It’s… surprisingly normal. Like, suspiciously normal. For the first time all evening, I’m starting to believe I might survive this.
Then Mrs. Hayes turns to me. “So, Ryan, your brother is Connor Reed, right?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. That’s him.”
Coach leans back in his chair. “He’s doing well?”
“Yeah,” I say, setting down my fork. “He’s having a hell of a run right now. One of the best seasons of his career.”
Mrs. Hayes smiles. “That must be exciting. You two are close?”
I shrug, because I never know what to say when people bring him up. “I guess. My parents are really proud of him. They’ve kind of… always been focused on his career. Which, like, fair. He’s the one living the dream. I mean, I’m just playing college hockey. It’s not the same.”
Coach sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “College hockey is still a damn impressive achievement. You’re playing at a top level, balancing classes, staying in shape, performing under pressure. That’s not ‘just’ anything.”
I blink, a little surprised that he’s complimenting me. “Thanks.”
He grumbles something under his breath and reaches for his glass. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m not letting you off the hook.”
And there it is.
“If you hurt my princess,” he says, dead serious, “Iwillkick your shin.”
I blink. “Kick my shin?”
Nathan doubles over, wheezing.
Isabella groans. “Dad.”
Coach shrugs, like this is a totally reasonable threat. “You ever had your shin kicked?” he asks me. “Hurts like hell.”
Isabella grabs my arm and mutters, “Ignore him. He’s lost his mind.”
Coach just lifts an eyebrow, and I decide maybe I shouldn’t push my luck.
Mrs. Hayes sighs from across the table. “Hunter, we talked about threats at dinner.”
“I’m not threatening,” Coach says, his eyes slicing through me. “I’m warning.”
I glance at Isabella, who mouths,Sorry,with a wince.
But honestly? This is the most terrifying, hilarious, oddly heart-warming dinner I’ve ever had.
And, weirdly, I don’t want it to end.
Later, after the table’s cleared and Coach is helping his wife with the dishes, Isabella walks me to the door.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, slipping her arms around my waist.
“Thanks for not letting your dad kick me.”
“He still might.”
We both laugh, and she leans in to kiss me. I slide my hand to cup her face, holding her as I pull back and stare into those big brown eyes that sucked me in from day one. “I love you,” I say earnestly, my heart feeling so full.
Her smile is immediate. “I love you too.”
And just like that, all the tension, all the stress, all the weird shin-related threats… gone.
