breakup.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t owe Nathan a damn thing.”
If Dad only knew how much Nathan owes me.
But I can’t tell him the real reason I dumped him. That would be the most humiliating thing of all. And of course, Nathan won’t admit to being a liar and a thief, so we’re at an impasse with that.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Dad finally says.
“I’m twenty-six years old. I can make mistakes and learn to live with them, if necessary.”
He sighs. “You can’t come running home with your tail between your legs. You understand that, right? If Mr. Maslak has protected himself the way I think he has, then you’re going to end up with nothing.”
I don’t say anything. He never listens anyway.
“Where are we going?” I ask instead. “Viktor has practice. The third round of the playoffs is starting.”
Dad’s expression shifts slightly because he loves sports. Not hockey specifically, but certainly football and baseball, with a little basketball and golf thrown in for good measure.
“Lawrence, drop Mr. Maslak off at the arena since it’s on the way.”
I’m annoyed because that will leave him without a way home.
“And what about me?” I ask dryly.
Dad shrugs. “I’m guessing a smart, independent woman like you can find your way home.”
“She comes with me,” Viktor says, squeezing my hand again. “You will leave us both at the arena.”
Dad hesitates but then shrugs again. “As you wish.”
Then he turns to the window and doesn’t say another word.
And that’s scarier than anything he actually said because my dad is most conniving when he’s quiet.
Chapter Eight
Viktor
I’m so fucking pissed it’s hard to keep from punching something.
Holly’s father is a world-class ass and now I better understand why she’s been so nervous. He’s a stereotypical politician—smarmy and calculating and full of himself. Like abandoning me at the arena, and Holly in downtown Atlanta, will teach us some kind of lesson.
What a fucking asshole.
By the time we get to the arena I’m ready to explode but I keep it together for Holly’s sake. I don’t want her to think I’m upset with her.
“Gate seven,” I call out to Lawrence, who follows the sign in that direction.
“Here.” We stop by the gate, which is manned by a security guard since this is the players’ parking lot and entrance.
I open the door before Lawrence has a chance to get out, tugging Holly by the hand.
