Page 127 of Over the Line

“They’re pretty solid offensively,” Chris said. “Their defense is…” He made a face.

I sipped my Coke. “Pittsburgh’s got pretty good defense, though. So as long as your blueliners can hold off the offense, you just need to score like crazy on them.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s kinda the plan. Plus if we can draw penalties, their penalty kill is crap.” He grinned. “I got my first ever power play goal against them, so maybe I can do it again, especially if—” Something behind me caught his eye, and his grin vanished.

Concern zipped through me, and I turned around.

Oh. Him. Fuck.

And fuck my life—he was coming right toward us.

“Hi, Kanes,” Jack Arlen said cheerfully to Chris. To me, he said, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Garrett,” I said flatly.

“Right. Garrett.” He extended his hand, and as I shook it, he added, “Great to see you. Any chance I can chat with you both a bit?” He gestured with his phone as he took an empty chair next to us. “I’m working on a story about the dads’ trip.”

Oh, it was tempting to make a snide comment about how he apparently wasn’t giving us a choice, seeing as no one had invited him to sit down.

But I let my media-trained son take point.

With a smile that was obviously fake, Chris said, “Sure. What do you want to know?”

Jack grinned and sat up straighter, reminding me of a Golden Retriever who thought someone was about to throw a ball. Though, with that smarmy grin, maybe he was less of a Golden Retriever who wanted to chase a ball and more one who thought he’d gotten away with shitting on the bed.

“Well, the dads’ trip is an annual tradition,” the Golden Retriever in question said, “and Chris, this is your second season as a Phantom, but Garrett, this is your first trip with the Phantoms.” He glanced at Chris, then at me, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “What changed your mind?”

Beside me, Chris bristled, his media training slipping ever so slightly. “This is my first season with the Phantoms. I didn’t get called up last year until March.”

“The farm team does a dad trip, though, so⁠—”

“I wasn’t able to go,” I said, putting on the smile I reserved for clueless upper management. “Luckily, the planets aligned in my favor this time.”

Chris relaxed minutely.

Jack’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t like that answer. “I’ve noticed you’ve been coming to home games in Pittsburgh, too.” He cut his eyes toward Chris. “How does that help your concentration? Knowing your dad is in the building watching you?”

My stomach somersaulted. It had never occurred to me that my presence might mess with Chris’s head.

Chris just gave a flippant shrug. “Doesn’t do anything for my concentration. He was watching me on TV before, so it doesn’t really make a difference.”

God, I wanted to believe that. But given everything we’d been through—hell, did it bother him that I was in the building?

“You did mention early in the season that you were nervous about your dad coming to games,” Jack said. “Apparently there was nothing to be nervous about? Especially since he’d been watching them all along?”

I was surprised I couldn’t hear Chris’s molars grinding. Possibly because blood was pounding in my ears as I debated throwing down with Jack or waiting to see if I needed to intervene before Chris dropped gloves with him.

That media training must’ve been a hell of a drug, because Chris schooled his expression to something placid, and his tone followed suit. “I think anyone’s nervous the first time their parents see them at this level.” He shrugged again, even more flippantly than before. “Kind of a natural reaction when you want your parents to be proud of you, you know?”

Jack nodded. Then he turned to me and, with a completely straight face, actually asked, “And are you proud of him?”

I laughed at the stupidity of the question and the man asking it. In a “what kind of dumbass are you?” tone, I said, “My son is playing in this League, alongside some of his idols. He’s linemates with a generational talent. He’s racking up points left, right, and center.” I waved a hand. “I was proud of him for getting selected by his youth teams—of course I’m proud of him now.”

“As you should be,” Jack said. “One last question.” He pinned me with a look I couldn’t read that made my spine prickle. “As a single man living in a new city, how are you finding the dating scene in Pittsburgh?”

I stared at him for a moment, caught off-guard by the question (and the audacity), but also afraid on some level that it wasn’t just a shot in the dark. Did he know something? Or was I just paranoid?

Fortunately, that smile meant for upper management stayed in place, and I just shrugged. “I’m still figuring out the freeways and learning to navigate around the potholes.” With a quiet laugh, I added, “Maybe I’ll check out the dating scene once I’m not worried about my car’s suspension all the time.”