Page 14 of Wild Card 13

Bea leaned back in her chair looking genuinely stunned now. “I cannot believe you never told me.”

I shrugged again, smaller this time. “It never came up.”

Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Anyway, you wouldn’t be dealing with players directly at first.”

“At first?” I caught immediately.

He gave me a look far too innocent to trust. “Depending on where we place you.”

Lo leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “I guess everyone works for the team now. Darlin’, where do you want me?”

The laughter came easier that time.

Dad pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Finally. The hire I’ve been waiting for.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Lo lifted her chin. “I would last two days before telling a reporter his question was tacky and asking one of your defensemen if his mama knew he left the house dressed like that.”

Bea nearly inhaled water.

“I’d promote you,” Dad informed her.

“You’d have to. I’d be beloved.”

I laughed with them because Lo was impossible not to love. Because Bea’s shoulders were shaking beside me and my father looked happier than he had in weeks. Because laughter was easier than acknowledging the fact that one name had just quietly destabilized my entire nervous system.

Inside, something had shifted. Like ice groaning beneath weight.

When the laughter settled again, I pushed a piece of chicken around my plate and tried for reasonable. “Would I actually have to deal with players?”

Dad’s expression softened immediately, and that softness was its own kind of pressure. “Not in the way you’re worried about.”

“You don’t know what way I’m worried about.”

“I know you.” A tiny smile touched his lips. “And I know,” he continued carefully, “that you don’t want to get thrown into locker room chaos.”

“I would be working in an office,” I clarified. “With normal office things.”

“Mostly.”

“Dad.”

He held up one hand immediately. “You’d be working with staff first. Internal systems. Operations support. Process improvement. Helping us clean up structural issues. You would not be responsible for babysitting players.”

Bea muttered into her wine, “Shame. Several require active supervision.”

I ignored her completely. “And I would not have to deal with him directly.”

Dad’s expression shifted. A father remembering an old bruise and assuming time had probably healed it because the skin looked normal now. “No,” he answered carefully. “You would not have to deal with Buzz directly.”

My lungs expanded again. “Okay,” I said quietly.

Dad didn’t pounce on the opening. To his credit, he didn’t smile like he’d won something either. He just nodded once, calm and patient, like this had all been hypothetical and he wasn’t already mentally reorganizing half the Frosthawks front office to make room for me. “Think about it.”

I looked toward Bea automatically. Her expression softened in away that landed differently than my father’s certainty had. “You’d be good there, Luce.”

“I hate that all of you sound reasonable,” I muttered.

Lo smiled knowingly. “That’s how we get you, sugar.”