If I were anyone other than Mike Thorne’s son, I might find it charming. But the Thorne men haven’t been raised to believe in fairy tales.
So the news is out. The engagement is public. I lock my phone, put it face down on the bench, and stare at my skates.
Silas sits down next to me, pulls off his helmet, and says nothing. He's been in the league long enough to know when to talk and when to just be present. I appreciate it more than I can say.
Moose drops onto the bench across from me, towel around his neck, and opens his mouth. He’s going to try to make me feel better. I know it.
"Don't," I say.
He closes it.
Beck comes out of Coach's office and catches my eye across the locker room. He jerks his chin toward the door. I follow him out into the corridor.
"You saw the article, I’m guessing," he says.
"Yeah."
"You okay?"
"No." I lean against the wall. "But I will be."
Beck nods. He doesn't push it, which is one of the reasons he's my best friend. "For what it's worth, she's an idiot. Actually, they both are. He’s a crusty old man and she’s a gold-digger. Did you at least get a heads-up that they were engaged?"
"Yeah." I scrub a hand over my face. "Well, I think Naomi tried to warn me. Instead I ignored her and got ambushed.” I shake my head. “It doesn't matter. It's my dad. He does what he does. Takes whatever he wants, doesn’t think of the blowback. He’s been like that my whole life."
Beck looks at me for a long moment. "I’m sorry, man."
I don't say anything to that. “What’s happening with Kuznetsov?”
"Cross wants you and Kuznetsov cross-training," Beck says. "Center and left wing. Both of you, running both positions."
There it is. I knew something was coming. "So he's taking my position."
"He said both of you. Not one of you." Beck holds my gaze. "Cross doesn't do anything without a reason. You know that."
"I know that." I push off the wall. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
I find out about the cross-training officially when Cross pulls me aside after the afternoon session. His words are blunt. “You and Kuznetsov are each other's shadow until I say otherwise. I want you runningevery drill together, switching positions on my call. You'll both play center and left wing. Questions?”
I have approximately forty questions, but I ask none of them.
"No," I say instead.
"Good." Cross skates away.
I stand at the boards for a moment. Kuznetsov is on the other side of the rink, talking to one of the assistant coaches, nodding at something. He hasn't looked at me except for that single cool smile during the group skate. I don't know if that makes him composed, or arrogant, or both.
Juliet and Mollie are watching something on Mollie’s phone. Juliet smiles and squeezes Mollie’s arm. From Mollie’s answering smile, I gather that Juliet is praising her. Mollie’s whole face glows.
At least somebody’s kicking ass and taking names when it comes to their job today.
I watch a few minutes more when Mollie appears at my elbow. "You feeling okay?"
"I’m fine," I answer gently. “Just had a tough first day back.”
I’m not fine, not remotely. But if I unleash even a little bit right here, I’ll scream. My dad, Naomi, Kuznetsov. There’s no winning.
She looks at me the way she does sometimes, the way that strips the golden boy right off me and leaves whatever is underneath. How does she do that?
