“Do you want to break up?”
“What?Fuck no.” My hands slide to her hips, and I squeeze until she’s wrapped in my arms in a tight, needy hug.
“No. We’ll keep this private. For now. While you figure things out with your dad, and Sawyer and I get more settled in Brookhaven.”
“Okay,” she whispers and nods. “That sounds good.”
I nod too. But inside all I’m thinking about is the distance she’s trying to put between us.
Chapter 31 – Brianna
I twist my hands together as I stare up at the iron door where my dad’s name hangs proudly in sleek silver lettering next to the words:Manhattan Mayhem - Team Owner.
Even the sign is intimidating, just like everything else about him.
I pull up the text message he sent me last night when I was with Seth.
Caleb: Ready for lunch tomorrow afternoon? Can’t wait to get your thoughts on a few of the players.
His message caught me off guard. I'd forgotten he even had my number. He got it at my mother's funeral, which was only a year ago but somehow feels longer. The mention of players was a cold reminder of why I’d needed to ask Seth to wait on going public with our relationship. I have no idea what my father wants from this lunch, but I know I don't want our first real conversation in twenty-seven years to be derailed by the fact that I'm dating one of his goalies.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Here goes nothing.”
He told me not to bring lunch, that he had our meal catered, and I’d quietly tucked the leftover lasagna Seth packed for me back into the fridge, not wanting it to go to waste after the work he put into it.
Now I’m here, palms damp against my sides, rehearsing the same forced smile for the hundredth time.
“Come in,” his voice booms from behind the door, and I jump slightly before reaching for the handle. I open the door, step inside, and everything stills. His office is sleek and spotless, with dark wooden shelves and framed basketball and hockey jerseys lining the walls from his favorite players.
But it’s the desk that stuns me. It’s cleared off completely, except for the massive spread laid out across the top. Five different kinds of salad, all labeled with dressings on the side. Warm bread wrapped in linen. Trays of pasta from the fancy spot next door that the players always rave about, but I can’t afford.
I look at it, then back at him. “Are we expecting more people to join us?”Like the whole team?
He smiles nervously and steps toward me. And for the first time, I really see him—not the athlete on the court, not the owner of a pro hockey team. Not the man on the big screens I used to sneak out of bed to watch when my mom was asleep. Just a man who seems like he’s trying, who happens to be my biological dad, and isn’t sure how to do either of those things right now.
His hands mirror mine, fidgeting at his sides. His green eyes dart like he’s unsure of where to look, and that’s when I realize we have the same nervous tells.
“No. I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Do you eat salad?”
I smile. “Yes, I do. This is nice. Thank you.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything more. For a second, it looks like he might go in for a hug, but then he hesitates, just pats my upper arm awkwardly, and rounds the desk to take his seat.
“Go ahead—dig in.”
I grab a recyclable bowl and fill it with a couple of different salad options, the smell of fresh basil and warm garlic bread already filling the room. Everything looks incredible but it feels a bit wasteful. I take a seat across from him, grateful for the desk acting like a barrier between us. He’s watching me like he wants me to eat first, so, I do. I take a bite, and okay—this isn’t just good. This is unreal catering. I get now why the guys are always talking about this place.
He smiles to himself, then lifts his bowl and takes a bite of greens before setting it right back down.
“I’m glad we could do this. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
I glance up at him. Almost a year working under his team’s payroll, and this is the first time we’ve had an actual conversation. Itiskind of ridiculous that we let it go this long. He should have done this sooner. Like decades ago, sooner.
I nod. “Well, we’re here now.” I offer a small smile.
He tugs at the collar of his crisp button-up shirt, like he’s dressed for a meeting and not lunch with his daughter he doesn’t know. I wonder if he’ll get pulled out of here soon into another meeting and this whole thing will be some sort of weird, fever dream.
"I think you're being too gracious. I'd started to reach out a couple times..." His voice trails off and doesn't find its way back.
