Page 106 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

“Don’t come,” I said flatly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then his voice sharpened. “Excuse me?”

I could picture his expression—probably the same cold, shocked look I’d seen a thousand times. Like when I’d gotten suspended at school for fighting. Or when I’d gotten that first tattoo without his permission. Or after he found out I quit football to pursue hockey.

But this wasn’t the same as before. This time, I didn’t care about what he thought.

“All my life,” I started, my voice tighter than I intended, “I wanted you to be proud of me. You never were. It was just the two of us after Mom left, and I spent every second of my life hoping you’d look at me the way other fathers looked at their sons. But you never did. You ignored me. You used me to brag to your friends. And now, you want to show up tomyGame Seven and claim a piece of it? You don’t get to support my legacy for yourself when you’ve never supported me a single day of my life.”

There was another long silence on the line. I could hear his breath, the tension creeping in, the way it always did before he lashed out. But this time, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t a kid waiting for him to tell me I wasn’t good enough.

“Who do you think paid for your hockey all those years growing up?” he snapped, his voice low, defensive. “I paid for every damn thing you ever needed on the ice. Your equipment, your travel, your coaching.”

I laughed bitterly. “Did you even notice the money coming out of your account, or did you think of it as a type of nanny, so you didn’t have to deal with me? You were off living your life. Remind me…how many games of mine did you go to growing up?”

There was another beat of silence as I waited for him to answer, but we both knew what the number was.

Zero.

“Don’t act like you did something noble. You never cared about me.”

The words hung heavy between us, and I could hear his breathing, sharp and angry. But he didn’t say anything. He never had an answer when it came to the truth.

“If you show up to that game,” I continued, my voice cold, “you’ll be escorted out. You’re not going to stand there with your cameras and act like you’ve been the reason for any of this. Because you haven’t. You don’t deserve to be a part of everything now.”

He sputtered, starting to say something, but I didn’t wait to hear it. I hung up, tossing the phone onto the couch beside me, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Sloane came out of my bedroom, fiddling with the earring she was trying to put in her ear.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “Why were you yelling?”

Someday I would tell her about my dad, but not today. After all, she was the main reason I’d just gotten the courage to tell him off like that for the first time in my life. Because more so than even how I felt about my best friends—she made me feel like I had my own family now. She was my future.

“It was nothing,” I murmured when I realized I was just staring down at her.

“You’re going to be amazing,” she whispered.

“No doubt about that,” I grinned, and she huffed, like she didn’t think I was sexy.

“What about now, Sloane? You in love with me yet?”

She flushed and started for the door, glancing back at me with a gorgeous smile. “You’re still talking crazy, Logan York.”

“But I’m getting close, Calloway.”

She didn’t tell me any different.

I ignored the buzzing in my pocket, no doubt a barrage of texts from my father telling me off for daring to disrespect him like that.

And I was smiling as we walked out the door to get to my game.

* * *

“I can’t even make a joke right now,” Walker said, running his hand down his face. There was a green tinge to his skin, like he was going to be sick.

Ari stared at him incredulously. “What does that even mean? When doyoumake jokes? Of the five of us, you’re literally theleastfunny.”

I preened at the idea that I was funnier than at least one person in the group—even though I was very aware that wasn’t exactly high praise—notbeinglast. It only took a second, though, for me to remember that I was also nervous as fuck, and I couldn’t be funny right now if I tried.

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