Break My Heart: An Enemies-to-Lovers Coach’s Daughter Sports Romance (Western Wildcats Hockey)
Break My Heart: Chapter 31

I tap on the frosted glass of Dad’s office door before pushing it open. The familiar sound of game film plays in the background. Dad sits in his chair, eyes glued to the screen as he studies the plays. The moment he sees me, he clicks off the video and turns with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I didn’t think you’d be here for another twenty minutes.”

“The professor let us out early.” I drop my backpack to the floor and settle on the seat across from him. “So I came straight over.”

“Good to know I’m getting my money’s worth for your education.”

I smirk. “Thanks to your position at Western, I’m getting a free ride, so you really can’t complain.”

“Hmm. Guess you’re right. Speaking of classes, how are they going this semester?”

“They’re fine,” I say with a noncommittal shrug, avoiding his probing gaze. His desk is cluttered with papers, the remnants of what looks like an intense game analysis. His laptop is open next to his desktop, and I can see a familiar spreadsheet on the screen with stats and player rankings.

The disarray makes me itch to straighten it out, but I resist the urge. I learned enough in therapy to understand that controlling my surroundings is one way I cope when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

“Any closer to figuring out a major?” Dad presses. “You’re almost through your first year. It’s about time to decide, don’t you think?”

I shift on the chair. “No, I haven’t made any decisions.”

Even though I’m twenty-one years old, I only started college last fall, which makes me a freshman. Most of my classes are general education. Biology, English, math, psychology, and a graphic arts class.

The concern lurking in his eyes has guilt mushrooming up inside me for not having an answer. For not having my life figured out. For still being a mess.

“You could always visit the career counseling center and speak to someone.”

I shake my head, brushing off the suggestion. “I’m not interested in talking to anyone else.” I force myself to add, “At least not right now.”

Just as he’s about to push the subject, the door swings open and Mom breezes in, a large paper bag in her hands and a bright smile on her face.

“Hi!” she chirps, setting the bag down on Dad’s desk. “I didn’t think you’d beat me here! I thought you had class.”

“He let us out early,” I repeat, my tone softening as I watch her move around the room. There’s a certain warmth to my mom that makes everything seem a little less overwhelming.

“Perfect timing!” She plants a quick kiss on Dad’s cheek.

They’ve always been so in love. Always holding hands or sitting next to one another. There were times when I’d walk into the kitchen and replace them hugging or kissing. When I was younger, their affectionate displays embarrassed me. I remember grumbling under my breath that they needed to keep their hands to themselves. Now, I think it’s sweet that after twenty-five years, they’re still so in love.

Mom turns to me, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from my face before kissing my forehead. The gesture is so familiar and comforting, that some of the tension drains from my body.

She unpacks the subs, placing them on the desk next to the drinks. Turkey and swiss for Dad, tuna for her, and an Italian for me. The smell makes my stomach rumble, and we settle into a familiar rhythm of conversation while eating.

Dad doesn’t bring up my lack of major again, and for that, I’m grateful. The pressure to figure out my path forward weighs heavily on me. It feels like my entire life has been about skating, and now that it’s gone, I have no idea what to fill the void with.

The thought leaves me feeling empty.

Adrift.

It doesn’t take Dad long to demolish his sandwich, and soon he’s finishing off half of Mom’s as well. The casual banter shifts to hockey, with Dad detailing the upcoming schedule, and Mom talking about her new job. For a while, I let the conversation flow around me, attempting to ignore the nagging unease at the back of my mind.

The restlessness that’s been there for weeks.

Ever since Nathan resurfaced.

I still haven’t mentioned the messages to them.

The last thing I want is for Dad to fly off the handle or Mom to blame herself again. The concern that was a constant presence in her eyes has finally faded. I’m loath to do anything that will disrupt it.

I’ve stopped responding to the texts. My hope is that he’ll get bored and leave me alone. I ignore the little voice that nags at the back of my brain, reminding me it has yet to occur.

After a quick glance at my phone, I push to my feet. “I should probably head out. Thanks for lunch, Mom. We should do this more often.”

Her gaze flicks to my dad. A second or two of silent communication passes between them. I’ve seen it before. Especially after they found out about my relationship with Nathan.

A pit of unease blooms at the bottom of my belly. My gaze shifts from one to the other before narrowing. “What’s going on?”

When Dad remains silent, Mom gives him a nod of encouragement. “Tell her.”

It’s carefully that I lower myself back to my seat as my tone escalates. “Tell me what?”

Dad clears his throat before balling up his sandwich wrapper and tossing it into the trash. The way his attention stays pinned to me sends a wave of anxiety rippling through me. “Nadia Petrovic reached out to me the other day.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Nadia Petrovic?” I echo, my voice barely above a whisper. The name alone is enough to send a shiver racing down my spine.

The woman is a legend in the figure skating world. Olympic gold medalist, world champion, and coach to some of the greatest skaters in history. I idolized her when I was younger, back when I still believed that dream could be mine.

Why would she reach out?

Especially now, after all this time?

Dad hesitates, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “She’s interested in training you.”

“What?” I shake my head, unable to process what he’s saying. “I don’t understand. Why would she want to do that? I haven’t skated competitively since—” I stop, the words catching in my throat.

Since everything fell apart.

Dad doesn’t flinch or look away. “I might have sent her a video of you skating recently,” he admits quietly. “And told her you were ready to make a comeback.”

My heart races as a potent concoction of anger and disbelief rushes through me. “You did what?”

Before Dad can respond, Mom steps in, her tone soft and pleading. “Honey, we didn’t want to tell you until we knew it was a real possibility. You’ve been so lost this past year, and we just hate seeing you like this. We thought… maybe this could help.”

I swallow hard, the weight of their expectations looming over me. “You should have talked to me first.”

Mom’s eyes fill with sadness, but she doesn’t back down. “We were afraid you’d say no before giving it a chance. We just want you to be happy.”

Her words hit me hard, right in the gut. I’ve been telling myself that I’m fine and don’t need skating anymore. Deep down, though, I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.

The thought of returning to that world is terrifying.

Dad’s voice drags me from the whirl of my thoughts. “Will you at least meet with Nadia and hear what she has to say?”

“I’m not in competition shape,” I whisper, my hands trembling. “I just skate for fun now. I’m not… I can’t⁠—”

“She knows how talented you are and what you’re capable of, Ava,” Dad says, leaning forward. “She’s watched you for years. She believes in you.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I stand, desperate to escape before they fall. “I need time to think.”

After more than a year away from the competitive circuit, I can’t envision what it would be like to train full time again. Nor can I imagine how people would react if I just showed up at a competition.

The knowing smirks.

The hushed whispers.

The gossip would be rampant.

Am I willing to subject myself to that all over again?

The thought is enough to have me shrinking in on myself.

“Take all the time you need,” Mom says gently. “But don’t let fear hold you back.”

With a nod, I grab my bag and head for the door. As I step into the hallway, her final words echo through my mind.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, that’s exactly what I’ve spent the last year doing.