Page 73 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

He doesn't look comforted; his gaze is still fixed on some point of distress, maybe a headline, perhaps a scathing email from the higher-ups. Imagined or real, it doesn't matter. Something is going on here.

"Upper management is giving me shit because of these rumors. About your relationship painting us as cheaters. Like I sent my daughter to spy on our rivals.”

"That's crap,” Rory fires back. "I've never been anything but loyal to this team, your team. You know that."

“No one else cares. Especially since you wore his jersey only a week ago.”

Rory shifts her weight, and I bide my time before I call this conversation over. “I’m capable of more. Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’d never do that,” her father returns calmly. “But this doesn’t look good. I can handle a team, but not my daughter.”

“I have nothing to do with your job.”

“You do when dating Judson Wells, a renowned playboy, when he’s much more than just another hockey player when he is hated by most of our fans! I’m being side-eyed like I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!” His voice gets louder with each statement. The calmness turns into rage.

"Look," I interject, as much for Rory as for her father. "We care about how this affects the team and your position. We get it. But this... our relationship, it's real. It's not some covert operation, and it's not going to change."

“I’m speaking to my daughter,” he leers. “You can see yourself out.”

“Aw, now, Coach, you just said you knew how to handle hockey players. I think if your upper management is giving you shit for a relationship, you need to look elsewhere. They’re not giving you the respect you deserve.”

His brows raise to the ceiling. “Oh really? And you got all that from being here for two minutes?”

“You just painted the perfect picture for me, sir. You know your daughter, and you know she’s not evil. I know you don’t want to deal with the extra shit right now, but this isn’t going away.”

Coach Sellers's glare hardens, the lines of battle drawn more firmly with every word we exchange. "This isn't a game. My job, my livelihood, is on the line here. You may not care about public opinion since you’re always in it, but it affects the team, the fans, and the higher-ups. If you care about Rory, you'll end this."

I shake my head, feeling Rory's gaze burning into the side of my face, her silent strength backing me up. "Ending this isn't an option. I’m not letting her go. We’ll refute the rumors publicly and make a statement. There's got to be a way to handle this that doesn’t involve breaking us apart."

"You think a statement will fix this? You think it's that simple?" The incredulity in his voice is almost a physical force. "You haven't been in this business long enough to understand how these things work!"

“I’ve been in those headlines more times than you can count.” He opens his mouth, but I continue. “And, with all due respect again, sir, you should leave. If there’s no trust in your skillset... the Coach Sellers I've heard so much about wouldn’t take that bullshit.”

He leans forward, hands pressed flat on the desk. "You don't get to question my methods or dedication to my team. And you don't get to lecture me on solutions when you are the problem."

Rory steps in then, a calm but assertive presence when she speaks. "Dad, Wells isn't the problem. It’s the fact that Montreal wants to win so badly. He’s right; they don’t respect you. You’ve been doing this a long time, and you deserve some—”

“What do you want me to do, Rory? Quit? You want me to become a coach who just ups and leaves?” He points to the door. “Those boys rely on me. They need me.”

“They might,” she agrees. “But what do you need? Surely, it’s not being harassed every day about your grown-ass daughter and the decisions she makes.”

“Then what?” he challenges back. “Interviews with other teams? You want someone to take me seriously when I up and desert my own team. The one I’ve built for years.”

“Yes.”

He looks between us, the fight visibly draining from him as he slumps back in his chair. "Rory, you know what's at stake."

"And that's exactly why you can't ask this of me. Of us. You've taught me to stand firm in adversity, not to cower and break under pressure. You’re better than this.”

Silence descends throughout the room, and if I were a betting man, I’d say Coach was allowing her words to sink in.

However, he’s prideful. It’ll take a few days for it to sink in. And I think Rory has said her piece.

“After the season, I’d like to take you out to dinner, Coach,” I slice through the room, earning his attention again. “Get to know me a little more and grill me with your questions.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he mutters. “I have better things to do.”

“Dad,” Rory chides, propping a hand on her hip. “Seriously?”

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