He needs a cut, but like always, it falls to the bottom of his to-do list. It’s not like he has anyone to impress.
“How have the guys been this week? Are they ready?”
He scoffs, pretending to be offended that I had the audacity to even ask.
“Of course they’re ready. We’re going all the way this year.”
I smile at him, hope seeping through my veins.
I want it for him—for all of them—so badly. It’s been too long since the Vipers lifted the Stanley Cup. They deserve it.
He loses himself talking about the guys’ performances this week and the upcoming exhibition games. I try really fucking hard to focus and say the right things. But it’s a challenge.
All I can think about is that moment back at the rink.
Kodie knows.
He knows he committed the ultimate sin and fucked the coach’s daughter.
Nausea hits me, and I press my hand to my stomach as I consider how he must be feeling.
I lied to him.
I played him.
I broke every fucking rule in Dad’s playbook to get what I wanted.
I might have won, but right now, it doesn’t feel like that.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re really pale.”
“Maybe I’m getting sick,” I say quietly.
“Should we go?” he offers, looking concerned.
“No,” I say firmly. His brows dip, and I force a smile on my face. “Life is about to get crazy; we don’t know when we’ll get this chance again.”
His eyes bounce between mine, searching for the truth. “Okay,” he finally concedes. “But once we’ve eaten, I’m taking you straight home.”
I nod. As much as I want to be with him right now, my guilt’s getting the better of me. I really need to lock myself in my apartment and attempt to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do now.
I force myself to eat as much as I can, but despite loving the food here, it’s like chewing on cardboard. Dad devours his steak like usual, so I know the issue is with me and not my meal. Before long, he’s paid the bill and is ushering me out of the restaurant to deliver me home.
“I’ll get your car dropped off,” he tells me as he pulls up outside my building a while later.
“No, it’s okay, I’ll?—”
“Casey,” he warns in his deep, don’t-mess-with-me tone.
“Okay, thank you.”
“Anytime. Go and get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Leaning over, I press a kiss on his cheek before climbing out of the car. Once I’m inside the building, I turn and give him a wave, letting him know that I’m safe.
The second he turns the car around and drives away, I press my hand to my stomach and breathe, “Oh my god.”
12
