Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Uh-huh,” he says, looking lost in his own thoughts as he nods a few times. “I heard what Waller said and you can trust and believe that I gave him a stern talking-to. He's a good player with lots of potential, but he's young. And I'm pretty sure he's got something else going on with him that I'm not one hundred percent sure isn't trickling over into his daily attitude. He hasn't opened up to me yet, but hopefully he will to somebody soon.”
I shake my head, leave it to my dad to be all compassionate and understanding when I think Waller is just being an inconsiderate prick.
“Hey, I heard that,” he says, flashing me a chiding look.
“I didn't even say anything!”
Dad shrugs. “I can tell when you're silently tearing someone to pieces, having been on the wrong end of that more than a few times when you were sixteen, thank you very much. Now, what do I always tell you about people who are showing you the worst of themselves?”
I sigh. “You never know what is going on behind closed doors,” I repeat the saying that he’s grilled into me since I was five years old. “We have to wait until they open their door to us until we can fully judge.”
“That's right,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “Time will tell if he really is the a-hole he's behaving like, but first and foremost, are you okay?”
I hold up my hands, glancing down at my body before looking back across the desk at my dad. “I wasn't in the brawl, Dad. I didn't get hurt—”
“You know darn well that's not what I'm asking,” he cuts me off.
I rub my hands over my face, trying to rid myself of some of the anxiety clawing at my chest. Me and my dad have an excellent relationship, one built from years of trust and understanding, and it’s given him this uncanny ability to see right through any shields I may be throwing up. But just like I'm not ready to tell Lawson who his coach is to me, I'm equally not ready to tell my dad that I might have feelings for his star player.
“Don't try to make something up either, Blakely Wren,” he says, using my first and middle name in the way only he can. “You know I'll be able to tell.”
I sit up a little straighter in my chair, leaning my elbows on his desk and resisting the urge to bang my head against it.
“I'm fine emotionally,” I say, then tilt my head back and forth. “Mostly. I've got some internal debates going on, but other than that, Waller’s heinous comment didn't affect me. I anticipated a lot of those types of comments thrown my way, either to my face or behind my back, when taking this job. I wouldn't have accepted the position if I didn't have a thick skin.”
“That's good to hear,” he says. “But I can tell there's more.”
“Can I pose a hypothetical to you?”
Dad smiles, leaning back in his chair. “I love hypotheticals. Hit me with it.”
“Hypothetically,” I say, tension winding tight in my chest, begging me to stop right where I am.
I push around it, hoping that whatever my father's hypothetical answer is will give me some kind of perspective on all the shit that's bothering me.
“Hypothetically...”
“Honey, if you say hypothetically one more time, I'm gonna realize that this isn't a hypothetical.”
A laugh tears from my lips, and I shake my head. “Okay, let's say Reese develops feelings for one of our players. In the beginning, it wasn't serious between them, but now she's not sure. Now she thinks things might be a little more complicated, and she's worried not only about getting her heart broken again or making a big mistake again like she did with her last relationship, but she's also worried about her job.”
Dad leans forward, mimicking my move by putting his elbows on his desk and resting his chin in his hands, nothing but eager intrigue shaping the lines of his face. “Reese being your bestie and our social media manager,” he qualifies.
I can't say yes, because I can't lie to my father, so I nod with my lips pressed together. “Hypothetically,” I add.
“Uh-huh,” he says, and I can tell he's not buying it, but it's all I’m able to give.
“Would you say that she’d need to end it? That her career is more important than whatever may be developing out of that relationship?”
“Now that's a tough question, sweetheart,” he says. “I guess it all depends on the relationship. Workplace relationships are always a tricky thing, not only because you spend so much time together but because it affects the way you act in your role and how they view you in that role as well. Or how they view others treating you in that role.” Dad arches an eyebrow, as if he’s silently indicating the brawl that happened not an hour ago on the ice.