Page 19

I hear her melodic voice, but it sounds further away now.

For weeks, I’ve been openly flirting with the coach’s daughter.

I attempt to run back every interaction we’ve had, wondering if I just missed the part where she told me.

I’ve hung on to her every word during our mock interviews.

I’ve stared into her eyes like they were going to give me the code to breaking through to her between quiet moments, and last night I kissed her senseless.

I’m positive there’s no way in hell this slipped by me.

“That’s right,” I offer, lamely.

“Right, well.” He looks down at his watch, the same shiny, black one he always wears, and then back up to Savannah. “Since you’re here, should we grab some dinner?”

Her lips pull into a soft, straight line, and she nods.

“Good game tonight, kid.” Coach pats my shoulder and takes two steps until he’s standing beside his daughter and I’m left alone on the other side of them.

Savannah pulls her keys from the small bag that’s slung across her chest. She taps her foot somewhat nervously while looking over her shoulder to the parking lot, and then back to me. “Umm, so, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I’m still trying to piece together what just happened here, but as I watch her tap the old school hotel key keychain on the palm of her hand, and take in the slight bunch in her brows, I plaster on my usual, beaming smile.

“Yeah.” I step back and give her a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The Italian restaurant my parents and I meet at is only a fifteen-minute drive from the arena.

It’s the nicest restaurant in town, bar none.

But, of course it is. Joshua and Victoria Kingston wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere casual.

Unfortunately, fifteen minutes wasn’t nearly enough time to wrap my mind around the fact that Savannah’s dad is Coach Alvarez.

I enter the dimly lit restaurant and find my sister and parents in a round corner booth. My mom has already emptied half a glass of wine and my dad swirls his crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand .

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” I slide into the booth next to Lana, and she gives me a tense smile.

“Great game tonight, hun,” My mom says, lifting her glass of wine.

“You had good moments.” Dad nods his head.

“Thanks…” I let the ‘ I guess’ hang in the air as I reach for my water.

“It would have been better had you not let the other team get away with wiping the ice with your ass.” He laughs around his drink, but I know there's no humor in his words.

“I can’t help it that their captain is an asshole.”

“I don’t give a shit about the other guys, I give a shit about you.” He barks out, and my mom looks around, before smiling and putting her hand on the table in front of him. He looks down at her hand, takes a breath, and sits back.

“I scored two goals.” I stare at him, confused. Not only did we win tonight, but half the goals were mine. Fights aside, I played a great game.

“Look.” He opens his hands around his drink.

“You had one great assist, two lackluster assists, and two solid goals.” He pauses, but I ignore his barb and let him continue.

“There weren’t enough shots on goal for the minutes you played and the level you’re at.

I had a friend there tonight and he probably went home and told his wife what a waste of a night he had. ”

I don’t bother asking why he continues to invite people out to my games when I’ve already signed with Toronto. I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s either trying to show me off, or he’s delusional, and thinks he can scare Toronto into signing me earlier than we planned.

“Okay, well, next time, let me know ahead of time when you have a friend coming so I can leave my mediocre skills on the bench and only come out with the NHL-level shit.”

“If you spent as much time practicing as you do coming up with excuses, you would have been signed right away, none of this ‘upon graduation’, bullshit.”

“Yeah, Dad. I know.” I take a drink of my water, looking around for the waitress, hoping for some kind of interruption.

“Do you?”

Well, seeing as you like to remind me every chance you get.

My eyes twitch slightly when I look across the table.

My mom’s wine glass is now empty, and my dad leans his elbows on the table with his full focus on me.

There's been a new level of intensity in him these last few weeks, and I have to believe it’s because every day that passes, we’re getting closer to our end goal.

He waits for me to nod in understanding before sitting back. “Good. We’re practicing tomorrow.”

“I have to meet up with a classmate tomorrow.”

He squints, studying me. “Same excuse as last week.”

“It’s the same project. We only have one more meet-up until the project is due.”

“Then we’ll meet before.”

I want to argue. I want to tell him that if we practice before, I run the risk of being late again. I want to tell him that I can’t show up tired and in a bad mood. But one look at the seriousness on his face, and all I can do is nod.