Brutal Obsession (107)

Coach Roake nudges my foot. A subtle prod to stop being so fucking starstruck and respond.

“My record will be clean,” I promise.

He nods. “Good.” We shake hands, and then he turns to my coach. “A word?”

The publicist looks back and forth between us and murmurs something about stepping outside. The door shuts softly behind her, leaving me alone with my father.

Dad’s face contorts.

“Are you fucking new at this?” he growls.

I raise my eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re supposed to be getting yourself into the NHL, and when an opportunity comes along, you clam up. Is that the man I raised you to be?”

Wow.

I guess that’s how he sees it. One chance and then it might be gone forever. That’s how it was for him, after all. One chance with my mother, and he had to nail her down or she would’ve left him before ever stepping foot in a church. That didn’t matter so much in the end, though. She found a way to leave us both. One chance for his political career, snatching the opportunity that came sailing his way.

But I’m a junior. I have another year to impress scouts—and it isn’t like Tim Monroe is going to recruit me now. If anything, he’ll wait. See how I mature… and if I can keep my face out of the newspapers for reasons that don’t revolve around hockey.

Then I’ll face the draft.

If not him, maybe someone else will want me.

Dad sneers at me. “You’re a disgrace. But you’ll learn how to be a real man soon enough.”

A chill sweeps down my back. “What does that mean?”

“Play the part, and I’ll show you.” He inclines his chin just as the two coaches step back inside.

I run my hand down my face, trying to wipe away the emotions my father always seems to inflict, and smile at them. Tim Monroe offers us some pleasantries, shakes my hand and then my father’s, and departs. The publicist follows him out.

Coach Roake looks back and forth between the two of us, finally landing on my father. “Let me get one thing straight with you, Senator.”

My father’s eyebrow raises. I don’t know the last time someone talked to him like he’s done something wrong—besides me anyway. And my mother. He’s become overwhelming with his power, surrounding himself with people who only ever agree with him.

“I respect your authority, but you will not tell me how to run my team. And asking me to pull my best player before one of the most important games—”

“Respectfully, Roake? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dad scowls. “I told Greyson this morning after he took a similar approach.”

Coach Roake glowers at him. “Then you’ve got a problem, Senator, because someone called me pretending to be you.”

I swallow. Could that be Violet’s stalker? They would’ve seen with their own eyes that Violet’s no longer at her apartment—she’s no longer as accessible as she was. And maybe he’s trying to lash out. Him, confirmed, thanks to this. Unless it was a masterful trick on the stalker’s end to disguise their voice.

“A problem, indeed,” my father responds. He sends a quick text message, then stows his phone back in his breast pocket. “I’ll have my people look into it.”

“Great.” Coach glances at me and nods. “Enjoy your weekend.”

I follow my father out the door, curious and somewhat sick. I’m not sure what he’s planning or what he’s already done. We stand in silence in the elevator and exit on the floor with the suites. I saw him watching me with his friends during the game, but I was more interested in Violet.

Violet, who has pulled a disappearing act.

Worry squirms in my stomach.

And yet, I’m not entirely surprised when we arrive at my father’s suite, and the man who had been posted outside the door steps aside to reveal Violet and another woman.

Her mother?

Violet sits in the corner, her legs drawn up to her chest. And the other woman, identity to be confirmed, paces in front of the glass. On the ice, the Zamboni is making slow passes. There are still people lingering in the seats, taking their time filing out. The last dregs, it would seem.

My teammates are long gone.

At our entrance, the woman stops moving. Violet shoots to her feet.

“You’re bringing him into this?” the woman spits.

My father doesn’t react. He just watches her for a moment, then nods to his guard who followed him in. He’s one of the newer bodyguards, unlike some of the others my father employs who have been around since I was a kid. I don’t even know this one’s name.

This one doesn’t seem to have a moral compass, because he marches over to the woman and grips her forearm, hauling her toward us.

“It’s about time he learned the family secrets, don’t you think?” He shakes his head at her, then gestures to the woman. “This is Leigh Reece, Greyson. Violet’s mother.”

As I suspected.

When I don’t react, Dad faces her. “I’ll get to you in a moment. Let’s have a little chat about your daughter.”

My shoulders inch higher. He better not have his guard manhandle her like he did to her mother, or I’ll go fucking mental.

“Violet.” There’s a new chill in Dad’s voice, laced with something like… disappointment?