Page 76 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“You didn’t.”

“And offered me an offensive coaching position.”

“What?”

“I turned that down.” What in the world is happening here? “And I took a position as an assistant coach. Less work, and I can focus on one thing and not everything at one time.”

“I, uh…” Blow out a heavy exhale, not knowing what to think. “That’s great, Dad. But you, uh…you know you have to actually like the guys on the team, right?”

“No, I don’t,” he retorts, but I can hear a trickle of amusement in his tone. “I think it’s more fun that way.”

“Dad,” I scold lightly. “Don’t be that guy.”

“I’m known as a hard-ass, Rory. I need to keep my reputation about me.”

“I know, but—”

“And stop distracting Wells from the damn game when he should be focusing. I will ban you from the games if you don’t stop it.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Caught between the humor of his dad-ness and the sting of his reprimand, I feel a blush rise up my neck with the idea that he’s thinking of anything that just transpired between Wells and me. "I just... I'm here supporting him. You know how important that can be.”

“Mhm.” He lets out a low chuckle, laced with ease, something I haven’t heard from him in a really long time. “Keep the distractions to a minimum, would you? Let the man play."

“Sure…but, uh…I’m not a huge fan of this. Are you going to put him on a curfew next?”

“Good idea,” he muses. “That might be—”

“Dad.”

He chuckles on the other end, and it’s then that I see him sitting with the Wolverines, and the whole team on the bench is waving at me.

Assholes.

“Are you happy?” I ask. “With…your decision. I just wanted you in a better spot—”

“More than happy. You were right. However, I’m still on the fence about the man you chose—”

“He’s a good man, Dad.”

I hear him give me an uncertain hum before he says, “We’ll see about that. Or I’ll bust his ass in practice so hard he won’t be able to walk for a few days.”

God.

The crowd’s volume uplifts from the announcer teasing the start of the next period.

"We'll talk more when I see you,” Dad says. “And I'm proud of you, Rory. Always have been."

A flush of warmth spreads through my chest. "Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

“Enjoy the game. I'll see you afterward, I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

The call ends, and I take a moment to compose myself. Not even in my wildest dreams did I think my father would ever join another team, let alone his rival. I can’t even imagine what upper management feels right now in Montreal.

But that sounds like a “them” problem.

And Dad sounds thrilled with his decision.

---