Page 92 of Playmaker

“Whatever you need,” I’d told her. “You know you have my support.”

On my screen, she’d smiled. “I know. I don’t know how I’d handle any of this without you.”

I doubted that; she was stronger than most people I knew. But I was still glad to help.

Far below me on the ice, the game continued, the screen having shifted away from Doran.

Sabrina’s line was the first out after the commercial break, and she lost the faceoff. Then she was able to get the puck, but promptly turned it over.

“C’mon, baby,” I murmured. “Get it together.”

She didn’t. Not that shift, anyway. She was a mess. Two more turnovers, one of which resulted in a scoring chance, and then she fanned a shot on goal.

Mercifully, her shift ended, and I craned my neck to peer at her on the bench. Coach Reilly was bent over beside her, a hand on her shoulder, and Sabrina was nodding along. Coach didn’t seem angry; knowing her, she was asking if Sabrina was okay.

And knowing Sabrina, she was insisting she was even though she clearly wasn’t.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that she fell apart right after the fans had cheered for her dad. Right after his face had been plastered up on the giant screen so she couldn’t forget he was here. That had happened at a couple of other games, too, and it threw her off every time.

Shit. Was this part of his plan? Fuck with her head just by being here? Even if he didn’t respect women’s hockey or his own daughter, he wasn’tthatmalevolent, was he?

Fortunately, Sabrina’s next shift was better. She wasn’t completely herself, but she protected the puck, her passes were crisp, and that shot she fired at the net was justbarelydeflected by the crossbar. If the problem was her dad or she was just getting into her own head, she seemed to be pulling herself back out of it.

I didn’t wait for the period to end before I headed down the locker room. With two minutes left to go before the buzzer, I told my parents I’d be right back, then picked up my crutches and hobbled out of the suite to the elevator.

As I was coming into the locker room, the horn sounded, and a moment later, my teammates clomped in.

Sabrina gave me a weak smile, but then she dropped her gaze and focused on taking off her gloves.

“Hey.” I touched her face and kissed her lightly. “You okay?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yeah. I just…” She glared upward as if she could see her father through the ceilings and floors between them. “It’s driving me nuts that he’s here.”

I scoffed. “He probably just wants to be seen as Father of the Year.”

“Yeah, right.” She dropped her gloves on the bench beside her helmet. “I keep avoiding him. I won’t be able to avoid him after this game, though.”

That caught me by surprise. “You’ve been avoiding him?”

She nodded without meeting my gaze. “Sometimes it’s easy—gotta talk to reporters, catch a plane, whatever. But a lot of times…” She sighed, shoulders sinking under her pads. “Icouldsee him. I just don’t.”

“Why not?”

Sabrina shook her head. She picked up her water bottle from her locker stall and took a deep swig, then poured a little down the back of her neck. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid he’s being insincere… or that heissincere.”

My heart ached for her. I could only imagine that kind of turmoil—wanting her dad’s love and approval for so long that when it finally came, she couldn’t enjoy itortrust it.

“Hey.” I cupped her face in both hands. “Look at me.”

She did, and the hurt, anger, and frustration in her eyes were heartbreaking.

“He doesn’t matter,” I told her. “There are almost twenty thousand people out there and God knows how many watching at home whodothink our sport and our players matter. Your mom and siblings are here and cheering for you.Myparents are here and cheering for you. Him?” I scowled. “He’s already taken way too much away from you.” I lifted her chin and kissed her softly. “Whether he’s being sincere or not, don’t let him ruin all this for you.”

Sabrina’s eyes welled up, but she smiled. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“And…” I hesitated.

She arched an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

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