"How could I not?" The words burst out, fueled by months of buried frustration. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be 'Coach Martinez's daughter' every single day? To wonder if people respect me for my work or just because of who my father is?"
Dad sits back in his chair. "I thought working together would be good for you. For us."
"In some ways, it has been," I say, my voice softening. "But I need to establish myself on my own terms. Not as an extension of you."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "And this has nothing to do with Barnes?"
My fingers twist the napkin in my lap. "It's... complicated. The situation with Nate highlighted some things for me. About what I want from my career and my life."
"And what do you want, Elena?"
The question hangs between us, simple but monumental.
"I want to be my own person." My voice is steady now. “I want to stop wondering if every achievement comes with an asterisk because of my last name."
Dad's face softens almost imperceptibly. "I never meant to make you feel this way."
"I know." I reach across the table, touching his hand. "Just like I never meant to let you down by leaving."
"You haven't let me down." He turns his hand to clasp mine. "I'm disappointed, yes. But not in you."
"Then in what?"
"In the situation. In myself, maybe." He sighs. "I've always wanted to protect you. After your mother died, that became my whole purpose. Maybe I've held on too tight."
The mention of Mom sends familar ache through my chest. "I understand why you did. But Dad, I need to make my own mistakes sometimes. Figure things out on my own."
"Even when those mistakes involve Nate Barnes?" he asks.
I look down at our joined hands. "Even then."
He sighs, long and heavy. "The Steel is a good organization. Solid coaching. Their veteran players set a good example for the rookies."
Hope flutters in my chest. "So you’re not mad that I took the job?"
"I think..." He pauses, weighing his words. "I think you need to do what's right for you. Not for me, not for the Blades. For you."
Relief washes through me. "Thank you."
He squeezes my hand once before releasing it. "Just promise me one thing?"
"What's that?"
"That you’ll never be afraid to talk to me about these types of things. I know I’ve been overprotective your whole life but it’s only because I love you."
I smile, blinking back sudden tears. "I promise."
Dad picks up his fork again, gesturing toward my untouched pasta. "Eat. It's getting cold."
We finish dinner talking about safer topics—a new defense pairing he's trying, my thoughts on a struggling rookie who needs more confidence. The conversation flows easier now, the tension replaced by love and mutual respect.
As I'm leaving, Dad pulls me into a tight hug.
"Your mom would be proud of you," he says quietly. "For standing your ground. For knowing what you need."
His words settle something inside me. I hold him tighter, breathing in his trusted scent. "I love you, Dad."
"Love you too, kid." He steps back, hands on my shoulders. "Now go be the best damn sports psychologist the Steel has ever seen."
