Page 28 of Ice Cold Heart
I wrenched my eyes away from Cole and all the lovely little flutters in my stomach turned to lead. Dad stood with his arms crossed, clipboard under one side, watching a couple of guys I vaguely recognized skate in a circle.
When my gaze landed on Cole again, I forced myself to focus on the slight frown my dad wore instead. Marco was right. We should start with the coach. It wouldn’t be too hard to write a bio on him. List his hockey accomplishments, talk about his retirement, and highlight his efforts to build the program at TU. As a backup, I planned to talk to Cole tonight about a second article.
Marco nudged me again, giving me a wide-eyed look as Reece Tanner approached. I knew him. One of Cole’s roommates, resident playboy, first line center, beautiful stick work. Okay, so I’d checked up on the team a little after moving here. I’d wanted to see the team my dad devoted his entire life to.
I also recognized him from the locker room.
Reece stepped off the ice at the same time we arrived behind the bench. His gaze flicked to me, and a smile spread across his face. “Well hello Coach’s daughter. Finally come to see what all the fuss was about?”
Dad didn’t turn around or acknowledge us at all. He grunted at Reece, who reached for the tape tucked behind the boards. The loud crack of a puck hitting the wall reminded me we shouldn’t be standing around in the open gawking. I dragged Marco into the relative safety behind the glass before answering Reece.
“I came to talk to my dad, but I’m always happy to watch you get flattened by defensemen too,” I snapped back.
Reece’s green eyes glinted with amusement behind his cage. “They’d have to catch me first.” He winked at Marco, who I thought might pass out judging by the high-pitched wheezing coming out of his mouth. Unlike Cole, Reece did nothing for me. Marco didn’t seem similarly discerning.
The exchange lasted less than a minute, but I already felt drained by the time Reece showed off by hopping the wall to skate away. Dad’s shoulders raised toward his ears slightly, but he waited until we were alone to finally turn and join us.
“Do you need something?” he asked gruffly, keeping his gaze on the guys.
I tucked my hands into my back pockets and followed his lead, watching the players pretend not to watch us. “Remember how I’m working at the TU Post?”
He sniffed. “Unpaid doesn’t seem like work, but yes.”
My hackles rose at the unsolicited criticism, but I kept my voice calm. “I was assigned to cover sports, especially the hockey team. I thought I’d do a series of bios on you and the first line players. This is Marco Lawson, also a staff writer at the paper. He’s helping me with research.”
I wasn’t exactly lying. Marco was helping me with research, a duty he enthusiastically volunteered for when I explained my plan to interview the TU hockey team in lieu of reporting on games. Dad finally tore his gaze away from the ice to shake Marco’s hand. To my surprise, he offered what looked like a genuine smile at my new bestie.
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Marco’s expression was as solemn as I’d ever seen him.
“Call me Dan.”
I almost didn’t recognize Dad’s warm tone, but apparently, he only saved it for people who weren’t me. “The bios are a good idea. We’re going to the playoffs this year, and it would be good for morale to have the school recognize the talent in these young men. You shouldn’t include me though.”
At the last part, he glanced my way again, and it felt like a direct attack. Well too bad for him if he didn’t like my idea. The student body deserved to know their coach as much as their players, and I had some questions I wanted answered.
Namely, how had he let Cole get this far without getting him better help? He had to have known about the lit class before. Wasn’t he supposed to be looking out for his players? Was winning all he cared about?
“We’re starting with you,” I countered. “Do you want to do the interview now or should we schedule an appointment with the media liaison?”
His brow furrowed. “Can’t we just do this at home?”
“I’d rather not.”
“The media liaison doesn’t need to get involved.” He scowled. “But I don’t have time now.”
Marco looked back and forth between us, no doubt picking up on the antagonistic undercurrent, at least from my end. “I can do the interview with Dan later if you want, Avery. You can start with one of the players.”
I knew Marco was trying to help, but I hated the frustration clouding my dad’s face. The same green eyes I’d inherited stared back at me as if he’d never seen me before, as if he didn’t understand why I was making things so complicated. I had the immediate and dangerous urge to lash out, find something—anything—that would hurt him as much as he’d hurt me.
Damn Seb and his assignments, and damn the eight-year-old girl still living inside me who’d thought she might get a snippet of the same man all these players saw every day.
Before I could call the whole thing off, or worse, word vomit my chaotic emotions all over anyone within listening distance, Cole skidded to a stop on the other side of the glass. Dad’s glare disappeared as he faced Cole.
“What is it, Mathis?”
“Reece wants you to make an announcement to the team confirming his temporary captainship while Gavin is gone.”
Dad raised a brow. “He’s not the temporary captain.”