My eyebrows went up. “Fancy.”
Dr. Parker just laughed. “Haven’t had you over since the first week of school.”
The cucumber suddenly required all my attention.
“Mm-hmm.” She set tomatoes beside me with gentle care. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Oh?”
I knew thatohwas an invitation to pour my heart out, but instead, I busied myself with the vegetables, piling them into a wooden bowl she handed me.
Thankfully, she dropped the subject, but I knew she wouldn’t let it go.
I set the table while she pulled out the lasagna and tossed the salad with lemon and olive oil. It was so normal, so safe.
My throat tightened.
I wanted to tell her everything.
But I couldn’t.
“Bon appetit,” she said once we’d served ourselves. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight.”
I gave her a well-deserved side-eye, and she laughed. “I’ve missed you, Tristan.”
“I miss you too,” I admitted. Being a Black man inhockey was a balancing act, and as much I loved Cole, it was still a fucking relief to talk to someone who got it. Dr. Parker was one of the only Black professionals associated with the hockey program. I owed her better than to drop out of her life the moment my own got hard. “I’m sorry.”
She reached over to squeeze my hand. “Eat,” she said, waving her fork at my plate. “And tell me what’s going on with my favorite player so I don’t have to call Cedric and drag it out of him.”
I’d forgotten they got along so well. “Classes are good,” I said quietly. “Cedric’s good too.”
“How’s Cole doing?”
Heartbroken. Fierce. Protective. Possessive. Determined. I opened my mouth and closed it a few times before I settled on, “Fine.”
Dr. Parker set her silverware down and looked me straight in the eye. “He didn’t quit the team for his health, Tris. Neither did Coach Novikov.”
When I didn’t answer, Dr. Parker sighed deeply.
“Jed Carter called me last night.”
My eyes flew to hers.
“He wanted to know what I knew about his son and rehab.”
“Fuck,” I breathed, my heart stopping.
“It’s not the first time Carter’s called me about a player’s health, nor is it the first time I’ve told him to go pound sand. Not only is it illegal for me to share their medical information, he’s a scumbag.”
“He is,” I agreed, exhaling a stressed-out whoosh.
“It’d be a shame if someone managed to prove he’s manipulating the sports program at Yorkfield University to increase his betting profits, wouldn’t it?”
“You mean it’d be an absolute fucking miracle,” I muttered.
“Is that why Alek resigned?”