Page 72 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

It's game time.

Looping her arm with mine, we make the long walk toward old grudges and new beginnings.

Every step feels like a lifetime, but I keep the vibe light because if I don't, I might crack and give in to Rory, who is unhappy about this.

"Hey," I whisper, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "After this, we've still got each other. I’m not worried about what he says about me. Don’t get caught up in that.”

“I will.”

“Baby steps, Snowflake. We might not get this handled today.”

She bites down on her lower lip and blows out a heavy exhale. “I don’t know how often you expect me to do this.”

“Just this one time.”

Finally, she nods, and I’m proud as hell of her.

Within another minute, we arrive at Coach Sellers’s office, and I knock before opening the door, my heart pounding and my mind racing. The tension is immediately thicker, and he's already here, lurking behind his desk and waiting to scold us probably.

I catch his eye, and man, if looks could kill, I’d be flat on the floor. The chill from that gaze could freeze the whole rink over—no love lost there, but I can’t blame the man. My team practically sweeps his every time we come across each other.

I wouldn’t care for me either if I were him.

Regardless, it’s time to drop the bullshit, and I take the lead, crossing the room while Rory hesitates at the threshold. I’m not blind to the fact that this is the last place she wants to be, caught between the man she loves and the man she's never wanted to disappoint.

But I’m determined to make this work.

Coach Sellers's expression doesn’t change as I approach, but I’m not here to become his best friend. I offer my hand because that’s what you do—show respect, even when the respect might not be mutual, and force him to acknowledge me.

“Coach,” I greet flatly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

To his credit—and my slight surprise—he takes it, his handshake firm, solid like his reputation. A nice little scowl accompanies it, all for me.

His hand pulls back, and his eyes dart past me to where Rory stands, still on the fringe of this tension-filled huddle.

The ice hasn’t broken yet, but the play’s in motion.

And I am used to winning on it.

“You both thought it would be a good idea to show up tonight?”

No, hi, or how are you, Rory? The guy jumps right into it.

“Why wouldn’t we?” I challenge back. “Rory comes to some of your away games.”

Coach Sellers flicks his scowl back to me. “Not with you.”

“This was to be expected, I would think. Rory grew up around hockey. Dating a hockey player—”

“I don’t need your opinion on what you think regarding my daughter,” he grounds out through a tense jaw. “I thought it was common sense that anyone affiliated with the New Brunswick Wolverines wouldn’t bode well.”

“For your career,” I fill in for him, catching on to his vague-ass commentary.

Coach Sellers averts his eyes back to his daughter. “You knew what this would cost me, and you went ahead with it anyway.”

Coach Sellers's words hang heavy in the air, their weight palpable as they settle around us in the sparse office. The accusation in them that Rory would be so callous is a low blow.

Rory steps forward, her body stiffening as she braves her father. “This wasn't about you," she states, conviction bolstering her voice. "It was never about making things difficult for you or the team. I’ve told you that. Several times.”

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