Dad pauses the DVR when he notices me.

“Hey,” I say.

He grunts. I don’t know if that means hello or get out of my face.

“Can we talk?”

Another grunt.

Swallowing a sigh, I enter the room and sit on the other end of the couch. Dad watches me warily but doesn’t say a word. He’s clearly waiting for me to start, so I do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was seeing Jake Connelly.” I shrug awkwardly. “If it helps, I didn’t tell anyone.”

His jaw ticks. “Daryl Pedersen seemed to know.”

“He saw us together at Harvard once.”

Anger sharpens Dad’s features. “You’ve been around Pedersen?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Just one time, one conversation.”

My father goes silent for a long, tense moment. I can’t read his expression anymore, and I have no idea what’s going through his mind.

“I want you to stay away from that man,” he finally mutters.

“Dad—”

“I mean it, Brenna!” He raises his voice, and now his expression is easy to decode—bitter, cold, and disapproving. But what else is new? “Daryl Pedersen is a selfish prick. He was a dirty player, now he’s a dirty coach, and he has no honor, on or off the ice. Stay away from him.”

I shake my head in exasperation. “Dad. I don’t care about your stupid feud with Coach Pedersen, okay? I. Don’t. Care. It has nothing to do with me, and if you’re worried I’m hanging out with him in my spare time, I can assure you I’m not. Why would I? As for Jake—”

“Stay away from him, too,” Dad growls.

“Come on.” I exhale slowly. “Jake’s a good guy. What’s wrong with me seeing him?”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” He locks his gaze to mine. “I will not watch this happen again. We already did it with Eric—”

“Jake is not Eric. And our relationship is nothing like my relationship with Eric was. I was fifteen when we started dating. And I was sixteen when—”

“We’re not going through it again!” he booms. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you. But you’re not hearing me.” I rake my fingers through my hair, agitation rising inside me. “Jake is nothing like Eric. He’s smart, he’s disciplined, he doesn’t party. I swear, this guy is a generational talent, Dad. People will be talking about his career for decades to come. And he’s a good guy. He was with me the night I went to help Eric—”

“So that’s the friend you spent the night with?” Dad’s lips tighten. “And I suppose he’s the one you keep going to Boston to see? Is this why the HockeyNet internship fell through? Because your mind’s been so wrapped up in this guy that you didn’t properly prepare for your interviews?” He laughs humorlessly. “And you’re telling me this is nothing like it was with Eric?”

My jaw drops. “Is that a joke? I absolutely prepared for those interviews. I didn’t get the job because the man in charge thinks my sports knowledge is cute.” Anger heats my throat. “And yes, I stayed at Jake’s place that night, and I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Fine, then maybe you should go and spend a few more nights there,” Dad snaps back.

A second ticks by. Two. Three.

“Are you kicking me out?” I ask in amazement.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Actually, yes. If you’re determined to revert back to this bullshit high school behavior, where you stay out all night and throw your life away for another hockey player—”

“I’m not throwing my life away. Not only are you overreacting, but you’re being ridiculously irrational right now.”

“Irrational? You have no idea what it’s like to almost lose your child,” he spits out. “You have no idea, Brenna. And forgive me if I’m not feeling optimistic about this relationship with Connelly. You have a track record of making terrible decisions.”

I feel like I’ve been struck. My heart beats double time as I try to collect my thoughts. As I try to put into words why his accusations are such a slap in the face.

“Despite what you think, I’ve actually been making solid decisions,” I say bitterly. “I turned a miserable high school transcript around by going to community college, where I excelled. So much so that I was able to get into an Ivy League university, without you pulling strings, without anyone else’s help. How’s that for terrible decisions? But no, you refuse to acknowledge that I’ve grown up or matured. You want to keep thinking of me as the selfish teenager who lost her head over a guy? Then fine, keeping doing that.” I stand up on stiff legs. “I’ll get my stuff and leave.”

32

Jake

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Gratitude shines in Brenna’s eyes as she drops her bag on the floor near my bed.

“No problem.” I wrap my arms around her from behind and kiss the side of her neck. “I cleared out a drawer for you. I wasn’t sure how long you’re staying.”

“You’re giving me a drawer?”

I release her, my arms awkwardly falling to my sides. I’ve never actually spent more than one night with a girl, so I’m not entirely sure of the etiquette. Was the drawer too much?

But Brenna’s surprise is quickly replaced with approval. “Aw Jakey, you’re the bestest.” She winks at me.

Drawer for the win.

I clasp my hands on her waist and lean down to kiss her. She kisses me back, but it’s only a peck. Then she kneels to unzip her black carry-on. “So what kind of destruction did Pedersen’s bombshell cause on your end? Any of your boys mad at you?”

“Not really. I mean, McCarthy wasn’t thrilled when he found out I’ve been seeing you. He’s full-on dating that Katherine girl now, but he still called me a douche.” I let out a rueful breath. “I was a bossy prick when I ended your hookup. And then to get together with you right afterward? I don’t blame him for being pissed.”

“No, you were right to do it. He was starting to really like me, and I knew there was no chance of it ever going anywhere. You called him a puppy once, remember? I can’t be with a puppy.”

“That’s right. You need the stallion.”

Brenna snorts. “What is it with you guys thinking you’re either a puppy or a stallion? How is this the metric by which we’re measuring masculinity?”

“It’s not. It’s the metric by which we’re measuring my dick.” I cup my package and wiggle my tongue at her.

“Ugh. You’re the worst.” Grinning, she opens her assigned drawer and starts placing items of clothing into it, arranged in neat piles.

“You’re already unpacking?”

“Yeah. You gave me a drawer. Why would I leave my stuff in my suitcase?”

“Oh Christ, you’re the person who goes on vacation and immediately puts all their shit away.”

“Yes, Jake. Because then it’s easier to find,” she says primly. “Who wants to dig through a huge pile of clothes every time you’re getting dressed?”

“I don’t think we can be together,” I inform her.

“Tough, because I’m staying for a few days.” And just like that, her grin fades and her mood turns somber. “I can’t believe my dad asked me to leave.”

“That’s brutal,” I agree.

“Summer said I could stay at her place, but talk about uncomfortable. None of those jerks are speaking to me at the moment. Well, Fitz is, but he’s not one for drama. The others, not so much.”

“Don’t you think they’re kind of overreacting?” I say tentatively.

“Oh, they’re definitely overreacting. At least with my dad I can understand why he overreacts all the time. Considering everything I put him through during high school.”

As usual, her vagueness piques my curiosity. But I force myself not to press for details. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. I hope.

“I bet your parents are so chill, right?” Brenna says enviously.

“Yeah, they’re awesome,” I confirm. “Except for their constant nagging about how I don’t have a girlfriend. They’d probably throw a party if they knew I gave you a drawer.”

She laughs, then closes said drawer and turns to me. “Done. What do you feel like doing?”

“Want to watch a movie?” I suggest. “I can make some popcorn.”

“Oooh, I like that idea. Let me put on comfy clothes and I’ll meet you out there.”

I give her ass a playful smack on my way out the door. In the kitchen, I experience a wave of déjà vu when I find Kayla at the sink, pouring a glass of water. This time she’s wearing clothes. And instead of filling with hunger, her eyes cloud over when they land on me.

“Hey,” I grunt.

“Hey.”

I open the cupboard and grab a packet of microwave popcorn.

“Movie night?” She sounds a tad testy.

“Yep. You and Brooks can join if you want. I’ll make another bowl.” It’s a bogus offer—I ask only because I’m confident she’ll say no.