Page 4 of Devil on Skates

IRINA

SOMEONE WAS WATCHING me at the restaurant. I glanced around casually, checking out the sidewalk and the street, but I didn’t see anything or anyone. But the feeling made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“You seem distracted,” my dad says, his voice even but with that usual edge, as if he’s quietly evaluating me.

I snap my focus back to him and force a smile. “Sorry. I was just thinking about a deadline.”

“Ever the diligent student,” he replies, like he finds it mildly amusing. “The Costello boy is the same way. Top of his class. You two will get along very well.”

I bob my head and make a vague sound of agreement, but mentally, I’m miles away. That lunch was pure torture. My father tried to present Keith like a damn investment opportunity.

I nodded in all the right places, threw in a few comments, and kept my real thoughts buried. My dad’s got deep roots in both business and hockey, and now apparently he’s using them to play a matchmaker.

“Remember,” he says. “You can’t afford to make a mistake. Costello is a great match, and you need to show interest in him and what he does. You need to get him to like you. Really like you.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“He’ll be great for your future, and he’s a good and nice guy. He’ll treat you right. Maybe you don’t see it right now, but you’ll be thanking me later. You should come to the campus and hang out with him more. How about you pay him a visit tomorrow? Lunch or something? Just the two of you.”

I furrow my brow. “But I’m on my own campus and I have classes. I have to study too, and my job—”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s just across town. You’ll make it. Ditch the job. That part-time nonsense you’re doing is worthless anyway. Check Keith’s schedule and adjust yours.”

“But—”

“No buts, Irina. Just do as I say.”

My phone buzzes. It must be a group chat notification, a text from a friend, or maybe it’s some professor emailing me about an assignment.

My dad goes toward the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about my studies being a waste.

I know what he thinks. Ever since he found out I want to become a physical therapist, he’s been sneering and scoffing about it.

Apparently, doing a job like that isn’t good enough for our family, because I should be the boss of something or someone important, and not tape ankles or whatever.

I decide to check my phone before I get even angrier about the whole situation. As I unlock the screen, I freeze.

A bunch of likes, and it’s all from the same guy.

Every photo on my barely-used profile? Liked. Even the one from two years ago with me squinting into the sun in a winter coat.

“What the hell...?” I mutter, opening the app, and my eyes fall on a message.

Hey, stranger. Miss me yet?

My heart skips a beat.

I click on the profile, already half-bracing myself for some random creep.

A gasp escapes my throat.

It’s him.

The guy from last night. Memories flood my mind. The way he kissed me, the way his mouth did all those wonderful things to me, the way he looked at me...

I quickly scroll through his photos. On the ice. With a trophy. Grinning with his teammates. That same cocky half-smile I remember from the party.

The words under one of the photos sear into my brain. Captain. Men’s hockey.

My mind starts racing, and I can only think about one thing. My dad is his coach.

Xavier Gallagher. He’s one of my dad’s best players, and I had sex with him.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I scroll like a crazy person, trying to put everything together and maybe figure out if he has a twin brother or something. But no, it’s him.

I stare at his message again, and my chest tightens. If my dad finds out—if anyone finds out—that I hooked up with his star player while he’s trying to lock in an alliance with the Costellos... It won’t just be a disaster. It’ll be nuclear.

Has Xavier realized who I am? That I’m not just the girl from the party, but the daughter of his coach? Probably. Maybe that’s why he messaged me. Maybe he thinks he’ll get some benefit out of the whole thing or blackmail me so I don’t tell my dad about what we did.

It’s a fucking mess. I open his profile again, my finger hovering over the block button.

It’s the smart and responsible move. The only move.

But still... I hesitate.

Because last night was the first time in forever I felt like myself . Not someone’s daughter or a pawn, just a girl making her own choices.

And now the guy remembered me, found me, and reached out. None of that should’ve happened. He was supposed to be a distant memory.

My dad’s footsteps return, echoing all the expectations—the debts, the pressure, and the plan.

I take a deep breath, steady my hand, and quickly hit the block button. Then I stuff my phone into my pocket.

No second guesses. No slip-ups. Some doors need to stay closed, no matter how much I want to crack them open again.

Because this is my life now. I’m Coach’s daughter and maybe soon-to-be Keith’s polite plus-one. And there’s no space in that story for hookups with complicated boys.