But it does.
I groan and throw an arm over my eyes, repeating words I assume a therapist would tell me if I had one.This is not my problem. I am not responsible for how other people react to or for me. I didn’t ask Rhodes to go all caveman in the locker room.
But even as I tell myself that, it doesn’t feel true.
A knock at the door makes me jolt.
It’s late, too late for visitors—not that I get visitors at normal hours, either. I debate ignoring it, but then the knock comes again, firm and expectant.
I drag myself up from the couch, padding to the door. I check the peephole, because as much as my life is a mess, I’d prefer not to addmurdered in my own apartmentto the list.
My dad stands on the other side, still in his Wolverines jacket, exhaustion written all over his face. I exhale through my nose, unlocking the top lock and opening the door wide.
“I figured you’d be awake.” He steps inside without waiting for an invitation because he’s my dad, and we don’t stand on ceremony.
“What gave it away?” I mutter, shutting the door behind him.
“Well, it’s not like you have a boyfriend to disturb,” he remarks.
Okay,rude.“You don’t know that,” I scoff.
He levels me with a look.
“Okay, fine,” I grumble.
“Guys you bring home from a party don’t count, Monroe.”
Oh, for thelove.Enough with the hits already, Dad.
“First of all,” I snap, “I don’t bring those guys home. That gives them the impression I want to actually talk to them the next day.”
He snorts, shaking his head, but his expression sobers. I miss talking with him. We’ve always had an open line of communication. He never shied away from discussing all the things a teenage girl needed to know. Where my mom avoided any topic that wasn’tproper,my dad was frank and to the point. There is a pang in my chest at the closeness we’ve lost over the last year. Entirely my fault, too.
“Dad, why are you here?” I don’t mind seeing him, but it’s late.
“My hockey captain broke the nose of one of his teammates last night,” he says, moving the throw pillows aside and sinking onto my couch.
I hesitate. “Ah,” I say, shifting uncomfortably. “That sucks?” It comes out as a question.
“Yeah, Monroe. It sucks.” He exhales a breath, rubbing his jaw. “My captain put another player in the hospital. The GM is pissed.”
Guilt stirs low in my stomach, but I shove it down, unsure how to respond. “Okay.”
“And the story I’m hearing,” he continues, voice laced with warning, “is that you’re the reason Rhodes broke Jax’s nose. Any comments on that, daughter of mine?”
Oh.Shit.
I keep my face neutral, my voice even. “Nope. I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t even know Rhodes.” I shrug as naturally as I can.
It’s not convincing. My dad watches me closely, trying to sniff out the truth. I look anywhere other than his face.
“Are you,” I tiptoe around the question, “going to keep Rhodes on the bench?”
“For defending you against an asshole?” His gaze flicks up to mine. “No. I’m not benching Rhodes. He shouldn’t have resorted to physical violence, but I can’t bring myself to punish him. I’d probably have done the same.”
I swallow. The air in the room feels tight.
“Are you going to punish Jax?”