“And there it is. The real reason you’re here.” Ian laughed. Loud. Hard. Without a single ounce of joy. “So your legacy’s taking a hit, huh?”
David stiffened. “My records still stand.”
“For now,” Christensen said with all the cockiness a future Hall of Famer could deliver. “Is there anything else?”
“Just cut the poor-me-my-feelings-are-hurt shit and toughen up, boys.”
Christensen looked at Ian and shook his head. “Damn, can you believe I used to dream about getting life advice from my dad?”
“Really?” God, Ian had spent his life trying to get the advice to stop. “He’s total shit at it.”
Their dad let out an angry huff. “You two take after your mothers.”
He and Christensen looked at each other, relieved grins on their faces. “Thank fucking God,” they said at the same time.
And that’s when he spotted Shelby walking straight toward them, a hesitant slowness to her step as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be welcome. He was halfway to her before he thought about it and realized what that would mean. By the time he reached her, it was too late.
His dad transformed as soon as he spotted her. Gone was the snarl and the palpable disgust, replaced with that easygoing charm that had always been David Petrov’s costume.
“Hi there.” He stuck out his hand. “David Petrov.”
The fake-humble attitude had always been his dad’s go-to—but Shelby didn’t know any better. For her, he’d always be the great David Petrov, king of the ice and holder of multiple scoring records.
“I know who you are, sir.” She shook his hand. “I’m Shelby Blanton.”
“With The Biscuit?” His dad’s eyes lit up with what would look like sincerity to someone who didn’t know him better. “Wow. That site is great. Huge fan.”
She nearly melted into a puddle right there. “That means a lot.”
“Well, I know you guys have a flight to catch. Good to see you again.” He turned to Shelby. “Wonderful to finally put a gorgeous face with a kickass site. Keep up the good work.”
Then he walked away down the tunnel—in the direction of the reporters, of course. No doubt, he’d pull his usual no-comment routine that always seemed to drive up interest.
“So you guys are talking again?” she asked, practically beaming with hope. “Oh, thank God. I was so worried. He seems like he’s really making an effort to fix things.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, grinding out the word through clenched teeth. “He’s quite a guy.”
Years of training, of knowing that to tell the truth about his dad would only mean more scrutiny from the press, more second-guessing of his every move, and more ridiculous think pieces purporting to be a deep dive into his private life, kept him from saying more.
All he was, sometimes all it seemed he would ever be, was a reflection of his dad. It was easier to keep it on lockdown, to let the world believe the lie—especially when it came to Shelby, because letting her see that part of his life, that would be admitting too much about him and about how he felt about her.
…
A half hour into the flight back home and Shelby had run out of small talk. It didn’t help that Ian had gone back into cabin grunt mode. Sitting next to him, she searched for anything to maybe draw the moment out a little more. As soon as they were wheels down in Harbor City, everything changed. No more dinners. No more ice-skating. No more devouring a midnight bowl of room service ice cream while sitting naked in the bed.
She wasn’t ready for that yet.
The anticipation of landing had her fiddling with her six-year chip, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the plastic ridges to ground herself to the here and now. In a moment of desperation, she grabbed hold of the first thing she could think of that they hadn’t talked about so far. “So that’s pretty cool about your dad coming to see you guys.”
The muscle in Ian’s jaw twitched as he continued to look out the team jet’s window.
“Maybe we could have a dinner with the three of you.” The words rushed out. Another dinner would mean more time with Ian. An excuse to see him, spend time with him. Pathetic? Yeah, but desperate times and all. “I could include it in the final post for the series about you and Alex.”
He let out a short huff of breath. “Not even if it meant getting traded to the Rage.”
“What is going on, Ian?” Everything had seemed fine this morning. Beyond fine, really. Now? It was like he’d gone back behind that wall he used to shut people out. “Talk to me.”
“Why?” He pivoted in his seat, keeping his voice low. “For the clicks?”
She flinched. “That’s a low blow.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, and then waited a few beats while clenching his jaw closed so fiercely, she worried the team dentist was going to have a new client.
“Nothing with my dad,” he said. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“I understand.” She reached out and gave his leg a quick squeeze, then drew back before anyone saw. “You’re still getting used to everything.”
It was hard for a person to find out that their family wasn’t exactly what they thought it was. She still remembered the drop in her stomach when she’d found out that the man she’d thought would never leave had. After that, everything had changed.
“Not every story has a happy ending, Shelby,” Ian said, his tone resigned. “Some things are best left alone.”
Her stomach sank. Was he just talking about his dad now, or was he trying to tell Shelby something more?
Ian fell asleep—or more likely pretended to—and she stared at the movie playing on her iPad screen while not taking in a single moment of the plot. So this was just what they’d said. A fling. As long as they weren’t in one of
