Page 265 of Faking the Goal

Ridiculous.

I blame her.

Before Taylor moved into the house, coming back after practice meant walking into an empty room.

Now it means walking toward her.

Toward whatever ridiculous story she has waiting for me about her day.

Toward hearing her laugh.

Toward watching her steal food off my plate even though she insists she isn't hungry.

Somewhere along the way, seeing her had quietly become my favorite part of every day.

I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder and grab my phone from inside the front pocket, already expecting to see a message telling me she's made it to the pond.

Instead, my father's name flashes across the screen.

The smile lingering on my face fades almost instantly.

I stare at the display for a moment as the phone continues vibrating in my hand. Part of me considers letting it ring until it stops, but that would only delay the inevitable. If anything, he'd call again, and then again after that. My father has never been the type to accept being ignored.

With a quiet sigh, I swipe my thumb across the screen and lift the phone to my ear.

"Hello."

"I've been waiting for your answer."

No greeting. No asking how practice went or how I've been doing. He gets straight to the point, just like he always does.

"I've been busy."

"I imagine you have." His voice remains calm, but I've known him long enough to recognize the impatience beneath it. "You've also had several weeks to think about what we discussed."

I close my eyes and rub the back of my neck, feeling the last traces of my good mood slipping away.

"We already talked about this."

"No, Kentaro. I talked. You listened, and then you've spent every day since avoiding giving me an answer."

I don't bother arguing because he's right about one thing—I have been avoiding him. Not because I don't know what I want, but because saying it out loud would make everything real.

"I've been patient," he continues. "Far more patient than I should have been. If you intend to pursue professional hockey instead of returning to Japan, then I expect you to tell me now."

I tighten my grip on the strap of my duffel bag.

"You already know I've wanted to play in the NHL my whole life."

"Then ask yourself whether that dream of yours is worth sacrificing your family's future."

The words settle heavily in my chest.

"I've made myself perfectly clear from the beginning. If you declare for the draft, I will consider that your decision to walk away from this family and the responsibilities waiting for you here. If that's the path you choose, then I will make my own arrangements. Your mother's medical expenses and your sister's education will become your responsibility, not mine."

The threat isn't new.

He's made it before.