Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(50)

“In that case,” Zara said, handing him a plate, “you can go first.”

“Not yet. First we demolish all this amazing food.”

And that’s what they did. They sat on the windowsill leading out to her tiny balcony that was really more of a glorified fire escape and ate pad Thai, sitting so close together that their knees touched as they held their plates on their laps. As it was warm for late September, they basked in the sun, ate, and laughed at Anchovy’s attempts to garner enough pity to get him a bowl of noodles.

He laid his fork down on his plate and let out a satisfied sigh. “I’m gonna have to move to your neighborhood just so I can be closer to that takeout.”

Zara chuckled as she wound the last of her noodles around her fork. “I’m sure your team nutritionist would approve.”

“The bigger problem would be our trainer, Smitty. He’s a hard-ass.” And whatever plan he came up with always worked. All he had to do was take a look at Petrov’s faster-than-expected comeback to understand that.

“But you still love playing hockey.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. “For as long as I can do it.”

“And after?” She took his plate, stacked it on top of hers, and set them both down on the little table near the open window they’d crawled out of. “Or is that verboten to talk about?”

“Some guys are superstitious about it, but I’m not. It’ll happen; I’d rather prepare for it. There are benefits to being Britany Stuckey’s son, and that’s one of them.”

“You want to go into coaching?” she asked, making the logical deduction.

“Hell no.” Even the idea of it made his entire chest seize up. “My plan, which I’ve had since high school, is to go into sports management. Being raised by a woman—who I love—but who is a giant pain in the ass always driving each of us kids to be more, do more, get better grades, try for harder classes, leave it all out on the ice, doesn’t really give you room to take things as they come—especially not if half your class thought the only thing getting you from one grade level to the next was your hockey skill.”

She got that snarly look to her again, one that, if he was facing off against her on the ice, would have him thinking twice before he dropped the gloves. “What a bunch of jerks.”

“We were kids.” He shrugged, more interested in the patch of skin above her knee that was visible thanks to the very convenient hole in her jeans than in talking about the bad old days. “We were dumb.”

“You’re a helluva lot nicer about it than I would be.”

He took a long pull from his beer, trying to figure out how to put it into words that didn’t make him sound like a total whiner. “That’s only because the worst part wasn’t the other kids, it was coming home with that report card, knowing I was going to disappoint the woman who sacrificed so much to get food on our tables and keep the rent paid and had the drive to become the only female boys’ hockey coach in the state and one of the few in the nation.”

“You’re right.” Zara’s shoulders slumped, and she seemed to sink into herself. “I have no idea what that’s like, not with my dad.”

“You haven’t told me the story. Honestly, he comes off as a pretty nice guy.” In the few times he’d met her dad, Jasper had seemed like a guy who loved his daughter, wanted the best for her, and had a pretty good sense of humor.

“He does—and he is,” she said, a bone-deep weariness seeping into her thousand-mile gaze. “Everyone who meets him loves him, and for good reason. You need a shirt? He’ll take the one off his back to give to you. Need a little bit of cash to make it through until payday? He’ll cover you without a second thought. The problem was that growing up, he did that without regard to whether we had enough in the bank for rent or utilities or groceries. It was kind of like being out on the ocean in a dinghy, never knowing when a giant wave was going to crash down on you and take you under.”

What did he say to that? How did he make up for a dad who seemed to prioritize his own daughter below the rest of the neighborhood? The reality was that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. All he could do was pull her close, picking her up enough to slide her onto his lap so she could rest her head against his chest.

“So I’m warning you now that I’m a fuckup,” he said, letting the words come out before he could think better of it. “The viral video that started this whole thing? I almost got one of my teammates traded because of it.”

She looked up at him, the sweet understanding on her face making his chest tight. “I’m not following.”

“The front office figured the video was proof that we weren’t a cohesive team. Trading someone made sense to them, and Petrov wasn’t supposed to make it back to the lineup for another few months. Any team that got him would be excited enough to sacrifice a few draft picks because once he got healthy, he’d be an animal on the ice.” Guilt twisted his gut. “The thing is, there wasn’t another team in the league that Petrov wanted to play for like he wanted to play for the Ice Knights.”

“Then you ended up on Bramble to fix it, probably without ever telling him.” She straightened, twisting in his lap so her face was only inches from his, her look fierce. “That’s not being a fuckup; that’s accepting responsibility and making amends. That’s a helluva lot better of a reason than why I ended up on the app and my whole clear the cobwebs line.” She groaned and closed her eyes, her cheeks turning pink. “I’m gonna kill Gemma one of these days for letting me hit send on that. There is such a thing as the girl code. Then she taunts me with that stupid bet.”