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Dad grabs his phone again, swipes across the screen, then puts it down in front of me. I don't look.

"I don't care what people are saying."

"You should. Because he's the one they're saying it about."

I look despite myself.

I only catch pieces.

Brennan's favorite.

Wonder how he earned those minutes.

Coach's future son-in-law.

I shove the phone away.

"People are assholes."

"Yes, they are. And tomorrow he walks into a locker room where every guy has seen this."

"They're his friends."

"Some of them are. Some of them are competing with him for ice time. Some of them have agents who will happily point out that Larkin's dating the coach's daughter the next time their client gets moved down a line and Wyatt gets moved up."

I don't answer.

"What happens when I put him on the power play?"

"Nothing."

"What happens when he gets first-line minutes?"

"Because he earned them."

"I know that. You know that. Does everyone else?"

"They know how good he is."

"And what happens the first time he isn't good?"

I stare at him.

"The first time he has a bad stretch and I keep playing him, I'm protecting him. The first time I sit him, I'm punishing him because he pissed off my daughter. If I yell at him in practice, it's personal. If I don't yell at him, it's favoritism. Every decision I make about that kid is compromised now whether I change a damn thing or not."

"That's your problem with the team. Not ours."

"You're right."

The immediate agreement throws me.

Dad nods once. "It is my problem. And I'll deal with it."

Some of the pressure in my chest eases.

Then he keeps going. "But the consequences won't land on me alone."

What does he…?