The Boy Who Checked Me First

Chapter 8: Daddy's Girl?

My father has never knocked in his life.

He bangs. Three hard, sharp bangs that say I am here, I am disappointed, open this door right now.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

At 11:47 p.m.

I was sitting on our couch in Cole's giant henley - his black henley from dinner, which went down to my knees and swallowed my dress - trying to do my Biology homework that I had ignored for a week. My dress was draped over my desk chair. My hair was wet from the rain. My feet were tucked under me.

Cole was in his room with the door open, pretending to watch game film but really watching me over his laptop.

When the banging started, we both froze.

"Aria Chen. Open this door. Now."

My father's voice. In Boston. In men's athlete housing. At midnight.

My blood turned to ice water.

Cole was already up. He closed his laptop, walked to me in two strides, and put a hand on my shoulder.

"That's him?" he whispered.

I nodded. I couldn't speak.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Aria!"

"He knows you're here," Cole said quietly. "Your truck - my truck is outside. He saw my truck."

I looked down. I was in Cole's henley. Just his henley and shorts underneath that you couldn't see. My dress was across the room. To anyone knocking at midnight, I looked like a girl who had spent the night with her boyfriend.

Which, technically, I had. Fake boyfriend. But my father would not care about technicalities.

"I can't - I can't let him see me like this," I whispered.

Cole looked at me, at the henley, at my bare legs, at my panicked face. Understanding clicked.

"Go to your room. Put on sweats. I'll get the door."

"But -"

"Go, Chen. Now."

I ran to my room, slammed the door, ripped off his henley and pulled on the first thing I could find - oversized sweatpants and a sports bra and then his henley again because I couldn't find my own shirt. My hands were shaking so hard I couldn't tie the pants.

Outside, I heard Cole open the front door.

"Mr. Chen?"

Silence. Then my father's voice, cold, clipped, with that slight accent he gets when he's angry.

"You must be Maddox. The captain who can't keep his hands off my daughter in ice baths."

Oh god.

I opened my door.

My father stood in our doorway. David Chen. 6'0", former Whitmore D1 defenseman, class of '98, still built like a brick wall at 48, in a crisp suit and his old varsity jacket. He looked exactly like he did when I was 12 and he told me girls don't play contact hockey.

He looked at me. In Cole's henley. In our tiny apartment that smelled like boy and chicken and rice. His face went hard.

"Aria."

"Dad. What are you doing here? It's almost midnight."

"What am I doing here? You didn't answer my calls. You didn't answer your mother's calls. We had to see that your - that you were sharing baths with boys on i********: to know you are alive?"

Cole stepped slightly in front of me. Not blocking. Just... there.

"Sir, the photo was out of context. It was medical rehab. The school already disciplined -"

"I was not talking to you," my father cut him off, not looking at him. "Aria. Pack your things. You are coming home."

Home. Back to Connecticut. Back to community college and figure skating lessons.

"No," I said. My voice was small but it was there. "No, I'm not."

My father stared. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. I made this team. I earned this spot. I'm not quitting because some gossip page posted a photo."

"You earned this spot? By living with a boy? By letting him feed you pasta? Do you know what people are saying about you back home? About us? That the Chens raised a puck bunny who will do anything to stay on a men's team?"

Each word hit harder than any check Cole ever gave me.

Cole's hands fisted at his sides. I could feel him vibrating next to me.

"Mr. Chen, with respect -" Cole started.

"With respect, you should not have your teammate's daughter wearing your clothes at midnight in your apartment," my father snapped, finally looking at him. "You are captain. You should know better. You are supposed to protect your players, not -"

"Protect her?" Cole's voice rose for the first time. Not yelling. But hard. Captain voice. "Sir, I HAVE been protecting her. From your son's friends who have a bet on when she'll cry. From puck bunnies who call her names in comments. From a trainer who said she needs to sit because she took a check I gave her too hard. And yes, from gossip pages. Do you think I like seeing her name dragged?"

My father blinked. No one ever talked back to David Chen.

