Page 21 of Hot Damn
“Fuck!” He slams his hands on his head and looks at the ceiling.
“I get that you don’t like me or trust me, but you have to believe me when I say I would never do anything to hurt you or your daughter,” I try to soothe his frustration and anger. “And if you can’t take my word for it, think about Oakley, Natalie, Blake, and Walker. None of them would let anyone close to this team or its employees if they thought they were up to no good.”
His head lowers, his eyes meeting mine as he drops his arms. “I’ll agree with you on that.”
I want to say thank you but it feels weird to voice it. “I promise. I would never do anything to hurt Whitney. Or you. Or m—this team.”
I don’t know why I cut myself off, why I don’t want him to know I’m part owner of the team. I assumed he knew, that everyone on the team knows, but the more I interact with them, I realize that piece of information has slipped through the cracks.
And I want Beckett to like me for me, not because I’m his boss.
Shit!
Since when do I want this man to like me?
I don’t need to be his friend, I don’t even need to like him. I’m a silent partner in the team, I have nothing to do with the day-to-day running of the Rogues and honestly, every member of the team from ice to front of house could hate me and it wouldn’t matter.
Except it does.
I want Beckett Higgison to like me.
I have no clue why. He’s a professional athlete, something I’ve always avoided because of my past. The man my mother passed off as my father for the first six years of my life played in the NFL and was a grade A asshole. Violent and mean, he did everything he could to make my life miserable.
The only consolation I have is he didn’t treat Andrea differently. She was subjected to his callous cruelty as much as I was.
But Beckett? I can’t even imagine him hurting an adult, never mind a child—hischild.
And I have to remember that his hostility comes from his love of Whitney, of his need to be sure she’s protected, taken care of. In some ways, he reminds me of Dad.
Even now, at thirty-three, I still find myself the recipient of my father’s protection. The conversation about my biological mother last night is just the most recent example of my dad taking care of me.
I can’t blame Beckett for being the way he is. Having Whitney so young had to have been hard and not just the fact he was a kid raising a kid part. People must have been horrible to him when they found out he was a single dad.
I can only imagine the fear he must have endured every day, fear of someone taking his daughter away…
“I’m sorry.” The apology is out before I can stop it.
“For what?”
“For everything you’ve dealt with while raising a remarkable young woman. She’s a testament to you, to your parenting, and you should be proud of what you’ve done.”
His head cocks to the side and he studies me for a long moment before he straightens and says, “Thank you. And thank you for checking on us and warning me we might face more intrusive questions from others.”
“My offer stands. If you want me to help you navigate those possible questions, I’m here.”
“At this point, I’ll say thanks but no thanks.”
“I’m a phone call away if you change your mind. Ask either of your coaches or Oakley or Natalie for my number but I’ll be around a lot doing these interviews.” I want him to know he has full access to me. Short of handing over my number now—which I doubt he’d take—this is the best I can do.
“Sure. Thanks. I gotta—” He tips his head at the door.
“Of course. Thank you for your help with Noah and Mikel.”
His mouth lifts on one side in a slanted smile. “It was pointed out to me, it was the thing to do as captain of the team.”
“It is.” I nod. “But I doubt you needed to have it pointed out to you.”
“Oh, I did. I’ve never even been assistant captain of a team. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.” He shrugs. “Well, other than yelling at the guys to move it, shoot it, or block it, when we play…”
