Page 38 of No Pucks

“Paranoid much?” I give a glance around myself.

“Anyone on the team could have followed you.” Anthony is on the verge of giving in, I can feel it.

“No one saw me leave. They were too far gone and concerned about getting you off their backs so they can go back to their party. No one is trying to figure out what you’re up to. They don’t want to be on your radar.” I accidentally, maybe on purpose, walk into him, knocking our shoulders.

He glances at the spot we touch and then looks into my eyes. “What are you trying to do? Piss off your dad?”

“What?” I ask, confusion flickering through me. Does he really think my dad would care that I’m fucking an older dude? He doesn’t know my dad very well then. “Why would this pissoff my dad?” I’m slightly intoxicated, but I don’t think I’m incoherent.

“I’m the last person he’d want you to fuck.”

I close one eye trying to recall anything that would give Anthony that impression. “My dad has his head so far up his ass, he doesn’t care who I fuck. Nor would he care about age or even gender. He’s a douche but not homophobic, even existing in the sports world he’s never cared.”

Anthony turns on me. “I’m not talking about any of that...” He trails off and waits, like he’s expecting me to say something. “I told you he did this to me.”

“And?” I ask again, totally at a loss. “What point am I missing? Spell it out for me.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know.” He scrubs a hand over his face.

“Are you going to enlighten me?”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time and then finally lets out, “Your dad hates me.”

I blink and step around to face him. “Why would he hate you?” I didn’t follow my father’s career that closely. I didn’t even know they’d played together until Anthony told me. “I know he fucked you up, but what reason does he have to hate you? He’s too narcissistic for that. He doesn’t think about anyone but himself.”

“You honestly don’t know?” Anthony is so genuine, he probably wears everything on his sleeve. I feel bad for not knowing, but he doesn’t know my father well if he thinks my father would ever show weakness by letting someone get under his skin. He would never.

“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

He frowns. “Once I realized who you were, I shouldn’t have—I should have stayed away?—”

I put my fingers on his lips. “You’re cute, but this isn’t some plot to ruin your life. I wouldn’t fuck someone at my dad’s request.” It’s laughable.

He glares. “Why the fuck is staying away cute? It’s not cute. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I hate to break it to you, but this whole honorable thing is cute.” I smirk because I know he’s going to hate it.

“You can’t keep this up. We can’t keep doing this. You know how he is...” he says the last like he’s unsure, like maybe I don’t know the real version of my father.

“I’m still not sure what you think this has to do with my him.” I can’t imagine what he thinks this is. “Do you really think I’m not interested in you for you?”

“I don’t know what you think. But it’s—not something I can bring back in my life. I don’t want to lose this job, and your father hates me.”

“You keep saying that. Why does he hate you? It can’t still matter. He hasn’t played in years.” I’m sure he can hear the skepticism in my voice.

“I took his first line position.”

I grimace and then clap a hand over my face, trying to hide my reaction. “That was you?”

“Yes.”

“He came home livid. I remember it, but he didn’t mention you.” I wish he had. I would have thanked him for knocking my dad’s fucking ego down a peg or two.

“He wouldn’t. But when he realized I was better than him, he took me out, and then after a year of rehab, when I finally came back, he did it a second time, ensuring I’d never skate again.” The pain in Anthony’s face slices open my chest.

His leg. The injury that led to his early retirement.

Fuck.

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