Natalie
I’m supposed to meet Brody at the library in twenty minutes, and I’m running late. I grab my bag from the table and am flying out the door of my apartment when I smack into a hard body. I bounce back a step as large hands reach out and grab my arms, steadying me before I can tumble backward.
My eyes land on the man holding me and widen. John McKinnon is the last person I expected to find on my doorstep. Once I have my balance, I quickly step away from him.
He inclines his dark head. “Hello, Natalie.”
“Hi, Mr. McKinnon.” I gulp down the rising nerves. “Are you looking for Brody?” I ask, hoping that’s all his presence signifies.
I’m about to tell him that he’s not here, when John says, “No, actually I came to speak with you. Do you have a few minutes for us to talk?”
I shift from one foot to another, intimidated by him. “I was just on my way to meet someone,” I say evasively. The last thing I want is to have a conversation alone with him. Already I know that whatever he wants to discuss won’t be good.
Even though he smiles, the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure my son will understand if you’re a few minutes late.”
When I don’t move from the door, he quirks a brow as if amused by my behavior. “May I come in?”
I glance behind me and gnaw my lower lip. Zara is at class, and I’m here by myself.
“Natalie,” he says impatiently. “It’s important that I speak with you about Brody. Give me ten minutes of your time, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I jerk my head into a nod and step aside, allowing him to pass. He walks in and settles himself on the couch. I trail stiffly behind him into the living room and remain standing. I keep about ten feet of distance between us. If I need to dart to the door, I think I can make it.
Which is ridiculous. This is Brody’s father we’re talking about. Not some thug in a dark alleyway. And yet…I feel just as vulnerable and ill-at-ease.
He points to the chair situated across from the couch. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you sat down?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing that will make this impromptu visit comfortable. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you just tell me why you’re here.”
He nods his head, a touch of respect entering his eyes. “I can appreciate that.” He leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. He holds my gaze with a penetrating stare just long enough to make me squirm. “I think you and I have the same goal in mind.”
“What would that be?” His odd words have my brows pulling together.
His gaze is relentless. “To see Brody reach his full potential.”
Feeling confused, I say, “Of course, that’s what I want. Brody is a talented hockey player.” I may not know much about the sport, but I know he’s ranked one of the best college players in the country. He’s poured his whole life into making it to the NHL. “He’s going to go far,” I say with conviction.
John’s eyes soften. “Yes, he will. But he needs to stay focused. This is his last college season before making the jump to the NHL. Do you have any idea the strength and conditioning it takes to compete at a professional level? It’s brutal. And it’s just as much a mental game as it is a physical one.”
I shake my head. “Mr. McKinnon, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
He sighs and folds his hands in front of him. He stares at them for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Natalie, you seem like a smart young woman. It’s easy to understand what my son sees in you. But—”
The reason he’s turned up unannounced at my apartment dawns on me before he has a chance to finish the sentence.
“—I’m a distraction,” I whisper, my heart pounding harshly under my breast.
“I’m sorry to state it so baldly, but yes, you are.” He pauses for a beat. “Am I correct in assuming that you and Brody have grown close?”
“Yes,” I admit miserably. In a little more than a month, Brody has come to mean so much to me. More than I could have imagined.
“And he’s been candid with you about his struggles.”
“If you’re talking about the dyslexia,” I say, “then yes, he told me about it.”
“I’ve watched my son struggle his entire life. I hired all the best tutors, and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. There were no magic bullets that eased the pain. Do you have any idea what it’s like as a parent to watch your child struggle just to get C’s and B’s?”
“No,” I say softly. “I don’t.”
His lips twist bitterly as he rasps, “Hopefully, you never will. There’s nothing more painful than sitting helplessly by as your child struggles to achieve something others can do without any effort at all.”
A thick lump rises in my throat because I can’t imagine what it was like, not only for Brody, but his father as well. Needing to sit down, I fall onto the chair.
“Brody needs to get through this season and continue to elevate his game. Next year, no matter how good he is, will be a transition. He needs to stay mentally committed to that.”
“He is committed,” I murmur.
John sits back and arches his brow. “Is he?”
“Of course.”
“And yet, he’s gotten into two fights since you’ve come into the picture. One of them was at practice, where he was kicked off the ice.”
Folding in on myself, I wrap my arms around my waist. Every word he hurtles feels like a poisonous dart. I’m not sure what to say because the same guilt gnaws at me now as when Brody first told me about the fight with Reed. I’m to blame for it.
“My concern is that Milwaukee will get it in their heads that Brody isn’t a team player. Even though he has a contract, they can always release him if they feel he isn’t a good fit for their organization. Or sit him for the season and then he’d only see a minute or two of ice time each game, if that.”
My belly spasms at the possibility. Brody loves hockey so much that not playing would kill him.
“You seem to have his best interests at heart,” John says. “I can’t imagine you’d want to see that happen.”
“Of course not. I would never do anything to hurt Brody.”
“I can see that, Natalie.” He leans forward. “I’m not saying any of this is your fault. Brody is the one who made the decision to get into a fight with Reed Collins. But that’s the problem—he’s not making good decisions with his future in mind.”
When I say nothing, he continues. “I think we both know what needs to be done, don’t we?”
I bury my head in my hands. “I…I’m not sure,” I say unhappily. I care about Brody so much. How can I just let him go?
When John stands, I hope he’ll quietly let himself out of the apartment. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. Instead of leaving, he closes the distance between us. When I don’t look up, he lays a hand on my shoulder. “If you truly care about my son, you’ll do what’s best for him.” He squeezes my shoulder until I meet his gaze. “I trust this conversation will stay between the two of us.”
Sick to my stomach, I nod.
The hand gripping my shoulder disappears, and then he’s gone. The door closes softly behind him.
I don’t know how long I sit on the chair, everything Mr. McKinnon said swirling through my brain. It’s only when a text from Brody flashes across the screen of my phone do I remember that I was supposed to meet him at the library.