Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I see Coach frown as her words land center-mass, hurting him.
Good. He deserves to hurt for every single time he left a young Briar behind, wondering why she wasn’t worth his time and attention.
“Briar,” he starts, his tone softening for her more than it ever does for us, but it feels more like exasperation than affection.
“I love Dominic and he loves me.” Briar’s announcement is crystal clear and loud, undeniable.
There’s a bit of muffled surprise from the team, and even an uncomfortable chuckle or two, but everyone falls silent quickly at the hard glare Coach shoots at the team.
“I’m sure you think that. I’m sure he’s led you to think that,” Coach says, cutting an accusing glare my way. “But you know how hockey players are. How men are. You don’t need that. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect her?” I balk. “From me? You’re the one she needs protection from.” I move to Briar’s side, ready to destroy the man who hobbled the very foundation she built her life on. I’ll gladly destroy him for her, for her future. For our future. And to hell with my hockey career.
Briar places a steadying hand on my chest and meets my eyes. I see the strength in hers that I’ve always known was there. She doesn’t need me to fight this battle for her. She’s ready to do it on her own.
I give her a supportive nod. “Say what you need to say. I’ve got you.”
“I know how you are,” she tells her father. “I know how Tyler is. But not all men are like that. Not even all hockey players are like that,” she declares, waving a hand around the room. “Dominic certainly isn’t. He’s better than that.”
“You only know what he wants you to know,” Coach protests. “He didn’t want to come here, doesn’t want to be here, but I’m sure he played a good game to get my own daughter on his side. Against me. Probably thinks I’ll trade him back where he wants to go, just to be rid of him. Not a bad idea, actually.” He arches a brow, giving the threat serious consideration.
“This isn’t about hockey!” Briar yells. God help her, she even stomps her foot. The pain of her childhood is breaking loose, free of every restraint she’s had it under for so long. “This isn’t even about you. For once in my whole life, it’s about Me!”
Everything stops. I don’t think anyone even breathes. I’m reasonably certain, no one has ever spoken to Coach Boothe like that.
“And if you try to stop us from being together”—Briar wraps an arm around my waist and I automatically lay one over her shoulders—“you’re going to destroy the team you’ve given your life to and everything will have been for nothing, because this is all you have.” She glances around, not at the people, but at the mural-covered walls. The ones with awards and championship rankings, the team’s logo, and not much else.
“Briar, I’m trying to protect you,” he says again.
But my girl’s not done. She’s got an entire lifetime of thoughts and feelings and pain pent up and she’s letting it all fly, collateral damage be damned.
“You are the only thing I ever needed protecting from,” she states bluntly. If she’d yelled it, I think it would’ve hurt less. The flat statement makes it that much more impactful. “You hurt me when I was still figuring me out and it ruined me in a lot of ways—how I see the world, what I expect, and most importantly, what I accept. Dominic is doing his damnedest to fix what you broke and show me what love is supposed to be like.”
She counts on her fingers. “It’s not disappearing the way you did. It’s not treating Mom and me like we were disposable. It’s not showing up only when it’s convenient for you. It’s not never picking up the phone or coming to your grandson’s hockey games. It’s not . . . you. I have never once felt love from you, so don’t stand there and say you are trying to protect me from the one man I’ve never needed protecting from.”
She’s breathless, panting as tears stream down her face. With my hands on her shoulders, I wait, making sure she’s finished. I want her to get it all out—every shred of rage, every pinprick of hurt, every scar ripped open to freshly bleed so that she can truly start to heal. When she’s quiet, I spin her, burying her face against my chest where she sobs openly.
“This is what your ‘no distractions’ rule leads to. A shitty father and a shittier team,” I tell Coach harshly. “I won’t be a part of that.” I look around the locker room at the men I’ve come to think of as brothers. “I’m sorry, guys. Truly, I am. I have loved being a part of the team we’ve built this season. But I have more at play than just hockey. I have a family.” I press a kiss to Briar’s head.