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“Can we sit?” she asked, and I nodded.
We hopped off the rink and moved over to one of the benches.
“My dad always wanted a son.” She peeked up at me, uncertainty shining in her baby blues. “But he got me instead. I tried to be the child he wanted. I learned to skate. Joined the local pee wee hockey team. Worked harder than any other kid there just to get him to notice me, to be proud. But nothing I did made a difference.”
Her pain was palpable, bleeding into the air around us. I hated it, fucking hated that she’d been made to feel that way. I’d witnessed the same thing with my own dad when it became apparent Scottie wasn’t like other kids his age: the withdrawal, the rejection, the crushing disappointment.
No kid should ever have to experience that at the hands of their own parents. Their blood. It made me fucking livid.
“I think it only made him angrier that I was good. Better than some of the boys on the team. The coach wanted me to attend some training camps to give me more experience, but the signup fee was expensive. He wouldn’t pay. My father wouldn’t pay, and that’s when I knew.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “That’s when I knew nothing I ever did would be good enough. Add in the fact I had celiac disease, and I was just the burden he never asked for.”
“The fuck?” I gawked at her because how could she be talking about the same man who had rolled up to the team with a smile on his face and hunger in his eyes?
Coach Dixon loved hockey. He loved coaching the team. Working with the players. It was his life. You could see that in every interaction he had. So what Harper was saying and what I’d witnessed didn’t add up.
It didn’t make sense, and yet, I’d seen the shadow in his eyes, sensed that there was more to the story.
I’d figured he was just a man chasing a dream that had slipped through his fingers. But it was more than that.
So much more.
And it all centered around this girl.
“James Dixon is a local hero.” Her expression dropped. “But he’s always been the villain of my story.”
“Fuck him,” I said, hooking my arm around her neck and pulling her into my side.
My need to protect Harper was almost as strong as my innate need to protect Scottie.
“Mason, he’s your coach,” she chuckled, but it was strained. “Pretty sure you can’t say that about your coach.”
I nudged her back a little so I could look at her. “That’s not how things work in my world, Harper. If you want respect, you earn it.”
And her old man had lost every shred of respect I had for him the second she confessed.
You didn’t turn your back on your kid. No matter what.
“I’m sorry I ruined things.”
“What?” My brows pinched, disbelief coursing through me that she felt the need to apologize for things beyond her control. “You didn’t ruin anything,” I said. “I knew something was off, but I was too chickenshit to do anything about it sooner.”
“And what are you doing about it now?” A flicker of a smile ghosted her lips.
Fuck, this girl.
This tenacious, kind, fucking amazing girl.
“Didn’t I make it pretty obvious? I don’t share the rink with just anyone, you know.” I leaned closer, touching my head to hers.
“Mase.” Her breath hitched.
“Hey, I got you, babe. I got you.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, for real, blondie.” I brushed my thumb along her tear-stained cheek, anger bubbling inside me.
But she was right. It was a conflict of interest. Wanting her while working under Coach Dixon was always going to be a problem. But now that I knew the truth, it was more nuanced than that. Mostly because I wanted to barge into his office and ask him what the fuck his problem was.
