Jack isn’t looking at my face. He’s looking at my bare hand cupped against his daughter’s jaw, at the goalie glove on the floor between us. His eyes track from the glove to my hand to her mouth, and his jaw locks.
“What the fuck.” His voice is too quiet. “What the fuck is this.”
“Dad, I can explain–”
“Don’t. Don’t DAD me right now.” His voice climbs. “How long.”
“Anderson–” I cut in.
“I’m not talking to you.” He doesn’t look at me. “How long, Mackinnon.”
“Since October.”
“October.” He says it like he’s trying the word out. “You’ve been sneaking around with my goalie since October.”
“It wasn’t–”
“Don’t tell me what it wasn’t. I know what it is.”
He takes a step into the alcove, shrinking the space instantly. Mackie presses harder against the wall, her hands shaking at her sides.
“Let’s go.” Jack reaches out like he’s guiding a toddler out of a store. “You and I are going to have a conversation somewhere that isn’t a public hallway.”
He reaches for her wrist but I step sideways in front of her. In full pads I’m twice her width, and she disappears behind my back as Jack’s hand lands hard against my chest protector. Mackie’s fingers fist in the fabric of my jersey. I plant my skates. I'm not moving. That's the only plan I have.
“Almardon.” Jack’s voice is flat. “Step aside.”
“No.”
Behind Jack, skates thump on the rubber flooring. Rodriguez’s voice catches halfway through asking what's going on. I can’t see around Jack, but I know the shapes of them—Rodriguez, Dex,Brody, half a dozen guys wishing they’d walked down any other hallway.
Dex’s voice comes from somewhere behind Jack. “Anderson? You good?”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Almardon.” Jack places his hand flat against my chest.
I open my mouth to speak, but Jack’s fist hits the concrete wall directly beside my head. Mackie flinches into my back.
“You LITTLE–”
He can’t even get to the end of the sentence. His fist hits the wall a second time, closer to my ear, and Mackie makes a small sound.
“You sat in my kitchen. You sat at my TABLE. You sat at my fucking–”
He’s breathing like he’s been skating suicides. Behind me, Mackie is pressed so close I can feel her shaking.
Roman’s hand lands on Jack’s shoulder from behind. He’s the only guy in this hallway who would dare do it.
“Jack,” Roman says once. “Not here.”
“Don’t fucking touch me, Roman.”
Roman doesn’t move his hand.
“Jack.”
“You knew.” Jack’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking past me. “You knew about this.”
I turn my head just enough to catch Barrett walking up.
