Page 23 of Hate to Love You

“She has you,” he points out, not looking the least bit swayed.

“That doesn’t really count. I think Amber wants Hailey to have a playmate closer to her own age. And I’m not around very much as it is.” I’d love to visit more, but there just isn’t time for that. Whenever I walk through the door, Hailey grabs my fingers and drags me up to her playroom. There aren’t many people I’ll admit this to, but I’m well-versed in changing her baby dolls’ diapers, feeding them bottles, and wrapping them in blankies. “Next year, I won’t be around at all. She needs another kid to play with.”

“We’ll see,” he grunts, sounding none too pleased with the prospect. “I’ve got a lot on my plate with the management company. We’re thinking about expanding and opening an office in New York within the next six months.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and adds, “I’m fifty years old. I’m not sure I want another baby at this point in my life.”

I can’t resist the smirk that settles around the corners of my mouth. “What’d you think was going to happen when you married a woman fifteen years younger than you without kids?” Seems like a no-brainer to me.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “When the hell did you get so smart? Guess you better keep that information tucked away for future reference.”

Is he crazy? “Kids aren’t part of my ten-year plan.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Using his fork, he points to my face. “So, how’d you really get that shiner?”

I shrug and continue shoveling in my breakfast. “I told you. I was just fooling around at the house.”

He raises a brow. “Fooling around, huh?” He sits back on his chair and stares at me for a long, ponderous moment.

I hold his gaze and say nothing. I’m not about to admit what really happened. If I know my dad, he’ll blow it out of proportion.

“Since when does getting into a fistfight at a party with one of your teammates constitute roughhousing?”

I groan. “It’s not a big deal.”

He sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly as if he’s trying to rein in his temper. “Actually, it is. The fact you’re even saying this tells me you don’t see the severity of the situation. Do you really want Milwaukee getting it in their heads that you’re not a team player? Or that you’re a troublemaker? A loose cannon? Or worse, that you can’t get along with your own teammates?”

His response seems a little overblown, but I’m smart enough to keep that opinion to myself. This is exactly why I didn’t tell him the truth.

He throws his hands in the air in frustration. “It’s one thing to get into it with players from an opposing team out on the ice in the heat of the moment and quite another to get into it with one of your own. The latter, if you hadn’t already guessed, is unacceptable.” He leans forward and steeples his fingers together on the table. “Do you really think you’ll be a good sell for prospective advertisers if there’s video of you knocking the shit out of someone? Is that an image any company wants representing their brand?”

Fine…maybe he has a point. It’s not like I was considering future endorsement deals when Reed mouthed off. The only thing I’d been concerned about was shutting him up.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Do I regret it?

Not one damn bit.

I won’t, however, admit that to my dad. It’ll only send him over the edge.

“I’m sorry.” I run a hand through my still-damp hair and say with the proper amount of contrition, “It won’t happen again.”

The apology may take the edge off his anger, but he still looks exasperated. “We’ve talked about this, Brody. You need to keep your nose clean. That means no fights. No binge drinking. No baby mamas coming out of the woodwork looking for a payday. Nothing that’s going to tarnish your image. In my day, there wasn’t all this social media crap floating around. People weren’t taking pictures or video every time you left the house. It was a lot easier to keep a lid on shit.” Dad shakes his head. He’s had to clean up more than one client’s PR nightmare thanks to bad decisions and social media. “Now, the moment you fart, it goes viral. When you’re a professional athlete, people can accuse you of almost anything—even if there’s not a grain of truth to it—and ruin your career. I’ve seen it happen. You need to be careful.”

This time when I mutter an apology, I actually mean it. Sometimes I forget that my dad has my best interests at heart. He’s on my side, trying to steer me in the right direction. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Last night got out of control. I let my emotions get the better of me. I’m usually more careful about that.

“You’re too damn close to having everything you ever wanted to fuck it up now. You need to remember that your behavior has consequences. You’re not a kid anymore. So, don’t act like one.”

“It was a momentary lapse in judgment,” I add for good measure, wanting to smooth things over before I head back to campus. Looks like I’ll be taking a page from Amber’s book on how to handle my father. Maybe there’s something to that Zen crap after all.

“Momentary lapse in judgment, my ass. Who’s the girl who caused the ruckus?”

Fuck.

I should have known none of this would get past him. He’s always been vigilant where my career is concerned. And most of the time, I’m appreciative of that. I wouldn’t be where I am today—with a contract signed and endorsement deals rolling in—if it weren’t for this man. But sometimes, he can be a little intense and overbearing. I wish he would give me some breathing room and let me figure things out on my own. He said it himself—I’m not a kid anymore. So, let me handle my own shit like an adult the way most twenty-three-year-olds do.

When I say nothing, he raises a brow and pulls out his phone. He taps the screen a few times and says, “I assume that this,” he pauses and squints, “Natalie Davies is the reason a fight broke out between you and one of your teammates?”

I huff out a breath. “Yeah.”

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