Page 29 of Playmaker

I chewed my lip as I studied her. Then, cautiously, I moved closer, sitting down on the bench but leaving some breathing room between us. “You don’t have to tell me. But… I’m curious.”

Sabrina turned to me, strands of wet hair falling in front of her eyes. Why was it so hard to resist brushing them out of her face and tucking them behind her ear? She drew the tip of her tongue along the inside of her lip. “Why do you want to know?”

I half-shrugged. “All I’ve ever had to go by is what people have said. I, um… I thought it was the whole story.” I had to almost literally swallow my pride before I added, “Apparently I was wrong.”

She lowered her gaze again. “Is that why you don’t like me? Because you think my dad handed me a hockey career?”

When she put it like that, I sounded like an even bigger asshole. Sighing, I nodded. “I’ve seen so many girls struggle to get to even major juniors. I thought…” I exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

She studied me through her lashes, and I fully expected her to tell me I was full of shit before she stormed out.

Instead, something in her seemed to… collapse. She slumped a little, all the remaining anger melting out of her expression, replaced by what looked like pure fatigue. “No oneknows the truth about my dad’s influence on my career.”

I swallowed. “What is the truth?”

She searched my eyes as if to ask,“Do you really want to know, or are you just going to shoot down whatever I say?”

Before I could insist I was coming from a genuine place, though, Sabrina took a deep breath and started talking, the words tumbling out as if she’d been holding them back forever and just couldn’t anymore.

“Everyone’s convinced my dad’s name has been my golden ticket to everything hockey. And maybe it has been. I…” She sighed heavily and lifted a shoulder in a minute half-shrug. “I can’t control the decisions or assumptions people make. The part people don’t know is that the only thing my name might have gotten me is some more open doors. And yes, I know, that’s a privilege. I know a lot of people don’t have that. It isn’t fair.” She turned to me again, her eyes filled with fatigue and sadness. “But once those doors are open, I still have to earn the right to stay. I still have to play hockey. And the part people don’t realize is that I had to fight hard to even learn to play in the first place.”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean my brother had everything he could ever need at his fingertips. He was skating before he was out of diapers. He had private coaches. My dad coached him. He took Mark to practices with him so he could learn from professional coaches and teammates.” Sabrina swallowed like it took some work, and she shook her head. “I didn’t have any of that. I learned to skate young because my mom wanted me and my sister to learn. But hockey?” She swiped at her eyes, which had started to well up again. “I wasn’t allowed to play hockey. Not even in the driveway.”

My lips parted. “What? Why not?”

“Because my dad thinks women’s hockey is a joke. And he didn’t want his name being used to legitimize the sport.” She leaned back, letting her head rest against the divider between locker stalls. She closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, she sounded even more exhausted. “He hated that I was involved in getting the League off the ground. Even after I got married and changed my name, he didn’t want me doing anything related to hockey—especially playing—because everyone still knew I was his daughter. So his name was still getting dragged into it.” She rolled her eyes. “He was pissed that I changed my name, and then he was pissed that I was dragging his name near women’s hockey. I can’t win, I swear.”

“Wow,” I whispered. I considered everything she’d said, then I moistened my lips. “Can I ask something else? Again, you don’t have to answer.”

She met my gaze, eyes wet but curious.

“With all the shit everyone said about you riding your dad’s name…” I hesitated, not sure how to continue.

In a resigned voice, she asked, “Why did I change it back after I got divorced?”

I nodded.

Sabrina stared at the floor again and gave a wet, miserable laugh. “Everyone’s convinced I did that so I could land a contract in the League. Because Dad’s name definitely carries more weight than Ty’s.”

“Right,” I said quietly. “I, um… That’s what I heard.”

Her laughter, such as it was, faded, and she watched herself tracing the logo on her water bottle with her thumb. “I knew that’s what people would think. And I dreaded it, because…” She sighed and shook her head. “At the end of the day, I’d rather let people say I’m using my dad’s name for nepotism than keep Ty’s name.”

That caught me off-guard, and I stared at her. “Why’s that?”

Sabrina brushed some wet hair out of her face. “The thing is, no matter what the rumors say, I didn’t retire from competition because of Ty’s money.” She turned to me. “I retired because Ty didn’t want to be married to a hockey player. And he did everything he could to keep me from playing.”

“What? Why? And how?”

“Why?” She huffed a near silent laugh. “Who knows? In hindsight, he married me for exactly the reason everyone thinks the League signed me—because of my dad. He loved the idea of being Doran McAvoy’s son-in-law. When I wanted to declare myself for the draft the first year of the League, he had a million reasons why I shouldn’t.” She started ticking off the points on her fingers. “It would make my physique too hard and unattractive. The women’s teams usually play on the road while the men’s teams are at home and vice versa, so we’d barely see each other. It…” She dropped her hand onto her thigh with a heavy smack. “I don’t know what the real reason was. Just that I got tired of fighting about it, especially because I’d spent my whole life fighting so hard against my dad over the same thing, so I just… gave in.”

“That sounds…”

“Miserable?” She laughed bitterly. “You could say that. And I mean, Ty wasn’t physically abusive or anything. I wasn’t afraid of him. He just knew how to wear me down mentally and emotionally until he got whatever he wanted. By the time I realized I needed to leave, I couldn’t. He had control of all the money. Everything was in his name. I couldn’t afford to get my own place, never mind a lawyer.” She sat up a little and rolled her shoulders. Then she turned to look right in my eyes, and though hers were still wet, there was a fierceness I hadn’t seen before. “That was when I reached out to Laura Davies—Seattle’s GM.”

I straightened. “You did?”

---