Page 23

Chapter twenty-three

~IRENE~

“Thank you for the clothes again,” I say with a quick smile at Avery.

“Don’t mention it,” Avery replies with a small grin, tucking Damien’s jersey she’s wearing into her jeans.

“You guys mind watching them for me for a minute?” I wave my hand around the room.

“We got it,” Livia responds, crossing her arms, ready to keep an eye on things.

They’re both wearing their men’s jerseys, and I’ll be putting on Ares’ soon. This is the moment I show him—and the world—that this isn’t a secret.

“Thank you, both. I’ll be back in a minute,” I say with my head on the door handle.

I shut the conference room door behind me quietly, blocking out the low murmur and chatter coming from the inside, and slip into the hallway with a flutter in my chest.

The muffled roar of the arena crashes over me like a wave

It’s game night. And not just any game. It’s Ares’ return—his first time back on the ice after nearly two weeks off.

We’re supposed to tell my father about us after the game. He’s always tense before big nights, always wound tight and hyper-focused. And tonight, we’re talking playoffs, which means he’s even more on edge.

So, Ares and I figured that after the final buzzer, after the adrenaline wears off and the dust settles, it might land softer.

My body’s still humming from the last two nights we’ve spent together—naked, tangled, and laughing. These past two days, I’ve seen Ares in a new light. He’s glowing. And it’s not just his hip healing; it’s something deep within him.

The muffled roar of the sold-out arena trembles through the walls like a living heartbeat. They're chanting already, which means the players will be called out in minutes.

And I have a plan. A stupid, sweet, slightly terrifying surprise I’ve been working on with Livia and Avery for him.

I glance down the hallway, making sure no one saw me, but a deep voice stops me in my tracks.

“You hiding something from me, little thing?”

I yelp, turning around to come face to face with Ares in a black and gold Panthers jersey, and my heart does that little flip I’ve gotten too used to.

He’s fully geared up, helmet tucked under his arm, pads tight across his massive shoulders, and the Panthers logo stretched across his broad chest. A sly smirk tugs at his mouth, and his black hair is perfectly messy and falling over his light blue eyes.

Those eyes, that straight nose, the hollow cheeks, that jawline—he looks like he was made for war…and almost too perfect to be real.

“N-no,” I stammer, backing up slightly.

“I thought we said no more secrets,” he murmurs, pinning me in place with just his gaze.

“It’s not a secret,” I breathe, my heart thudding. “It’s a surprise.” I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my face.

“Hmm.” He tilts his head like he’s dissecting every beat of my pulse. “Is it something that ends with you on top of me?”

“No.” My entire face burns.

“Me on top of you?” he suggests, raising a brow.

“That depends,” I throw back. “You planning on scoring tonight?”

“I always score.” That sharp grin spreads across his face.

His hand lifts, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw, and I lean into it. His other hand finds my waist, and he backs me up against the wall.

The crowd roars again, a massive sound wave just beyond the walls, and it only makes this feel more thrilling.

I’m already flushed, heart racing, when he leans in, his lips brushing mine. And then he kisses me. His tongue parts my lips, and I melt. Right there in the hallway on game night.

“The pre-game’s about to start,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’ve gotta head to the tunnel.”

I nod, heart thundering, already missing him even though he hasn’t moved yet.

“But I couldn’t go out there without seeing you first.”

I press my hand to his chest, right over his racing heart.

“I’ll be watching the entire time,” I whisper.

His lips ghost over my cheek, my jaw, before returning to hover over mine.

“And I’ll be looking for you in the crowd. I always am.” And his mouth is on mine again.

His tongue sweeps against mine as my fingers tangle in the collar of his jersey. The muffled roar of the arena rises in the background like a tidal wave.

“Irene?” a familiar voice cuts through the roar like a gunshot.

My whole body freezes, and I feel Ares stiffen before we pull away from each other and turn our heads.

Oh no.

My father, frozen in place. His eyes are wide—a look of pure horror in them as he looks at his star forward and his daughter. He’s standing at the end of the hallway, blinking like he’s just seen a car crash in slow motion.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s staring at us like his entire world just collapsed.

“What is…” he falters, his eyes locked on me. And in that moment, I feel the world fall away.

