The Risk (Briar U #2)(99)

“Have you slept with him?”

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“It was good.”

“Just good?”

“It was very good,” I amend.

“Just very good—”

“I’m not doing this anymore, you brat,” I interrupt.

“Sorry.” The interrogation resumes. “So you slept with him. And you’ve been sneaking around with him for years—”

“It has not been years,” I grumble.

“But since my fashion show?” she presses.

“Yeah, around then.”

“Do you like him? Wait, why am I even asking. I know you do.” Her voice is growing more and more excited by the second. “I think this is great, by the way. I mean, he’s insanely attractive—I could stare at him for hours and hours.”

I try not to laugh. “Glad you approve?”

Her tone becomes serious. “I do, you know. Approve.”

“You’re the only one.”

“They’ll get over it.”

We chat for a couple more minutes. After we hang up, my stomach grumbles again, and I decide it’s time to bite the bullet and go downstairs. I can’t avoid my father forever. Plus, I’m famished.

I know he hears me descending the stairs because of the horrible creaking, but he doesn’t turn around as I reach the doorway. He’s watching HockeyNet, and since yesterday’s game aired on the network, they’re not only showing highlights of it, but Kip Haskins and Trevor Trent are actually discussing the game on their show.

Or rather, arguing about it.

“There’s fighting in the pros,” Kip is grumbling. “I don’t see why the NCAA is so severe about it.”

“Because these are kids,” Trevor points out.

“Are you kidding me? Some of these guys are older than actual NHL players!” Kip argues. “Toronto has an eighteen-year-old on their active roster. Minnesota is starting two nineteen-year-olds. Those boys are thrust into a high-stakes violent environment and they’re able to handle it. And what, you’re telling me twenty-one and twenty-two-year-old college men are too delicate to throw a few punches and—”

Dad pauses the DVR when he notices me.

“Hey,” I say.

He grunts. I don’t know if that means hello or get out of my face.

“Can we talk?”

Another grunt.

Swallowing a sigh, I enter the room and sit on the other end of the couch. Dad watches me warily but doesn’t say a word. He’s clearly waiting for me to start, so I do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was seeing Jake Connelly.” I shrug awkwardly. “If it helps, I didn’t tell anyone.”

His jaw ticks. “Daryl Pedersen seemed to know.”

“He saw us together at Harvard once.”

Anger sharpens Dad’s features. “You’ve been around Pedersen?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Just one time, one conversation.”

My father goes silent for a long, tense moment. I can’t read his expression anymore, and I have no idea what’s going through his mind.

“I want you to stay away from that man,” he finally mutters.

“Dad—”

“I mean it, Brenna!” He raises his voice, and now his expression is easy to decode—bitter, cold, and disapproving. But what else is new? “Daryl Pedersen is a selfish prick. He was a dirty player, now he’s a dirty coach, and he has no honor, on or off the ice. Stay away from him.”

I shake my head in exasperation. “Dad. I don’t care about your stupid feud with Coach Pedersen, okay? I. Don’t. Care. It has nothing to do with me, and if you’re worried I’m hanging out with him in my spare time, I can assure you I’m not. Why would I? As for Jake—”

“Stay away from him, too,” Dad growls.

“Come on.” I exhale slowly. “Jake’s a good guy. What’s wrong with me seeing him?”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” He locks his gaze to mine. “I will not watch this happen again. We already did it with Eric—”

“Jake is not Eric. And our relationship is nothing like my relationship with Eric was. I was fifteen when we started dating. And I was sixteen when—”

“We’re not going through it again!” he booms. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you. But you’re not hearing me.” I rake my fingers through my hair, agitation rising inside me. “Jake is nothing like Eric. He’s smart, he’s disciplined, he doesn’t party. I swear, this guy is a generational talent, Dad. People will be talking about his career for decades to come. And he’s a good guy. He was with me the night I went to help Eric—”

“So that’s the friend you spent the night with?” Dad’s lips tighten. “And I suppose he’s the one you keep going to Boston to see? Is this why the HockeyNet internship fell through? Because your mind’s been so wrapped up in this guy that you didn’t properly prepare for your interviews?” He laughs humorlessly. “And you’re telling me this is nothing like it was with Eric?”

My jaw drops. “Is that a joke? I absolutely prepared for those interviews. I didn’t get the job because the man in charge thinks my sports knowledge is cute.” Anger heats my throat. “And yes, I stayed at Jake’s place that night, and I’m not apologizing for that.”