Page 34 of Pucking Dirty

I bounce up with a grin, tossing my pen down.

"Morning." I lift up on my toes to kiss my dad on the cheek before sliding into the cracked leather booth across from him. This early in the morning, the diner down from the practice arena is mostly empty, but the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon permeates the place, making my stomach growl.

My dad glances up from his phone, his expression softening when his gaze lands on me. "Morning, kid."

I eye him critically, not missing the deep shadows beneath his eyes or the weary lines around his mouth. They had the game against the Bucks last night that went into a second overtime before Archer managed to cinch a win for the team with a backhand shot the opposing goalie didn't see coming.

I have no idea what time they got back into town. Nash texted me from the locker room after the game, but I passed out on him before they made it to the airport.

I woke up to him wrapped around me in my bed this morning, snoring in my ear. He looked every bit as exhausted as my dad. I didn't wake him before slipping out for breakfast. I figured he could use the sleep.

"You look like hammered crap," I tease my dad. "What time did you guys get in?"

"Two."

My eyes widen. "Dad. You could have skipped breakfast!"

"Fuck that," he grunts. "The only time I ever see you outside of work is at breakfast once a week. I'm not missing it to sleep in."

Guilt pricks at me because he isn't wrong. We've barely seen each other in weeks. I spend every waking moment with Nash, carefully avoiding my dad. I've been freaking terrified he'd see the truth written all over my face, and that would be the end of Nash's career. But I've had a lot of time to think since my conversation with Nash last week.

Too much time, perhaps.

I want to be honest with my father about Nash. I hate feeling like I have to hide this big, important part of my life from him. I'm not ashamed of Nash, and I never want him to think I am. Yet, the longer I drag this out, the more I risk making him feel like he's some dirty secret to me, or like our relationship is something I don't value.

That couldn't be further from the truth. I'm so in love with him that I can't breathe through it most days. He consumes every thought in my head. No one has ever set me on fire and made me feel so safe, so seen, and so heard at the same time.

I want him to feel seen and heard too. I need him to know that he matters to me. And I can't do that the way he deserves if I'm too damn scared to even tell my dad that I'm in love with the man.

My whole life, my father has warned me away from hockey players, preaching that they'd screw up my life. I don't think I ever fully grasped how I internalized those talks until the other night in Nash's arms. He was right, though. I think I have spent most of my life believing that I ruined my dad's career…and a little afraid he regrets having me as a result.

My mom walked away, but he didn't. He's always been my hero for choosing me when she didn't. It'll crush me if some part of him wishes he'd made the same choice she did, so I've never asked. I've never wanted to face the possibility of having that fear confirmed. But…I don't have a choice any longer. I'll never move beyond it if I don't face it.

And Nash and I will be stuck in a perpetual limbo, constantly hiding. That isn't what I want. It isn't what he wants either. As fun as it is for him to drag me into every dark corner of the arena to fool around…we can't keep going like this forever.

It isn't fair to either one of us.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask my dad, fidgeting with a napkin.

"Depends on the question, Emilia." He eyes me sideways. "I don't know how to answer half the shit you ask when I've had a full night's sleep. I'm running on far less than that today, kid."

"I'm not that bad."

He snorts, sipping his coffee.

"I'm not!" I protest.

"Really? So you didn't accuse the team of engaging in group masturbation?"

"Oh my god." I stare at him in shock. "You heard about that?"

"Oh, I heard about it." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Circle jerks, Emilia? Really?"

"I told you I panicked when I walked in, and they were all naked!" I whisper-hiss, squirming in my seat. I cannot believe they ratted me out to my dad! "And just so you know, trying to conduct therapy sessions with men you can no longer look in the eye—who can't lookyouin the eye—is all kinds of awkward and uncomfortable. I blame you."

"How the fuck is any of this my fault?"

"Meet me in the locker room, kid," I say, pitching my voice low to mimic his gruff voice. "And then who wasn't in the locker room? Uh, that'd be you. But guess who was in the locker room? Oh, just an entire team of naked hockey players!"

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