Then his eyes go up to Ares’, looking at him like he doesn’t recognize him. Like he’s looking at a stranger.

“Coach—” Ares starts, stepping in front of me like a shield.

“Get your ass to the tunnel, Black,” my father orders, voice calm yet venomous.

Ares doesn’t move.

“No,” he refuses, quiet but solid. “Not before I—”

“I said NOW,” my father barks out.

Then, like the universe heard the tension and decided to twist the knife, I hear male voices echoing in the hallway.

“There he is!” Langley’s voice booms from down the hall. “Where the fuck did you go, man?” He shoves at Ares’ shoulder, but Ares doesn’t budge, his eyes locked on my father in a death match.

“We’re about to get called out,” Davidson barks. “Come on, you diva!”

Damien’s laugh cuts through.

“Did you get cold feet, man?” he teases, slapping his stick against Ares. “You ghost us for two weeks, and now you wanna hide behind the Zamboni?”

Then Rowan steps into view, his eyes immediately going to me, then Ares, then my father. I can see it happen. That flicker of realization, that slow, sinking oh, crap.

Dad turns to Rowan with fire in his voice.

“Get Black to the damn tunnel.” He’s looking at Ares like he’s the last person on earth who deserves to be near me.

Rowan hesitates just for a breath, then he steps forward.

“Come on,” he says to Ares, grabbing his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Ares growls.

“Not now, man.” Rowan’s grip tightens, and he shoots Damien a glance. Damien immediately picks up on the silent communication and grabs Ares by the other shoulder.

“You’ll have time for this later,” Rowan says. “Not. Now.”

Ares looks at me with panic and worry in his eyes.

“I got this,” I tell him, nodding, trying my best to school my features. I have to show him that I’m going to stand up for both of us, especially before he gets out there. “I promise.” The guys are already dragging Ares down the hall, and his eyes never leave mine. I can see the conflict in them, the battle between saying ‘Screw the game’ and ‘I need to do this.’ The rest of the team follows, unaware of the hell that just detonated behind them.

And then it’s just me, my father, and the chaos I know is coming.

His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders tight like he’s holding back a thousand things.

“Dad—” I take one step toward him.

“I have to get out there,” he grits out, his voice clipped and final. He turns away from me and starts walking, following his team.

I chase him, my heart pounding, words tumbling over themselves in my throat.

“Dad, wait. Please, just listen to me,” I breathe. “We were going to tell you. After the game. Ares and I, we talked—”

“Ares and you?” he throws over his shoulder, the words sharp like knives. “ We ?” He whirls around. “Jesus Christ, Irene. Ares? ”

He says it with disgust. Like the name alone tastes rotten in his mouth. Like it’s something vile.

And just like that, I break. I was ready for anger or disappointment, even for that tight, quiet kind of silence that lasts for days.

But I wasn’t ready for this.

Not the venom.

Not the disgust.

Not from the man who always spoke Ares’ name with pride. Whom I’ve heard say, “That kid plays like he’s got a storm in his chest.” Who talks about him like he was an exceptional player.

I pick up my pace, not caring if the pre-game starts in five minutes. I don’t care if the cameras are about to roll or the anthem’s about to play.

I step in front of my father, blocking his path, chest rising with every breath I fight to control.

“Listen to me,” I demand, making him halt. “We can’t leave things like this, Dad.”

“Do you even know him?” he asks, his voice rough. “Do you even know what Ares is?”

I blink, my anger turning into rage.

“Why are you saying that like he’s a monster?” I ask, the heat rising in my core. “Yes. I know him.”

“No,” he bites out, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. Not like I do.”

“There it is again,” I say quietly. “That tone. That look.”

His eyes narrow, but he stays silent.

“You always spoke about Ares with pride. So, what just happened, Dad?” My voice cracks. “You looked at him like he’s filth.”

His mouth opens as he tries to find the words, clearly confused by what I’m saying. He really doesn’t see it.

“Or are you only proud of Ares when he’s winning you games?” I press, stepping closer.

“What are you saying, Irene?” His brows furrow, and his shoulders tense even more, but I see it—the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“I’m saying you don’t get to pretend he matters to you if your respect ends the second you see him with me.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded.

“He’s not who I want for you.” His voice is low and defensive.

