Page 112 of Only Ever You

“I’m fine. Busy, but that’s nothing new.” I lift a shoulder. “And no, I wasn’t at the game. I was in Boston last week, and then I went home to spend some time with my folks.” I tip my head. “But I heard the Hawks won, so congratulations.”

“Thank you.” His lips kick up on one side. “I’ve always been a huge fan of your dad, actually. He’s a very impressive dude. He built a legacy with the Mustangs.”

Lips pressed together, I dip my chin. Then, I break into a speech I memorized years ago. “Dad is a very dedicated athlete. He doesn’t half-ass anything. He gives it his all, sometimes at the expense of his health, but never at the expense of his family.” I sigh, and before I realize I’ve said it, I confide in him a little more than I probably should. “I need to be more like him. Right now, I feel like I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I’m focused on is my career.”

“And what an impressive career it is,” he praises, leaning forward a little. “You fascinate me. Really. Watching you on the ice? It’s just…wow.”

An older couple exits the café. Just outside the open door, a car door slams shut. The sound is so loud and sharp, it startles me and sends a shiver down my spine.

“Thanks. Um…” I clear my throat and shift in my seat, focusing on Diego again. “What about you? What are you planning to do after graduation?”

“I’ve been drafted, thankfully, so I’ll head to Seattle to play pro.”

“Congratulations.” Smiling brightly, I pat his hand on the table.

The door chimes, and I unwittingly glance at the entrance. When my attention is snagged by a pair of eyes I know even better than my own, my body locks up. He zeroes in on the table, on my hand, his brows pinched and his face dark. Clearly, he’s not here for coffee. Fantastic. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to accept Diego’s offer to sit and have coffee together, and now, I know I was right.

Dressed in a black hoodie and black sweatpants, Michael strides across the café. An easy smile breaks over his lips, but by the storm raging in his eyes, he’s anything but happy.

“Flores, my man.” He snatches a chair from a nearby table and drags it over to ours before dropping into it. “And Isla. What a pleasant surprise.”

Diego’s mouth turns down in a puzzled frown. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I was heading back to the dorms and saw you two.” He studies Diego, then me, keeping his tone and expression light. “Decided to come and say hi.”

“Well, hi,” Diego replies, his tone a little sharp. “Now you can go. Isla and I don’t need your company.”

The fake smile Michael has been wearing slips, and he leans forward, lips flattened. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” He surveys me, his expression softening a fraction, though it hardens again quickly. “And what gives you the right to speak on Isla’s behalf? If she wants me gone, she can tell me so herself. She and I go a long way back. Since we were little. I don’t need you stepping in for her.”

Diego scowls. “What’s your problem? I’m trying to make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Lemme think about it.” Michael sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, his chin lifted. “I’m afraid at the moment, my problem is you.”

“Michael, stop,” I say.

He doesn’t bother looking my way this time. He’s too busy glaring at Diego.

“Right now, this isn’t two teammates talking.” Diego lowers his voice. “This is me talking to a rich, entitled asshole. You walk around campus as if you’re fucking royalty. As if you’re so much better than the rest of us,” he spits out. “Drafted, heading to New York at twenty. I get it—you grew up immersed in the NHL. Your dad, his friends, his teammates, agents. You’re on a first-name basis with half the league, and you think that makes you untouchable.” Licking his lips, he angles in, his face darkening. “In reality? You’re nothing but Colton Thompson’s son. Guys like me have to bend over backward to be noticed. We work relentlessly while you get special treatment because of the last name on your jersey.” His eyes are cold and glued to Michael. “And the most fucked-up thing is, you’re not even close to your dad’s level. You⁠—”

“That’s enough!” I snap.

Anger bubbles up inside me, my skin burning, my cheeks on fire. I get that Diego is frustrated and angry, but his comment is untrue. Michael has worked as hard as any hockey player I’ve ever known. Maybe harder, because he wants to step out from his dad’s shadow. He’s been under public scrutiny his whole life, and he’s busted his ass to prove he’s not just his dad’s last name.

I meet Diego’s eyes. “I said yes to coffee, but not to this bullshit. And I definitely didn’t ask you to speak to Michael like that. You have no idea how wrong you are. I’ve seen how hard he works and what it costs him.”

“If I were you, I’d get up and walk out now. I’m saying this as your teammate,” Michael growls. “If I were the rich, entitled asshole you say I am, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you to fuck off and then punch you in your smug face.”

“Whatever.” Jaw clenched, Diego turns to me. “See you around, Isla.”

“I don’t think so.” I clear my throat and straighten in my chair. “What you said about Michael crossed the line for me.”

Without another word, he’s gone. Michael sits still, shoulders tense, hands balled into fists.

“What he said was bullshit,” I tell him. “You’re an amazing player, and you deserve⁠—”

“What were you even doing here with him?” he snaps, face red with fury. “Were you on a date?”

My heart lurches. “What? No. I came here for a hot chocolate, and he was here too.”