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Dad’s staring at me like I owe him an explanation.

“What was that about?” he asks, crossing his arms. His coach voice is on, the one that makes players scramble.

I shrug, trying to look unbothered. “Nothing.”

“Didn’t seem like nothing.”

“It was just an accident.” I glance at the coffee-stained hoodie Caleb left crumpled on the desk. “Ran into him earlier. Literally. Coffee everywhere. He was pissed. End of story.”

Dad studies me for a beat, then sighs. “Stay away from hockey boys, Sienna. They’re trouble.”

“Oh, trust me,” I say, dry as sandpaper. “They’re the worst kind of trouble.”

He gives me a pointed look. “I mean it.”

“I know, I know. Avoid the jocks, stick to the nerds. Got it.”

He doesn’t laugh, just shakes his head. “What’d you want, anyway?”

“I was at the library. Just finished up and thought maybe we could grab Starbucks?”

His face softens. “Yeah, of course. Let’s go.”

We walk out of his office and head down the hall. I’m trying to ignore how upset Caleb was when we bump into Eli.

“Hey, Coach,” Eli says, flashing his usual easy grin. Then his eyes land on me, and he adds, “Hey, Sienna.”

“Hey,” I manage, my voice a little too high.

He winks, and my stomach hollows out like it’s trying to disappear. Memories of that kiss, the one that made my knees go weak, made me stupid, rush back, uninvited.

“See you around,” Eli says, smirking as he walks away.

Dad glances at me. “What the hell was that about, Sie?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, heat creeping up my neck.

He gives me a long, suspicious look but doesn’t push it.

We make it to Starbucks, and I’m grateful for the distraction. The line isn’t too bad, and I already know my order.

“What’re you getting?” Dad asks.

“Grande iced caramel macchiato. Extra caramel drizzle.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re such a sugar fiend.”

“Says the guy who eats three donuts before practice.”

He chuckles. “I’ll take a black coffee. No frills.”

“Of course you will,” I say, smirking.

We order, grab our drinks, and settle into a corner table. I stir my drink with the straw, watching the caramel swirl into the coffee.

“So,” Dad starts, leaning back in his chair. “You talked to your mom lately?”

My grip on the cup tightens. “Nope. Last I heard, she’s got some new boyfriend.”

He frowns. “Another one?”

“Yeah. Some guy she met in Ibiza. Apparently, he’s a ‘spiritual healer.’” I use air quotes, rolling my eyes. “She’s all about ‘aligning her chakras’ now.”

Dad shakes his head, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. “That woman...”

“She’s something, alright,” I mutter, sipping my drink.

“You should reach out, though,” he says. “She’s still your mom.”

“Why don’t you reach out?”

He gives me a look. “She’s not my mom, and we’re not talking about me.”

“Well, we should be,” I shoot back. “You need to put yourself out there. You know, meet someone.”

“I’m too old for that.”

“You’re not that old. You’re, like, what? Forty-five?”

“Forty-eight,” he corrects.

“Still not ancient. I could sign you up for a dating app,” I tease. “Swipe right on some hotties for you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Come on. You’ve been single for years. It’s time.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I love having you around, you know that? But if this is your way of trying to get me out of the house, it’s not gonna work.”

I grin. “I do love having you around too, Dad. But I’m getting kind of bored. Maybe I can help out in your office or something. Organize it a little.”

“You? Organized?”

“Hey, I can be organized when I want to be.”

He smirks. “I’ll think about it. Don’t you have a ton of homework and classwork to catch up on?”

“I am an overachiever, Dad. I may not be clean, but I get my work done.”

He nods, sipping his coffee.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our drinks. I glance out the window, watching students hustle across campus.

“Thanks for this,” I say eventually, lifting my cup.

“Anytime,” he says, smiling.

And in this moment, everything feels okay.

After practice, we head over to the school cafeteria to grab our late lunch.

We’re halfway through a greasy, cheesy pepperoni pizza when I notice Dad hunched over the table, scribbling on paper. Again.

“Seriously, Dad?” I say, eyeing the scattered mess of game plays. “You do this every night.”

He doesn’t look up. “It’s how I plan, Sienna. Been doing it this way since before you were born.”

“And it shows,” I mutter, grabbing another slice. “You know I could digitize that for you, right? Like, turn it into a spreadsheet or whatever.”

He finally looks up, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” I gesture to the chaos. “This is a nightmare. You’ve got notes on napkins, random sticky notes. What is that, a receipt?”

“It’s a system.”

“It’s a disaster.”

He shakes his head but grins. “Alright, if you think you can handle it, go ahead.”

“Trust me, I’ve got this.”

“You sure? I don’t want this screwing with your schoolwork.”

“I’ll be fine.” I shove the last bite of pizza in my mouth. “Multitasking is my thing.”

“Okay, but you need to catch up…”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off, standing to grab a drink. “Promise, Coach. I’m digitally organized. You’re going to love it. I’m a pro.”

The next morning, my alarm goes off way too early. Seven o’clock sharp. I groan, debating whether I should just bury myself under the covers and pretend I didn’t promise Dad I’d help him with his office. But then I remember how excited he looked when I said I’d do it. Damn it.

By the time we pull up to his office, I’m clutching a travel mug of coffee like it’s life support.

“Alright,” Dad says, unlocking the door. “Don’t judge.”

The door swings open, and I immediately regret agreeing to this.

“Holy shit,” I say, staring at the chaos with new eyes. “Dad, this is worse than I thought.”

I finally see that there are papers everywhere on the desk, the floor, even stacked on a chair. A whiteboard leans against the wall with half-erased plays, and a coffee mug that says #1 Coach is filled with pens, most of which don’t have caps.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, stepping over a pile of binders like it’s normal.

“It’s a hazard zone.”

He laughs, grabbing his jacket. “Alright, I’m heading to the rink. You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” I say, already eyeing the mess with a sense of doom. “See you after practice.”

“Thanks, kid.” He pats my shoulder before heading out.

The second he’s gone, I dive in. I start by gathering all the loose papers into one giant pile, which feels like trying to clean up after a tornado. I’m halfway through sorting them by date when the door swings open.

I glance up, expecting Dad, but no. It’s Caleb.

He’s in a jersey, his hair damp like he just stepped out of the shower. He looks annoyingly good, even with the permanent scowl he’s got going on.

“Coach sent me to grab the playbook,” he grunts, not bothering with a hello.

I notice his limp as he walks in, his left leg dragging slightly. My mouth moves before I can stop it.

“You alright?”

He freezes, glaring at me. “What?”

“You’re limping,” I say, motioning toward his leg. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“It’s nothing.”

I grab the playbook off the desk and hand it to him, trying not to notice how his fingers brush mine when he takes it. A stupid, tiny spark zips through me.

“There,” I say, stepping back like he’s contagious. “Anything else?”

His eyes linger on me for a second longer than necessary. “Nope.”

“Okay.”

He turns to leave, and I watch him go, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Such a douchebag,” I mutter under my breath, shoving papers around on the desk.

But damn, he is hot.