“Why?” I demand.

“He’s not…it’s not right! He's not good for you.” He raises his voice.

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” I raise my voice back, even if it’s shaky. I’ve never yelled at my father. Ever.

He stares down at me, eyes wide, like I’ve lost my mind.

But I haven’t.

I’ve finally found it.

“You saved him once,” I say. “But he did the rest himself. And now, he’s yours . He’s on your team, he plays for you, he respects you. He looks up to you.” My voice cracks. “And that’s how you talk about him the second he does something you don’t approve of? Do you know how many times he’s been abandoned, Dad?”

“Of course, I know!” he shouts, the words sharp and ragged. “I know every goddamn placement form. Every address. Every foster home that didn’t keep him for more than six months. I know what they said about him in those reports, Irene!”

I flinch.

He’s breathing hard now, his voice cracking.

“You think I don’t remember the day I found him? You think I’ve forgotten what state he was in? He was a kid, but already gone. Hardened, violent, and empty.” His voice lowers. “Do you know how long it took me to feel safe leaving him alone with the other players?” he continues, sounding bitter. “ Years. Because I didn’t trust what he’d do. That boy had too much anger in him.”

I swallow hard but hold my ground, waiting for him to get to his point. Because everything he’s pointing out right now is irrelevant to the conversation.

“And now?” he snaps. “Now that same man is doing… things with my daughter—my baby girl —behind my back?”

My eyes burn, and my throat tightens.

“So he’s good enough to be on your team.” My lower lip quivers, and I have to pause to collect myself. “Good enough for you to bring into our house for lunch. Feed him a meal. Put a stick in his hand. Good enough to win you games.”

“Irene…”

“But not good enough to be an actual part of your family?” I say louder now, fire blooming in my chest. “Not good enough to be with me? Is that how you see him?”

His face twists, contorted with emotion—conflict, anger, something too big to name.

“I see him as my son! ” he snaps, his voice carrying above the roaring fans and the music.

For a few moments, we just stare at each other while the walls around us shake from the bass coming from the buzzing arena.

“I see him as a son,” he says again, softer this time, but no less shattered. “And my son cannot…do this with my daughter. It’s not right.”

The words slam into me like ice water down my spine.

“Do you really?” I ask, my voice small. “Do you really see him as a son?”

He stares at me like he doesn't understand what I'm asking.

“Because right now, you’re treating him like a stray dog . One you fed once, gave a warm place to sleep for the night, and then shoved into a dog-fighting ring so he could bleed for you. A stray dog worth feeding but not worth being part of your family.”

His mouth opens. Closes. No words.

“Is that how you see him?” I ask again, this time louder. “A stray? Something to tame, but not love?” My chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged breaths. “Yes, you made time for him, gave him hope,” I whisper, “but then you hide him from the people that matter most in your life. You don’t get to be the reason he believes in trust and be the one who doesn’t give that trust back.”

His eyes are glassy now, his mouth parted, stunned.

“Do you know how many times people have done that to him?” I ask, tears burning at the back of my throat, remembering the story Ares told me. “Given him hope, a place to belong, and then turned their backs?”

I step even closer.

“If that’s what you’re planning to do, if you’re going to turn your back on him now because we found each other and you don’t like it, then I’ve had the wrong role model my entire life.”

He doesn’t say anything; he just stands there, staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. His jaw works, clenched and conflicted. His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. And behind him, the arena explodes. Music. Lights. Game 7 of the first round. Playoffs.

It’s time.

I take one shaky breath and meet his eyes.

“Go,” I whisper. “They’re waiting for you.”

He still doesn’t move. The crowd chants. The announcer’s voice echoes through the hallway, calling the coaches to the tunnel. My father’s fists clench at his sides as he looks at me again, really looks. And I can tell, I’ve left something with him. Good. He needs to think about this.

He turns his head toward the arena, before turning back to me, still speechless.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “Go do what you do best.”

Then, I turn. I don’t wait to see if he follows.

I walk away, shoes clicking against the tiles, the roar of the arena pulsing through my blood.

I love my father. And I know he loves Ares; he just hasn’t looked at him through this lens yet. But he has a whole game to think about it.

And I have a surprise to plan for the man I’m not hiding anymore.