Page 8 of Penalty Box

That got his mouth to twitch. Barely. “Keep the sarcasm holstered. You’re still on probation after that fire alarm stunt.”

I snorted. “It was hardly a stunt.”

“I know what you’re dealing with down there,” he said, pulling me to one side. “Ventilation’s shitty. But if the false alarms continue—”

“It was fine, dad. The bay was cleared in thirty seconds. It was good practice.”

He wasn't impressed. “For what, arson?”

I shrugged, letting the silence answer for me. We passed the skate oven and a kid from equipment staff gave me a subtle wave. I nodded back but didn’t smile. Can’t be too friendly when no one’s supposed to know you’re the coach’s kid.

“You should know I had to fill out an incident report for this one,” he added.

The frustration was clear in his voice. I didn’t know whether it was aimed at me or the system. Chances were good it was both.

I sighed. “Seriously? They need to chill out. It wasn’t that bad.”

He fixed me with that look he got when he was especially tired and done with everything. “You know how this works, Cass. Youwork here, you get treated like everyone else. You mess up, you take accountability.”

Except he didn’t treat me like everyone else. Not really. I was the one with the key to the Zamboni and backup code to the utility box. I was the one he called when the dehumidifier glitched during a freak Texas snowstorm last winter and nobody else picked up their phones. And for a part-time staffer, I had to take on way more pressure all because of my last name.

We reached the vending machine, and he fished coins from his pocket. “You eat today?”

“I had a protein bar earlier.”

He bought two drinks anyway. Grape Fizz for me, lemon tea for him. It was muscle memory at this point.

“I keep telling you to stop with those things,” he said, passing my drink to me. “You need real food in your system. Meat on your bones.”

“My bones are just fine, thanks.” I twisted the cap off my drink and took a sip. It was way too sweet but also the best ever. Go figure.

“Speaking of food—”

And there it was. The pivot. He had a knack for doing that. Get me to drop my guard, then pounce.

“—you missed dinner again. That’s two Sundays in a row.”

“I told you… I had assignments. School’s been brutal.”

“You said that last week,” he grumbled.

“Because it was true last week too. That’s kinda how it works.” I took another sip just so I didn’t have to look at him.

“Cass…”

“I’m not messing around with some two-bit online course, Dad. We’re neck deep in diesel systems, hydraulics, diagnostics. You know, grown-up stuff.”

He laughed a little, shaking his head slowly. “I’m proud of you. You don’t need me to keep saying it. And I know you’re a grown-up, before you get on that old horse again.”

I nodded without looking up.

“You’ve got more grit than half my team,” he went on. “You’re amazing at what you do, whether it’s here or in school.”

I rolled my eyes. “You make me sound like the world’s most underpaid superhero.”

He gave me a look. “It also means I expect more from you than the rest of ‘em. And dinner with me is non-negotiable.”

Right. The whole ‘you get extra freedom, so I get to pile extra pressure’ trade-off. I was used to it. Hell, most of the time, I thrived on it. But lately, the weight of responsibility had started to press down on me.