Page 28 of Playmaker

The harsh laugh on the other end made my heart sink deeper. I was struggling hard enough to hold on to my love of the sport and my desire to play. It was a temporary funk, I hoped—I wasn’t one to let people like Lila Hamilton get under my skin—but it still sucked. Listening to my dad shit all over what I was doing really, really didn’t help.

Before he could say anything, I said, “Oh, I just got a text from the coaches. Team meeting. I need to go.”

He chuckled again, but at least he didn’t try to stop me from going to the “meeting.” He might crap on my dreams and degrade my league at every possible opportunity, but even he wouldn’t cause me to get disciplined. Good to know the man hadsomeconsideration where my sport was concerned. Probably because of how it would reflect on him if his daughter wasnot only playing women’s hockey, she was irresponsible and unreliable. Not acceptable for a McAvoy.

“All right, kiddo. But think about what I told you, will you? This whole league—it’s a waste of your time and my good name.”

I hated how little energy I could muster to argue with him. I hated the lump in my throat that I couldn’t quite force down.

“I’ll talk to you later, Dad.”

“Love you, Sabrina.”

“Love you, too.”

Then I ended the call and let the phone fall onto the mattress beside me. Tears stung, and I tried to hold them back, but I didn’t succeed.

Spite and stubbornness had carried me through a lot, but they were MIA right now. I was just tired. I was hurt. My own father wanted me to stop playing because it embarrassed him to have his name associated with women’s hockey. At least one of my teammates—one whose dad loved and supported her to the moon and back—thought I was here through nepotism and couldn’t stand the sight of me. Nights like this, it was hard to stay stubborn. It was hard to feel that spite that had pulled me through so many times before.

Nights like this, I wanted to ask the team to release me from my contract so I could go live a private life somewhere. Maybe play on a beer league now and then just to scratch that itch. Do something where I could be Sabrina McAvoy instead of Doran McAvoy’s daughter. Maybe even do something Doran McAvoy thought was worth doing.

Most of the time, I didn’t care what he thought of me playing hockey. I was going to do it because fuck him.

But nights like this…

God, was it too much to ask for my dad to be happy that I was doing what I loved? That I was doing something I was good at it?

I can’t believe everyone thinksyou’rethe reason I have this career.

How much better would I be if you hadn’t tried to keep me down?

Chapter 13

Lila

My chance to get Sabrina alone finally presented itself, and the location wasn’t much different than the place I’d pissed her off—in the workout center at the arena in Charlotte.

We’d had a team meeting this morning, followed by a morning skate, and then everyone was heading out for their pre-game naps and routines, but I’d overheard her tell Anastasia she wanted to spend some time in the gym before she left.

I’d done a light off-ice workout myself before practice, so there was no point in going into the gym again. Plus I didn’t want to distract her from her own routine, especially on game day.

But we did need to have this talk, and we needed to do it before the festering bullshit messed her up for another game.

As I expected, she went from the workout center to the showers, then came into the locker room, one towel around her hair and the other around her body. She probably only expected to find a few staff members wandering around; the equipment managers were always hard at work, and some of the coaching staff were usually nearby.

From the look on her face when she saw me, she definitely hadn’t expected to find me here. Or at least, I was the last person shehopedshe’d see.

She shot me a withering glare, then went to her locker stall and started pulling out another set of shorts and a team shirt. With those on the bench, she continued drying off from her shower.

I didn’t watch her get dressed; we were all used to seeing each other naked, but staring at her while we were the only ones in here would be seriously disrespectful. And anyway, with everything hanging in the air between us, getting caught ogling her would not help our situation.

Once she had on her shorts and T-shirt, I turned her way. As she toweled her hair, I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m…” I swallowed hard. “What I said about you having everything handed to you—I’m sorry. You’re right—Idon’tknow what your life has been like.” I paused, studying her. “Something tells me no one does.”

She eyed me warily, her guard still firmly in place.

But before I could try again to get past those defenses, her shoulders dropped, and she pushed out a breath. She sat down on the bench, watching herself play with the towel between her long fingers. Her voice was soft, almost apologetic as she murmured, “No one does, no.”

She sounded tired. As if she were absolutely wrung out, and not by her gym routine.

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