Page 50 of Power Play Daddies

“I started playing hockey when I was ten. He never missed a game, always showed up for the important stuff all throughout. My mom never understood the game, but she was always in the stands with him. They were my biggest supporters.”

She watches me closely. “You say ‘were,’” she says gently. “Do they still come to your games?”

I look away, my throat tightening. It’s a part of my life I don’t like talking about, but there’s no dodging it now. “No,” I say quietly. “They died when I was eighteen.”

Her eyes widen, and she whispers, “Oh, God.”

I nod, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Car accident. They were on their way home from some event. I… I found out from a news article. Some journalist posted pictures of the wreck before I even got the call.”

“That’s horrible,” she says, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say, my tone clipped. “So, as you can imagine, I’m not the biggest fan of journalists.”

She winces, but she doesn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Beau. That’s awful.”

“It is what it is,” I say, forcing a shrug. “You don’t have to apologize.”

There’s a moment of silence, the kind that stretches and fills the room with unspoken things. Then she steps back, giving me a little nod. “Ready to continue?”

“Yeah,” I say, though my voice is rougher than I’d like.

She doesn’t push me. Instead, she adjusts the camera and gives me a small, encouraging smile. And for the first time, I think maybe this interview won’t be so bad after all.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Daisy

Time slipsby unnoticed as Beau keeps talking. His jaw tightens and his shoulders stiffen.

He’s trying to hold it together, but I can see it in his eyes—the pain’s still there, raw and heavy. My chest aches for him, imagining what it must’ve been like to lose everything so young.

“That’s… a lot to carry,” I say softly.

He shrugs, but it’s forced. “It’s life.”

I want to say something, anything, but nothing feels big enough to touch the weight of what he’s just shared. So, I don’t push.

“What about your career goals?” I ask, shifting the conversation. “You’ve got a lot of fans out there rooting for you. What’s next for Beau Callahan?”

His lips twitch, almost like a smile, but not quite. “Winning. Always winning. Stanley Cup’s the big one, of course. That’s the dream. But… I guess I just want to be the kind of player my dad would’ve been proud of. The kind of guy my mom would’ve bragged about to her friends.”

My throat tightens again and I blink quickly, refusing to let any tears show. “Sounds like you’re already that guy.”

His eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, it feels like the air between us shifts. He nods. “Thanks.”

The room falls quiet, and I clear my throat, breaking the silence. “Do you want to take a break?”

“Yeah, actually. Can we pick this up another time? I’ve got conditioning with Jason in a bit.” Jason is the team trainer.

“Of course.” I step closer and start unclipping the mic from his hoodie. He doesn’t move, just watches me, those sad blue eyes burning into mine.

When I finish, I set the mic on the table and glance up. “I’ll edit everything and let you have the final say before anything’s published. I promise.”

“Thanks,” he says, his voice low.

I reach out, my hand brushing his shoulder without thinking. “I know it’s dumb, but… I get it. What you’re going through.”

His brows lift. “How?”