I pause outside Dad’s door, my hand hovering over the handle. I've never been afraid of my father before. Anxious to please him, yes. Worried about disappointing him, absolutely. But afraid? Never. Until now.
I knock twice, softly.
"Come in." His voice is clipped.
I push the door open. Dad stands behind his desk, arms crossed, face set in hard lines I barely recognize. His laptop is open.
"Close the door," he says.
I do. The click of the latch feels final, trapping me in this moment I've been dreading since I first crossed the line with Nate.
"Sit down."
I perch on the edge of the chair across from his desk, spine rigid, hands clasped tightly in my lap to hide their trembling. He just stares at me like he doesn’t know where to start.
"I've had twelve calls this morning," he says finally. "From the GM. From PR. From our social media team. Even from the owner. All about this." He jabs a finger at the screen, finally meeting my eyes. "Tell me it's not you."
The lie forms on my tongue—a reflexive, self-protective impulse—but dies before I say it. His eyes are boring into mine, searching for the truth he already suspects.
"Dad—"
"Tell me," he cuts me off, "that my daughter isn't stupid enough to get involved with Nate Barnes. That a team psychologist isn't compromising her ethics, her career, and this team's stability for a player known for being one of the biggest playboys in the league."
I swallow hard. "I can explain?—"
"It is you." Not a question this time. His body slumps slightly, disappointment settling over him like a physical weight. "I recognized the necklace. Your mother's cross."
My hand flies to my throat, fingers finding the small silver pendant that's been my talisman since Mom died. The ultimate betrayal—that the last connection to my mother would be what exposes my indiscretion.
"Yes," I whisper. "It's me."
Dad sinks into his chair, running a hand over his face. He suddenly looks older; the lines around his eyes are deeper and more pronounced.
"How long?" he asks.
"It's not—we're not—" I struggle to define what Nate and I are, what we've been doing. "It's complicated."
"No, Elena, it's not complicated. It's wrong." His voice rises slightly. "He’s your client. You're supposed to be helping him manage his behavior, not encouraging this type of scenario."
"That's not fair," I say, a flicker of indignation cutting through my shame. "I'm not encouraging anything. It just... happened."
"Things like this don't 'just happen.' You make choices. Bad ones, in this case." He leans forward, pinning me with his gaze. "Do you have any idea how this looks? What people will say when they figure out who you are?"
"No one knows it's me. Except for you." The words sound hollow even to my own ears.
"Not yet. But they will. Someone will recognize you, or Barnesy will tell someone, or?—"
"He wouldn't do that," I interrupt. Whatever Nate's faults, betraying my confidence isn't one of them.
Dad laughs, a sound full of disbelief. "You think you know him that well? After what, a few weeks? I've coached men like him for thirty years. They're charming, they're talented, and they're completely self-centered. When this blows over, he'll be fine. He'll move on to the next team, the next woman. But you?" He shakes his head. "Your reputation will be destroyed."
His words hit like physical blows, each one finding its mark. Because beneath my defensiveness, I know he's not wrong. This is exactly what I've been telling myself, what I've been trying to make Nate understand.
"I know," I say softly. "I know it was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Dad stands again, unable to contain his agitation. "Elena, this isn't like forgetting to lock your car or showing up late for a meeting. This is your career. Your future. Everything you've worked for."
"Don't you think I know that?" My voice breaks. "Don't you think I've been torturing myself about this? I never meant forany of this to happen." I then go on to tell him about how we first met, how I didn’t know who he was, and how we slept together that night. All the things you never want to have to tell your dad about…
