“You’re being ridiculous. I’m not introducing you to every single person in my life. It’s just a friend.”

“Then there’s no reason for you to hide him, is there?”

“Dad, please drop it, okay?”

“I’m not going through this with you again.” Coach Jensen is clearly starting to get upset. Not angry, but genuinely upset. Which triggers my uneasiness. “I can’t deal with all the secrets and sneaking around again. You know what happened the last time we weren’t upfront with each other.”

“There’s nothing to be upfront about,” she replies in frustration. “It’s just some guy.”

I flinch. Just some guy?

I mean, she’s right. It isn’t like we’ve been dating for years. I don’t have an engagement ring in my pocket. And I understand why she can’t tell her father that she’s hooking up with the hockey player who’s going to demolish his team next week. But I’m more than just some guy.

Aren’t I?

It’s not an easy pill for Coach Jensen to swallow, either. “So it’s some casual Craigslist thing?” he roars.

“Dad! Ew! First of all, nobody my age uses Craigslist! It’s a breeding ground for pedophiles and deviants.”

I choke down a burst of laughter.

“And second of all, my personal life is none of your business.”

“When you live in my house, it becomes my business.”

It’s starting to get intense, so I edge away from the door.

“Please, Dad. Just…go to sleep,” she says wearily. “My friend is leaving, anyway. I have to finish writing my article for tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Her father doesn’t sound at all appeased. “Tell your friend to use the front door this time. I don’t want him breaking that drainpipe out there, or the lattice, or whatever the hell he used to get up here.”

Busted.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hallway, while softer ones approach the door. When Brenna reappears, the flush has left her cheeks. Her eyes are devoid of desire. Of any emotion, actually. “You need to go.”

“I figured.” I’m already putting on my jacket.

“I’m sorry about that. He’s…it’s…difficult.” She won’t meet my gaze, and I can tell by the way she’s wringing her hands together that she’s nervous.

Or maybe it’s embarrassment making her fidget. I didn’t think Brenna Jensen was capable of feeling embarrassed, though. Or defeated. She’s usually so tenacious, but for the first time since we met, it seems like all the fight has gone out of her.

“Has he always been so strict?” I ask.

“Yes, but it’s not all on him. I kind of gave him cause to assume the worst when it comes to me.”

The cryptic remark sparks my curiosity. I want to push for details, but her guarded demeanor isn’t a promising indication that I’d receive any answers.

“Jake,” she starts. “I don’t know when or if we’ll get to see each other again.”

I frown. “Why’s that?”

“Because…” Her gaze finally shifts from her feet to my face. “It’s too complicated. I don’t know when my apartment will be ready, and as long as I’m living here I can’t have you sneaking in and out. And I can guarantee my father won’t approve of this.”

“Why, because I play for Harvard? He’ll get over it.”

“It’s not even that. He’s not going to approve of anyone after—” She stops, shakes her head, and starts again. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. You helped me out with Mulder, and I stuck to my end of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” I echo darkly.

“You wanted a real date. You got one. We hooked up a couple times, gave each other some orgasms. So let’s call it a successful fling and move on. What’s the point of keeping it up, anyway? It won’t go anywhere.”

I want to argue, but at the same time I know she’s right. I’m leaving town in the summer. And right now I need to focus on this game against Briar, and then, if all goes well, the first round of the national tournament. And if that pans out? We’re looking at the Frozen Four.

Brenna is a distraction. And the irony of that does not escape me. A few weeks ago I was lecturing McCarthy about this same issue. No, I was lecturing all my guys about their vices, ordering them to shelve everything until the season was over.

And yet here I am, getting tangled up with Chad Jensen’s daughter. When she texted me earlier about that ridiculous whipped-cream bullshit? Instead of staying at the Dime with my teammates or tracking down Heath and Jonah to reprimand them, all I could think about was how I hadn’t kissed Brenna in days. And what did I do? I borrowed Brooks’s car and drove all the way to Hastings like a lovesick loser.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe we do need to cool it.

But I don’t want to, dammit. So I voice the sentiment. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“That’s great, Jake. But I just told you, I’m done.”

Frustration rises in my chest. “I don’t think you mean it.”

“How about you don’t tell me what I mean or don’t mean?” Sighing, she walks over to the window ledge and picks up my boots. “It’s time for you to go.”

“Are you sure your father isn’t going to pop out of the shadows?” I ask warily.

“He won’t. He might be a jerk sometimes, but he won’t cause a scene in front of a stranger.”

A stranger. Once again I feel a prick of hurt, which is irritating. I’m Jake Connelly, for chrissake. My feelings don’t get hurt, and I only give a damn about one thing: hockey. I shouldn’t care what Brenna thinks of me.

We creep out of her bedroom. Light spills out from under a door at the end of the hall. I assume Coach Jensen’s room. Luckily, the door remains closed. On the way downstairs, my socked foot connects with a step that creaks so loudly it’s like the entire house is groaning in displeasure. I hear ya, house. I’m not too happy right now, either.

In the front hall, I slip into my Timberlands and lace them up. “You really don’t want to see each other anymore?” My voice is slightly hoarse, and not because I have to whisper.

“I…” She drags one hand through her tousled hair. “I can’t deal with this right now. Just go, Jake. Please.”

So I go.

22

Jake

Hazel comes with me to Gloucester on Saturday morning to visit my folks. On the train ride up, she does most of the talking. I try hard to pay attention, because we haven’t hung out in a while, but my mind is elsewhere. It’s back in Hastings, at Brenna’s house, replaying that entire night.

I don’t understand the weird tension between Brenna and her father. She admitted to being a bad girl, but I can’t help but wonder—what on earth did she do to earn his complete distrust? Did she murder the family pet?

She’s been ignoring me for three days, and my ego has officially taken a dive. Four unanswered messages? This has never happened to me before. Meanwhile, we have one week until the conference finals, and my head is all over the place. I’m not worried about the exhibition tonight and tomorrow for the Boston Cancer Society, because it’s not about a win or a loss; it’s about helping a good cause. But I definitely need to get my shit together before next week.