Page 128 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Oliver pauses and looks at me.

I didn’t mean to just say it. And I’m not sure how to frame Penn in this scenario, let alone Carter. That’s not any of Dad’s business, though. And they’re not here getting grilled by him.

“That’s wonderful!” Perri exclaims. “That’s great, honey, right? You always say that Oliver is a great man.”

“Boy,” Dad corrects. “He’s barely twenty.”

I mean… yeah. Me, too. I scowl at Dad, who’s laying on the protective act a little thick. He raises his hands in surrender, but I highly doubt the matter is dropped.

That would be asking for too much.

We finish dinner. Oliver and I clean up the kitchen to the tune of Dad and Perri’s mutual protesting, but we send them out into the front room.

“Sorry.” I pass him a wet dish.

“For what?” He’s on drying duty, and his movements are quick and efficient.

“For saying we’re together.”

“Oh.” He glances at me. “No takebacks, though.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You can’t unsay it.”

I set down my sponge and face him. “I can’t unsay it?”

“You can’t unring a bell, mi nena.”

I don’t know what that word means, and I really don’t want to admit that I like it. But I like the way the word rolls off his tongue. I like the way he looks at me and talks to me and?—

“We’re dating.” He smirks. “Penn can deal.”

“And Carter,” I automatically add. I quickly resume washing. “I’m not leaving him out of my life. Don’t ask me to.”

“Penn says he’s a fucking stalker,” Oliver says under his breath. “I could get rid of him for you.”

“Like you got rid of Bear?”

Henry Bernstein. A problem that’s apparently not gone, although he’s the last person I want to think about.

He winces. “Even your father doesn’t know. His brother’s records were sealed because he was seventeen when the sexual assault happened. His dad’s the only one that we would know about, and I don’t think he ever told us. If your dad knows, he didn’t mention it.”

“Then how did Penn’s uncle find out?”

His lips quirk. “He probably bribed someone.”

Oh.

“That’s one way of getting stuff done,” I reply. “But please don’t get rid of Carter.”

He grunts.

The rest of the evening is nice. We drink coffee, and Perri pulls out some fancy chocolates. We keep things light and somewhat casual, minus a few cutting glares from my father in Oliver’s direction. It’s like he doesn’t actually know his hockey captain… which is ridiculous.

When we’ve said our goodbyes and Oliver is already outside, I pull Dad aside and say as much. That he’s known Oliver longer than me, if you look at it a certain way.

He gives me a don’t be stupid look. “I only wiped one of your asses, sweetheart.”