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I love Wyatt.

The realization settles something inside me.

He can yell. He can tell me I was stupid for hiding it. He can give me a lecture about boundaries and hockey and every rule Wyatt and I broke along the way.

None of that changes what I know now.

I love Wyatt.

And I'm not giving him up because my father doesn't like it.

By the time I reach the front door, I'm almost grateful for the anger humming under my skin. It gives me something solid to hold onto.

The midday sun hits the faded paint on the front porch, casting harsh shadows across the worn wooden steps. Some stupid part of my brain makes a mental note to remind Dad about fixing the sagging railing before I remember this definitely isn't the afternoon for home maintenance.

I push open the door.

The wind chime behind me barely gets through two notes before his voice cuts through the house.

"Kitchen."

Okay.

We're skipping hello.

I walk in and find him standing at the counter instead of sitting at the table. His jacket is still on, his tie gone, and his phone is lying facedown beside a mug of coffee.

I've seen my father furious before. At refs. Players. Reporters. Once at a general manager who tried to make a roster decision over his head.

I've never had all of it aimed at me.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

I set my keys on the table. "I was thinking I wanted to be with him."

"Don't get smart with me, Quinn."

"I'm not."

"Then explain it to me. Explain how my daughter spends months sneaking around with one of my players and somehow decides I'm the one person who doesn't deserve to know."

"We weren't sneaking around because we were ashamed."

"Really? Because there's a picture of you kissing him in a parking lot all over the goddamn internet, and that's how I found out."

"I know."

"You know?" His palm comes down against the counter hard enough to make the mug jump. "I got a call from Diane before I got a call from my own daughter."

I flinch, but I don't back down. "We were going to tell you."

"When?"

"Soon."

He lets out a sharp laugh with absolutely no humor in it. "Don't insult me."

"I'm not insulting you."