Page 44 of The Silent Count
“Lea… what are you doing?”
She dips her shoulder to move past me, swinging open her office door with a gust of air, and leaving me to stand there, shell-shocked as she takes a left toward the locker room and stomps down the hall.
I stand in the wake of her uproar, wondering what the hell just happened and why she stormed off like that.
A few seconds pass before the sobering realization washes over me.
She’s heading for the locker room.
Her dad’s office.
EIGHTEEN
LEA
My heels clickagainst the concrete floor, the raging heat leaking into my bloodstream carries me down the corridor with each step. When I burst through the locker room door, I give no mind to anyone else who might be in here to watch what’s about to go down.
I love my father. I really do.
But the last thing I’m going to do is play mind games with him in regard to my love life. If he has a problem with my relationship with Fortune, he needs to come and talk to me about it first—not send subtle messages through my boyfriend.
The thing about Phil Sterling is that he likes to play mind games with his players. I would know, because I have a nearly identical thought process to him in my line of work as well. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree where we are concerned—we are one and the same.
Which means I know the game he’s playing. Not only that, but I know how dirty he likes to play. I’m not afraid of stooping to his level, especially since I’m the one he should spar with in the first place.
Iam the one he needs to consult with.Iam the one he needs to be upset at.Iam the one who deserves to endure my father’s passive aggressive attitude. Not Fortune.
When I found out about us being pen pals, I should’ve nipped our relationship in the bud. Told him we had to wait until the season was over before pursuing anything further. But I was selfish. I didn’t want to wait any longer or miss out on more time with him.
Selfish. Selfish. Selfish, I berate myself as I rush past the empty lockers.
It’s still early, so aside from staff and players who have been calling in for meetings, the facility is still quiet. The sound of my heels hitting the floor echoes throughout the room, and with each step I take, my frustration grows. I’m consumed by it to where my thoughts have become blank.
There’s nothing productive or rational. Just unbridled agitation that my father would stoop low enough to do something like this.
To try to trap Fortune. Punish him for being with me.
I round the corner of lockers, eyeing the cracked door of my dad’s office with a scowl before pushing it all the way open, and stepping foot inside without an invitation. “Dad?”
He peers up from his computer screen. “Hey, Lady—”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Excuse me?” His face twists.
My dad and I never yell at each other. Ever.
Hell, we never even get in fights to begin with. Maybe the occasional level headed debate or a minor disagreement, but never a full-blown argument.
Relax, I try to tell myself, but it only seems to make my body temperature rise more.
“Why did you call Fortune in your office and ask about me?” I ball my fists at my sides.
My dad barks out a laugh that has me grinding my teeth together.
He thinks this is funny?
Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.
