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  Once we’re both seated, his eyes latch onto mine. “You look good, Cassidy,” he says before adding approvingly, “healthy.”

  The corners of my lips tip up at the compliment. “Thank you. I feel good. I’ve been running three times a week and I’m practicing with the team a couple times a week as well. Sometimes Cole and I skate in the mornings before school.”

  That being said, there’s no way I’ll ever be as sleek and muscular as I was in high school. I’d adhered to a strict diet and workout schedule to maintain peak physical condition. I have no desire to ever live such a regimented or restrictive lifestyle again.

  After I’d failed out of school last year, I’d stopped working out completely. I hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near an ice rink. But all that changed when I met Cole. He introduced me to his cousin, Sammy, the captain of the Western Wolves women’s team and I was able to join even after the season started.

  It’s Cole I have to thank for pushing me to skate with the team and giving me back something I truly love. And I have him to thank for reaching out to my dad, inviting him to watch me play in my first scrimmage. Without him doing that, my dad and I wouldn’t be sitting down tonight, trying to work on our relationship.

  It doesn’t escape me just how wonderful Cole is.

  And how lucky I am to have him in my life.

  Which makes what happened on Sunday so difficult to deal with. Even after thinking about it for the past few days, I still feel conflicted.

  Do I tell him?

  I mean, if I want to have a relationship with Cole, then I have to tell him about his mother being my therapist. There really isn’t a choice in the matter. For all I know, she’s already told him. Every time he calls or texts, I actually cringe. It’s the worst feeling.

  My dad nods his head, his eyes holding mine. “I’m glad you’re skating again.”

  The waitress brings us both glasses of water and I take a huge gulp before answering. Just because I’m happy to be here and bridging the gap that separates us doesn’t mean it’s easy. Hockey feels like a minefield between us right now.

  We’d bonded over hockey while I was growing up. It had always been our thing. My two younger sisters danced, they didn’t want anything to do with skating. My dad had always been into hockey. I’m sure he had secretly hoped for a boy but got stuck with three girls instead. Before college, he’d played juniors until an injury ended his career when he was twenty. Then he’d played in beer leagues and coached me up until I’d made a girls triple A travel team when I was eleven.

  So I know getting kicked off the team last year had devastated him. It was an abrupt end to everything we had spent years and years working towards.

  Dropping my eyes, I stare at the menu before realizing just how tightly I’m gripping it. One by one, I pry my fingers loose. Consciously relaxing my body before answering. “I am too, but I had needed to take a break from it.”

  That comment has the conversation stalling as we study our menus in silence. The waitress returns and we both order burgers. In a small way, being out to eat with my dad feels normal. When we travelled for games and tournaments, it was always just the two of us. We’d go out to eat, sleep in hotels, take in some of the local sights and sometimes, if we were lucky, catch a classic car show. I loved when we could spend a few hours between tourney games checking out muscle cars and old roadsters.

  Not only did my dad give me a love for hockey but an appreciation for muscle cars as well.

  It makes perfect sense that my dad and I had ended up being close. We spent a lot of time together. Just like it makes perfect sense that it hurt like hell when he turned his back on me. It takes a moment for me to realize that I’m not quite ready to forgive him for that. Just like everything else in life, it’s going to take time.

  My eyes lift and for just a moment our gazes catch. His eyes are a deep ocean blue, just like mine. We both share a headful of inky black hair as well. Although his now has more silver shooting through it. There are more crinkly lines bracketing his eyes and deeper grooves marring his forehead. It makes me wonder if last year was as hard on him as it was on me.

  Before I realize it, the emotion-filled words are slipping from my mouth. “I’m sorry, dad. Sorry for screwing everything up.”

  I’ve spent my entire life trying to please this man. Even now, I realize that I just want him to be proud of me. I wonder if I’ll ever get to a point in my life where his approval doesn’t matter. I might be angry with him for how he reacted when I failed out but I still, deep down, want him to be proud of me. Sometimes it feels like a losing battle.

  The guarded expression he’s wearing instantly crumbles as he inhales a quick, deep breath of air before saying in a rush of words, “I know you are. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how I handled the situation.” He shrugs his broad shoulders before glancing away as he continues, “Maybe I pushed you too hard. Maybe I pushed you into playing hockey when you didn’t want to. I just don’t know anymore…”

  The barest hint of a smile tilts the edges of his lips up. “I used to think I had all the answers, now I realize that I don’t have any of them. Raising children is a humbling experience, Cassidy.”

  A thick sheen of tears fills my eyes as I shake my head. “No, dad, I wanted to play. I loved playing hockey.” And I had. I’d loved being out on the ice. I’d always felt at home in a freezing cold rink. I still do. So many of my childhood memories are centered around the ice. Hard fought wins. Crushing defeats. Time spent with my dad.

  I wouldn’t trade any of those memories. They mean too much to me.

  My experience growing up wasn’t a perfect one but it’s mine. And it’s what made me who I am today. And maybe that person isn’t so bad.

