Page 12 of On Thin Ice

Especially if his spot in the history books was at risk.

“No, it’s not, at all. If you’d seen their last run-in—where was it, Jacob?”

“Last All Star game.”

Sophie shot Mark a triumphant look. “Even Jacob got pissed. Jacob was playing but Morgan was there as what . . .an analyst? A special guest? Anyway, they ran into each other and . . .well, I’m glad I was there. That’s all I’ll say about that.”

“Morgan got pissed first,” Jacob muttered sullenly. He wasn’t particularly proud of how Morgan tended to bring out the worst in him.

Kinda like his son, just in a totally different way.

“Morgan always got pissed first,” Mark pointed out.

Specifically not saying how Jacob hadn’t had to rise to the bait. The truth was, he usually hadn’t, but he’d been in low levels of pain with his hip that night, and thinking that this might really be it, and when Morgan had started running his mouth like he liked to do . . .well, was it any surprise he’d lost his shit?

“All I’m saying is that it was a bad idea to put them in the same room back then, and nothing’s changed. Doesn’t matter if his son’s gay.”

“He didn’t—he doesn’t—” Jacob could barely get the question out, even as he knew it wasn’t something he should be asking.

He doesn’t think less of Finn because he’s gay?

Despite popular opinion, he’d never been that eager to kick Morgan Reynolds’ ass, but hewould—in fact he’d barely manage to hold himself back—if Morgan was shitty to Finn about his sexuality.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Sophie said, hearing the question he hadn’t quite been able to get out. “Finn’s here though, isn’t he? In Portland?”

If Sophie hadn’t heard anything then there was nothing to hear. Her ears picked up goddamn everything. It was a blessing and a curse.

“Sophie,” Jacob warned. He wanted her on his side on this. Not deciding that Mark was right about this after all.

“Yes,” Mark said, “which is why this is a golden opportunity.”

“Maybe Morgan’s mellowed.” Sophie directed this mostly to Jacob, who just rolled his eyes.

“He’s Morgan Reynolds. He doesn’t knowhowto mellow,” Jacob argued. “We’re not calling him. End of story.”

“What about the son? What’s his name? Finn?” Sophie asked.

“We’re not calling him either.” Jacob finished his wine, hoping that he’d sounded certain enough that the next time they met, Sophie wouldn’t show up with a surprise Finn Reynolds.

“Oh come on,hedoesn’t hate you,” Mark complained.

No. Which is the whole fucking problem.

If Sophie or Mark decided to drag Finn into this goddamn mess, he’d probably want something in return—like private coaching—and Jacob was not onlynotdoing that, he was absolutely not doing that with Finn.

“Jacob—” Sophie started to cajole, and even worse heknewthat tone in her voice. She always deployed it when she thought she might have a chance in hell of convincing him to change his mind.

“No,” Jacob interrupted before she could get going. “No. We’re not doing this with either Reynolds. Weare,however, doing this with a director that we’reat leastgoing to be partway to hiring by the time we meet in a few weeks.”

“Fine,” Sophie said, setting her napkin on the table. “If you’re decided.”

“I’m decided,” Jacob said firmly.

Half an hour later they were going their separate ways—Sophie and Mark to the hotel they were staying in only a fewblocks away from the restaurant, and Jacob in his car, heading to his home far up in the West Hills.

He’d had high hopes for this meeting. He’d thought they were getting closer, way closer than they actually were, and as he parked in the garage, lifting himself out of the low-slung Audi, he found his frustration boiling over.

Huffing under his breath, Jacob strode into the house trying to calm himself. But it didn’t work. It didn’t always work.

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