Page 17 of Breaking the Ice

I clench my jaw. Like it was my fault he was at the hospital tonight or I’m just a convenient Uber driver. Figures. Why am I going out of my way to do this, again?

I take a deep breath. Oh yeah, to build a bridge between me and my dad. And how’s that going?

So great.

Letting him steer me out of the exam room, I toss Evan a wave over my shoulder, then spin out of his grasp.

“Dad.” I keep my voice firm. “I was only trying to help. You don’t need to belittle me in front of Evan like that.”

His brown eyes widen. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just thought⁠—”

“You didn’t need to come tonight. I had it handled. I only texted you because Evan is one of your players, and I thought you should know about a change in his medical history.” And I didn’t think he’d tell my dad on his own.

I might have successfully avoided hockey players up to this point in my life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how they roll. All athletes, really—or actors, musicians, and singers. Always exaggerating how strong and healthy they are when they are hurt or sick because being taken out of the equation is a fate worse than death.

Facing my dad, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m perfectly competent, you know.”

“Of course I know that. That’s part of the reason I asked you to tutor Evan.”

“What’s the other part?”

He glances left, then right, as if looking for answers or a way out of this conversation. “You’re one of the smartest girls on campus. Maybe your responsibility will rub off on him. If anyone can help him, I figured it would be you.”

“Oh.” That’s a really nice thing to say. “Um, thanks.”

Dad rocks on the balls of his feet. “If it doesn’t violate tutor-client privilege, can I ask how Evan is doing?”

I debate, but Evan doesn't seem like the type of guy who’d mind, especially if I have good things to share. “He’s actually really smart. Not a numbers person, though. We’ve come up with some strategies to help.”

“Will he be off the bench soon?”

I roll my eyes. Of course, it’s all about his precious hockey team. “Maybe. Depends on how he does under pressure.”

“Oh, he thrives,” my dad says, and I’m hit with a weird pang of jealousy. Why does it bother me that my dad knows that about Evan? I stiffen and take a deep breath, and he must notice the change in my posture. He clears his throat and rushes on. “But obviously you do, too, because you took care of a medical emergency like it was nothing. I didn’t come here because I didn’t think you could handle it. More like to thank you.”

Oh. I swallow, and the ugly envious feelings swirling in my gut dissipate. “Um, okay. You’re welcome.”

The silence stretches between us, and just before it turns awkward, he says, “I’m glad you’re here. At Harrison. It’s nice, having you home. But also, on campus with me.”

For my dad, this is a long soliloquy. I nod. “Thanks. It’s… cool.”

Why am I so much better when other people write my words? I sigh, frustrated at myself for not being able to express what I want. But my dad doesn’t seem to mind. He gives me a friendly pat on the shoulder, then strides back towards Evan and the exam room.

Maybe I’m not the only one trying to build a bridge.

Chapter

Eight

ISABELLA

Isabella: How are you feeling?

Evan: Less itchy.

Evan: Thanks again for taking care of me.

Isabella: I’m glad you’re okay. How was the US History test?