  My dad’s eyes arrow to mine from across the small table that separates us. “Sometimes I think I wanted it for you more than you wanted it for yourself.”

  This time I’m the one inhaling a deep breath, trying to steady all the raging emotions roiling through me. I hadn’t expected to be delving headfirst into this conversation before our food was even served.

  Part of me wondered if we were just going to sweep everything neatly under the rug and pretend that last year didn’t happen. I’m kind of shocked that my father is talking about all this so openly and easily. Well, maybe not easily because I can see that it’s just as painful and tender for him as it is for me.

  But you know what?

  We’re doing it.

  We’re getting through it.

  I suddenly realize that if I want our relationship to be better, I need to be honest with him. I can’t just tell him what he wants to hear. That’s not going to help the situation. If this past year of therapy has taught me anything, it’s that you need to be open and honest about what you’re feeling and not just gloss over it because it’s the easiest thing to do.

  So it’s gently that I say, “I think I started playing hockey because you loved it so much and I really enjoyed when we spent time together… just the two of us.”

  Looking agitated, he runs a hand through his hair. “So you played all these years because of me?”

  “No, I played because I fell in love with the game but I also liked that it was something we had in common. I liked when we were off on our own.” Years and years of tournament weekends roll through my head. The muscle car shows we were able to drop in on. Spending time out on the ice with him. Having him coach me when I was younger. My dad was always tough but fair. And he pushed me to be my best. To give one hundred percent. To leave it all out on the ice. Again it hits me that I wouldn’t be the person I am today without my dad pushing me to excel.

  Maybe he did push too hard. He expected excellence and I gave it to him until I left for college. Then, unable to hold it together anymore, I cracked under the pressure and fell apart. In the end, all my dad had wanted was the best for me. And I had wanted the best for myself as well. I guess neither one of us realized that funneling every ounce of energy into hockey wasn’
t the way to achieve it.

  His voice punctures my memories. “But I pushed you too hard with all the dry land practices and private skating lessons.” His eyes continue searching mine.

  The question has my shoulders slumping because there is really no other way to answer his question but truthfully. I take another deep breath as I try wording my response just right. I want him to understand how I feel.

  But I don’t need to bash him over the head with it.

  “I think my life revolved around hockey to the exclusion of everything else.” When his facial expression doesn’t change, I push on with the rest of what needs to be said. “I didn’t realize what I was giving up until it was too late. I wish there had been more of a balance in my life. Friends, boyfriends, parties. A social life. Other activities. Sometimes it feels like I missed out on all the normal stuff kids do because I was too wrapped up with hockey.”

  When I finally run out of steam, I realize that I’m holding my breath, waiting for his reaction but he ends up surprising me when he actually agrees with everything I’ve just said.

  “I wanted you to succeed where I had failed. You were so good at such a young age. It was obvious that you had so much talent and potential.” Shrugging his massive shoulders, he continues, “I wanted you to have it all. Every advantage. I guess it never occurred to me that you were missing out on growing up and I’m sorry for that. Sorry for pushing you so hard.” He falls silent for a moment before adding quietly, “And for what it’s worth- I enjoyed spending time with you, too.”

  Just as I’m about to open my mouth, our waitress arrives with our food. For a handful of minutes all I can do is stare at the burger and fries on my plate as his words churn endlessly in my head.

  Never in my wildest dreams had I expected that we could have such a candid conversation about my upbringing. But we are. It feels good to talk about it. Like we’re airing out the past.

  We both dig into our food, each of us lost in our own private thoughts. My mind is flying back through the years, looking at all the things I could have done differently. But if that had happened, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.

  At Western.

  With Cole.

  Because any other decision on my part would have altered my path in life.

  There’s nothing I can say to argue those words in my head. In a twisted way, my failure brought me to him. And no matter how difficult it was to get through, I can’t bring myself to regret it. If I hadn’t failed out of Dartmouth, I never would have decided to attend Western.

  When I’m about half way through my burger, I finally say, “What’s done is done. No matter how much I wish I could go back and make different choices, I can’t. I have to live with the ones I’ve made and move on the best I can. And that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do.”

  My eyes hold his as he polishes off both his burger and fries. Dr. Thompson’s words echo in my mind and I can’t help but repeat them. “I’ve tried to learn from the mistakes I made last year. And I’m happy to be playing on the intramural hockey team right now.” It’s quietly that I admit, “It’s nice not having the pressure of a D-I program hanging over my head. Hockey is fun again.”

  He nods as if he understands exactly what I’m saying. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to play anymore if you don’t want to.” He shifts uncomfortably before adding. “I love you for you, not because you play hockey like I did.”

  The first genuine smile of the evening flits its way across my face. “I’m playing for me right now and I’m enjoying it. I like the girls on my team and I love playing. I don’t want to quit.”

  The smile that lifts his lips matches mine in lightness. “Good.” He nods his head before asking, “You, ah, wouldn’t mind if I catch a few more games this season, would you?”

