Page 8 of Rush

“I didn’t know we had a new staff member starting.”

So, my dad hasn’t told any of the players that I’ll be working here. Great.

“What will you be doing?” he asks.

“Oh, this and that,” I reply.

He laughs. “You don’t give much away, do you?”

I shrug.

His eyes glitter with amusement and challenge. “Do I get your name at least?”

I take a deep breath. “Ari. Arianna…Petrelli.”

I watch as my name filters in, and realization dawns on him.

The light fades out of his eyes. His expression shuts down.

And my stomach suddenly feels very empty.

He steps away, putting a good amount of distance between us. His arms fold over his chest, like a barrier. Jaw gritting. “You’re Coach’s daughter.”

I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “Yes.”

“I didn’t know you’d be working here.”

“I…it…” I lift my hands, unsure of what to say.

There’s a beat of silence. A moment of nothing. Neither of us says anything.

Then, he abruptly turns to his changing station, giving me his back.

Wow. Okay.

I’m used to people looking at me like shit. But not this kind of reaction. Like I have an infectious disease.

I take a deep breath and find my voice. “Is…is there a problem?”

“Nope.” He pulls a team shirt off a hanger.

I stand here, knowing full well there is a problem, but not really knowing how to handle his adverse reaction to me.

He glances over his shoulder at me. There’s none of the warmth or humor from before. His eyes are blank and narrowed, looking at me like I’m an inconvenience. I’m gum on the sole of his new shoes.

“I need to change,” he states, voice cold.

“Sorry.” I step back, holding his shirt to my chest.

His eyes drop to it with a flash of something akin to anger, and for a moment, I wonder if I should offer to give him his shirt back.

But I don’t. I keep my mouth shut, turn on my heel, and head for the door.

Before I reach it, I pause and turn back to him. “Ares?”

His eyes flash over to mine. His expression is tight.

I take a small step forward. “Could I ask a favor?”