Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Fuck no.” The words burst out of me before I can stop them, leaving my father, who does not tolerate profanity in professional or private settings, gaping. “I’m sorry. Excuse my language, but no. No, Dad. I’m not going to do that.”
“Artemis Lauder, don’t be stubborn for no reason,” he says, still sounding remarkably calm considering I just dropped an “f” bomb in front of company for the first time in my entire life. “Pride is only going to cost you an opportunity to learn what you’re lacking and be thoroughly prepared.”
“I am prepared.” I set my wine down, my hand trembling, but my voice steady as I add, “I’m proud of my team and confident in my abilities. And I’d like this to be the end of the conversation, please.”
Dad sighs, irritation creasing his brow as he huffs, “I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t overlooked. Amateur teams don’t earn the kind of respect you’re going to need for—”
“Stop saying amateur like it’s a dirty word!” My voice rises despite my best efforts to keep from brawling in front of Stone and Justin, who are looking increasingly uncomfortable with every passing second. “There was no pro-hockey for women until a couple of years ago, Dad. How were they supposed to get pro experience? How was I? It’s not like NHL teams are rushing to hire female coaches. Believe me. I applied for a dozen assistant positions before I ended up in admin for the Badgers. Those teams wouldn’t even give me an interview. They took one look at the clearly female name on my resume and passed.”
“Citing sexism isn’t productive, Remy,” Dad says, his scowl now fully fledged. “Yes, it’s real, but—”
“I think you both make some great points,” Stone interjects in an upbeat tone that makes Dad and me both snap a hard look his way. Stone winces and lifts his hands in surrender. “And you’ve given us all some stuff to think about, for sure. For our parts, Justin and I are happy to help you prep for your interview if you’d like a hand.” Stone glances at Justin, who nods hastily, clearly also wanting this to be over ASAP. “And if you don’t, that’s fine, too. As far as I’m concerned, all Lauders in this room are forces and coaches to be reckoned with and very good at what they do.”
Dad’s mouth tightens. “Very politic of you, Stone.”
Stone’s grin wobbles, but remains in place as he says, “Thank you, Coach. I’m considering running for something after I retire. It’s important to give back, you know?”
“But we won’t talk politics,” Justin adds with a charming grin of his own. “Because we all know better and weren’t raised in a barn. But could we talk about the new mascot sketches? The retro ones? Because I think I speak for everyone when I say this version of Bucky might be scarier than the one from the 80s.”
After another beat of uncomfortable silence, during which Dad and I both continue to glare at random objects in the room, refusing to make eye contact, he
clears his throat. “Let’s discuss the sketches over dinner. The prime rib should be ready. Shall we move to the dining room?”
The meal that follows is delicious and excruciating. The men carry the conversation, discussing Bucky, the first travel game, and the team’s prospects for the season while I shove food into my mouth, ensuring I’m too busy chewing to contribute. Stone is careful not to focus too much attention my way, but I feel his concerned gaze on me more than once.
And I hate it.
I hate feeling like this, like some dumb teenager who got in trouble in front of her friends. I can’t remember the last time I was this embarrassed. And I hate that my father still has the ability to make me feel small and unprepared and never quite good enough.
When we finally finish dessert—apple pie, I barely taste—I make my excuses about an early morning tomorrow and head for the door. Dad walks us out, and I endure his perfunctory hug with rigid shoulders.
“Think about what I said, all right? Even if I didn’t ask in the way that you might have preferred?” he murmurs before releasing me. “I only want to see you succeed.”
I manage a nod before fleeing into the rain.
Stone catches up to me at my car, touching my elbow lightly. “Hey. You okay?”
“Fine.” But my voice cracks on the word. I can’t talk to him right now, not when I still need to keep up the “just friends” façade on the off-chance Dad decides to glance out the window. “Want to come to my place?”
“Right behind you,” he promises, concern in his eyes.
I climb into my car, my stomach churning as I start the engine. In my rearview mirror, I watch Stone and Justin say goodbye to each other, just like they usually would. Friendly. Warm. Clapping shoulders. Totally normal.