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River glared at me. Good. At least he’d stop trying to give me advice.
THIRTY-SEVEN
TWO MONTHS LATER
JAX
“How doyou feel about being called this year’s most anticipated rookie, Ryder?” the reporter from Sportsnet asked. Jared was clean-cut, with a strong jaw and a lazy grin, no doubt a holdover from his past years of playing pro. I’d watched him on TV since I was a kid and dreamed about this exact fucking moment. Countless other athletes had sat at this same table, answering millions of questions to a room full of eager reporters just waiting for the next sound bite over the years. I’d pictured myself up here more times than I could count.
This should’ve been a dream come true, but the question grated on my skin, not because it was at least the one hundredth time they’d asked it since they’d started calling me that a week ago. Of fucking course it wasn’t—that would be too easy. No, I hated the question because every time I answered was a lie.
I smiled at the reporter, keeping my collected mask in place. “Nothing could make me happier, Jared. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He gave me a genuine smile and continued the standard questions. This press meeting wasn’t really about me. I’d just been thrown up here as filler until our new coach was announced. If you asked me, all this secrecy was bullshit. It was hockey, not a fucking soap opera, but apparently, the league was taking things in a more dramatic fashion because they were announcing the Bruins’ new coach on live fucking TV, and I was the lucky bastard being used to fill airtime until he showed up.
I answered on autopilot, no one sensing that the mask I wore of a young, excited hockey player was complete bullshit.
“I know you worked hard for this, Ryder. Sacrificed a lot like all players do. Why don’t you tell us a little about that.”
Fuck, his words stung. The muscles ticked in my jaw with the effort to keep my carefree facade in place. I was just named the most anticipated player of the season; no rookie wouldn’t be high off that. Except Jared was right. I had made a sacrifice to get here, and every day, I wondered if it was worth it because in moments like this, I swore it fucking wasn’t.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to answer. “You know, same thing as everyone else. Late nights, early practices. Learned to push through the pain years ago.”
The lie tasted like acid and burned down my throat, where it landed heavily in my stomach. I rubbed my palms over my face, hoping I just looked tired after practice and not fucking heartbroken. I needed them to move on with their questions to something more technical related, or I was going to fucking lose it up here.
The same woman who’d announced my entrance walked up to the podium and tapped the mic twice. She wore a black tailored jacket and matching pencil skirt. She was objectively hot. Not that it mattered. Fucking Alex had encouraged me to bury myself in pussy like he’d been doing, but I had no fucking interest. The only person I wanted didn’t want me back, and no one mattered but her.
The woman tapped the mic again, and the room went completely silent. She smiled. “I’m excited to announce the new coach has arrived and will be coming out to meet you in the next few moments.”
The crowd buzzed with excitement, the reporters too busy talking with each other, speculating who it could be, to pay attention to me. I should care who our coach was—we’d be spending a lot of time together—but truth was I couldn’t give a shit, and I wasn’t sure when I would again.
The man in question walked through the door behind me, bigger than life. I vaguely recognized him as the coach for the Seahawks. He looked like a decent enough guy as he came up to me and grasped my hand, giving it a firm shake. “Good to meet you, kid.”
My answer caught in my throat as I met his eyes. They were a familiar hazel brown rimmed with crisp green-apple centers. The world tipped on its axis, everything feeling wrong and out of place as my brain tried to process that he had identical eyes to Sidney.
The woman announced his name, and all the pieces clicked into place. “Let me introduce the Boston Bruins’ new coach, Mark King.”
Fuck. I tried to push down the rage bubbling inside me as I stared at the asshole who’d practically abandoned the most amazing girl I’d ever met, but my grip tightened on his, not letting his hand go when I really fucking should’ve.
“You’re Sidney’s dad?” I practically spat the question, unable to hold back just how pissed I was.
My new coach pulled his hand from mine, breaking our awkward handshake, and stared me down. “So, you’re the guy.”
“I’m the guy.” My blood pulsed in my ears. They looked so fucking similar, him just a hyper-masculine version of her, and my brain finally caught up to the fact Sidney had never told me her dad was a coach.
He must have seen my confusion because he continued, keeping his voice low so as not to tip off the press as to what we were talking about. All they’d see is a regular first meeting between a coach and player. “You know, I’m not surprised she hasn’t mentioned me. She’s never been a fan of fame or anything that comes with it.”
His words confirmed my thoughts.This fucktwit asshole coach is Sid’s dad.
He didn’t notice the tension that filled my shoulders. “She’s pissed that I don’t see her much, but that’s pro hockey life. I don’t have to tell you; you know how it is. Who’s got time to head back?”
For fuck’s sake.
This whole time, I thought Sidney didn’t want to stay together once I was on tour because she was afraid of the unknown, but it was clear now that she knew exactly what she was afraid of. Rage roiled in my stomach.
“No, I don’t get it. Your daughter isfuckingspectacular. What is wrong with you?” I hissed the words at him.
Sid’s dad—herdad—shrugged at me. “You’re new to this, kid. Trust me, one day very soon, you’ll understand.” His hand landed on my arm, and I flinched. “Before you know it, there will be a million people pulling you in a million different ways. Everyone will want a piece of you. Me, the girls, the fans, the press. Young players always think they’ll be able to balance a normal life, but it’s not possible.” He patted my shoulder. “We’re better off as lone wolves.”