  I beam in return because I’ve always enjoyed having my dad in the stands cheering me on. “I would really love that.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trudging my way down the dorm hall, I’m just about to slide my key into the lock when I hear shouting coming from the other side. One voice is definitely Brooklyn’s and the other…

  I lean just a little bit closer trying to hear what’s going on because honestly, I’m not in the mood to stumble into some huge ass drama.

  And speaking of drama… if I’m not mistaken-

  Austin rips open the door startling us both in the process. With a scowl marring his normally handsome face, he grunts something that could very possibly be a hey or hi before stalking angrily past me. I watch him retreat down the hallway before my wide eyes swing to Brooklyn who is wearing a matching scowl.

  Kind of like his and hers matching sweaters… except scowls.

  Tentatively stepping into the room, I ask, “Do I even want to know what that was all about?” Because my guess is that I don’t. Hell, I didn’t even know they were on speaking terms. Brooklyn has been icing Austin out for weeks now. I had just assumed everything was still status quo in that department.

  But I’m sensing from the pissed off expression on her face that I’m wrong.

  Shrugging her shoulders tiredly, she flops onto her bed with a loud groan. And then, without any preamble whatsoever, she lays it all out there in true Brooklyn fashion. “We sort of slept together.”

  I’m just in the process of unbuttoning my red wool jacket when she throws out that little tidbit of information. It’s like a fishing lure I can’t resist swallowing whole. With my fingers still hovering over a large black button, my eyes widen in disbelief. “Sort of?” I shake my head. “You’re joking, right?”

  Instead of meeting my disbelieving gaze, Brooklyn continues staring up at the ceiling as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Which it’s not. Okay, maybe that’s not altogether true. Because she does have a huge poster of a practically naked guy taped up there.

  “Do I really look like I’m kidding? Would I joke about having sex with Austin?” Then she mutters under her breath, “Again.”

  Peeling off my jacket, I throw it haphazardly over my desk chair before taking a seat across from her on my bed. I hold up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back this train up. What do you mean by again?”

  Very slowly she turns her head until she’s able to meet my incredulous gaze. “All you need to know is that each and every time occurred during moments of great weakness.”

  “All?” I’m pretty sure I’m gawking right now. Which, from previous experience, isn’t a good look on me.

  Her dark blonde brows draw together in irritation. “Would you please stop looking at me like that. For god’s sake, I had sex with someone. I didn’t murder a family of four in their sleep.”

  Making a concerted effort to smooth out my facial features, I ask, “So exactly how many moments of weakness have you experienced?”

  Silently Brooklyn starts ticking off the number of times on her fingers. When she needs to start using her other hand to count, I think that incredulous look sneaks back onto my face again.

  She doesn’t bother batting an eyelash in my direction but says with enough heat to chastise, “It’s just sex, not satanic devil worshipping!”

  “Um, yeah, but it’s with Austin! You know… the guy who was practically stalking you after you broke up with him. I’m not bent out of shape that you’re having sex… it’s that you’re having sex with Austin.” Then I try gentling my tone. Even though I don’t particularly want to think about Dr. Thompson, I try channeling her for this conversation.

  What kind of thought provoking questions would she be asking?

  “So…. ah, do you think that’s the best idea?”

  Brooklyn gives me a very exaggerated eye roll. “Of course not! In fact, it’s probably one of the stupider things I’ve ever done.”

  One of my brows cocks up and I can’t help but ask, “Then why are you doing it?”

  This situation clearly has disaster written all over it. Can’t she see that? I mean, I just walked in on them shouting at one ano
ther.

  She arches a well-defined brow before replying somewhat acidly, “Remember those conversations we had about the rather impressive things that guy can do with his tongue?”

  I wince not wanting another visual to go along with her words. It took a really long time to make it go away the first time. “Umm, yes… I do.”

  She gives me a rather penetrating look. “Need I say more?”

  Pulling a face, I quickly shake my head. “I’m begging you not to.”

  Her whole body deflates before she says tiredly, “For some reason, that guy is my kryptonite. I wish he weren’t… but he is.” Again she just stares glumly up at her hot guy poster. Which is a first. He is, after all, sporting a rather impressive boner. It’s like her very own happy place.

  Again I make a concerted effort to gentle my tone because it’s obvious that she’s miserable over the situation. “Sounds like a mess, Brook.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, she agrees softly, “You have no idea just what a cluster fuck it is.”

  Unfortunately I’m no stranger to the concept of a cluster fuck. I’m kind of living it right now. But I decide not to tell her about that because I don’t want to turn the focus away from Brooklyn and the issues she’s struggling with. There’ll be more than enough time for me to dump all my crap on her later.

  Today is for Brooklyn.

  And her big pile of crap.

  “Are you thinking about getting back together with Austin?” Why else would she be having sex with him… tongue thing excluded, of course. I mean, there have to be other reasons she keeps hooking up with him.

  At least I hope there are.

  Finally she says on a long sigh, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together.” With her eyes still focused on the poster, she says a bit more quietly, “I don’t want to fall for him any harder than I already have.” Closing her eyes, she adds, “I just wish I could get him out of my system. I don’t understand why he has to be so different from the others.”