“And you are going to fuck it up for them,” he continued, folding his massive arms across his chest. “I can see the signs of it in your footwork. Lazy.” He shook his head. “I taught you better than that, Maxim. Seems we might need to have a little practice session later. Shall we meet at your house?”
Mila. Mila was at my house. And Dad might rip me apart for shitty footwork, but it was nothing compared to the way he ripped her apart for her choice of pursuing her masters in art history. He’d never laid a hand on my sister—my brother and I would have killed him if he’d even tried—but his words were just as sharp as his fists, and Mila wasn’t immune.
“You’re not getting near my house,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
Dad blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, you. Are. Not. Getting. Near. My. House.” I bit out every word, keeping my eyes locked on his. “If you’re here to watch us practice or hell, even follow along like a groupie, that’s on you, but I’m not playing along.”
His face turned beet red.
“Hey there, Sergei,” Coach McPherson said, coming up behind us. “I didn’t know you were in town.” His assessing gaze swept between us and he took a step closer to my side.
The two had played against each other for years in the league, so it wasn’t like Coach wasn’t well aware of my father’s temper. His skill and his inability to contain his feelings was legendary.
“Gage,” my Dad said, turning up the charm as they shook hands. “Glad to see you’re still coaching.”
“What can I say?” Coach shrugged. “Found my calling.” He threw his arm over my shoulders. “Speaking of which, we need to have a little players meeting, so I’m going to need Maxim in the locker room.”
“Of course.” Dad nodded graciously. “I’ll see you later, Maxim.”
“Where are you staying?” I asked, hoping to drive home the point that it wasn’t with me. “I’ve heard there are some good hotels nearby.”
Dad’s jaw clenched. “I’ll look into renting something. I’d rather have an apartment of my own for my…extended stay. I figure June is a safe bet.”
June, when the Stanley Cup Finals were scheduled.
Fuck me, he wasn’t kidding. He was going to stick around and haunt me like a motherfucking demon from my worst nightmares.
“Locker Room,” Coach reminded me.
“See you around, son,” Dad said before turning around and walking back down the hallway.
“You okay?” Coach asked, two lines forming between his eyebrows.
“Are all our practices open?” I asked.
“Yep. Always have been.”
“If I ask Asher Silas to close them, will he?” Our team’s owner had always made the players his first priority.
“Consider it done.”
I waited for the relief to hit, but it didn’t. Somehow I’d wound up under Dad’s microscope again, and nothing good could come of it.
I drove too fast, too recklessly, and turned my music up way too loud on the way home, but I needed to clear my head, especially if Mila was waiting for me.
There was no part of my little sister that deserved any of the shit Dad was throwing my way, but at least she wouldn’t be in his sights for long. She was due to fly out for her semester abroad in Italy tomorrow, and it wasn’t like Dad was going to follow her over there.
They didn’t have hockey.
I pulled my Aston Martin into the driveway and felt a little lighter at the sight of Mila’s SUV as I drove past it, parking in the garage.
My steps were heavy as I got out of the car and went into the house, hanging my keys on the rack of the mudroom. I liked everything in its place, neat and tidy.
“Mila?” I called out once I hit the kitchen, already digging into the fridge for a drink.
“Hey!” She came skidding into the kitchen, her socks helping her slide a good foot before she bumped into the island. Her smile was bright, but it was definitely nervousness that had her tucking her dark brown hair behind her ears. “You’re home!”
“I do live here,” I reminded her, leaning back against the counter.
“Of course you do!” She nodded. A lot.
“What has you too nervous to ask me?”
She swallowed. “Geeze, just get right to the point, why don’t you?”
“Mila.”
“I mean, you didn’t even tell me how practice was or anything.”
“It was practice. Now spit it out. Do you need tickets to a game?”
“No.” She shook her head.
My gaze narrowed. “Did Dad pull a power trip and cut you off again? Because you know I have enough money to cover your entire semester and then some.”
She softened. “No. He didn’t cut me off. It’s not that.” She tugged her lip between her teeth and I heard another set of footsteps coming from the entry. “Be nice, okay?”