Cole kept going, his hand finding mine behind his back, squeezing.

"She took a hit from behind yesterday that would have put most freshmen in concussion protocol. She got up. She checked Eriksson - your old line mate's son, by the way - into the boards today and made him respect her. She sits in ice baths at 6 a.m. and does video review till 10 p.m. and still gets A's. She is not a puck bunny, sir. She is the toughest player on my team. And if you pull her off this team because of a photo, you will be making the biggest mistake of your coaching life."

My father's eyes narrowed. "And who are you to tell me about my daughter? Are you her boyfriend? Her captain? Her roommate? The internet cannot decide."

Cole looked down at me. I looked up at him. Grey eyes, furious, protective, something else underneath.

"I'm whatever she needs me to be," he said quietly, looking at my dad but talking to me. "Tonight, I'm her roommate who is not letting her go home because she has practice at 5 a.m."

Silence in our tiny apartment. Fernando the plant quivered in the corner.

My father looked at me for a long time. At my face. At Cole's henley that was clearly not mine. At my hand in Cole's.

"Aria. Is this true? You want to stay? With him?"

I stepped out from behind Cole. Stood on my own.

"I want to stay on this team, Dad. I want to be here. Not because of him - though he's... he's not as big an ass as you think - but because for the first time in my life, I'm playing real hockey. Not girls hockey where everyone says 'good try.' Real hockey. Where I get hit and I hit back. I know you wanted a son who would wear your number. But you got me. And I'm wearing 10 and I'm good at it."

My father's face did something complicated. Anger, pride, disappointment, all fighting.

"You have his clothes on," he said finally, voice low.

"Because it was raining and I was cold and he gave me his shirt. Because that's what teammates do. Because that's what..." I glanced at Cole. "That's what boyfriends do, I guess. Even fake ones."

"Fake?" My father's eyebrows shot up.

Cole choked. "She means -"

"We're fake dating for press," I blurted. Because lying to my dad was worse than any gossip page. "Coach made us. For the photo. It's not real. We're not - we're just roommates."

The words felt like ash in my mouth. Just roommates.

Cole's hand slipped out of mine.

My father looked between us. Slowly, a very small, very tired smile touched his mouth. The first time I'd seen him smile since tryouts.

"Fake dating. Of course. Only my daughter would make a men's hockey team and then have to fake date her captain to stay on it. Your mother is going to love this."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. He looked older suddenly.

"Aria. I came here because I saw that photo and I thought... I thought history was repeating. I played with boys who treated girls like that. I didn't want that for you."

"I know."

"But I watched your tryout tape. Jensen sent it to me. You... you checked that boy. Clean. And you got up after Maddox hit you. Your mother cried. I... I was proud."

Proud. My father had never said that word to me about hockey.

He turned to Cole. "Maddox. You said you protect your players?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then protect her. From the media. From your teammates. From yourself, if you have to. If you hurt her - on or off the ice - I will fly back here and end you. Am I clear? I don't care if you are NHL bound."

"Crystal clear, sir."

My father nodded, then looked at me.

"You have two weeks until first game. If you are benched by then, you come home and we talk about transferring. If you are playing... you stay. Deal?"

"Deal," I whispered.

He pulled me into a hug. Quick, hard, smelling like his cologne and home. He whispered in Mandarin, "Jiāyóu, my little warrior," then let go.

At the door, he stopped. Looked back at Cole, who was still standing ramrod straight.

"Maddox. My daughter is wearing your shirt at midnight. If you are fake dating, you are doing a terrible job of looking fake."

He left. Door clicked.

Silence.

Cole and I stood in our kitchen, both breathing hard like we'd just played overtime.

"He thinks we're bad at fake dating," I said.

"We are terrible at it," Cole said.

He was still looking at the door. Then he looked at me. At his henley swallowing me. At my bare feet.

"Aria..."

"Yeah?"

"Your dad just gave me permission to protect you. And threatened to kill me in the same sentence. So... can I..."

He stepped closer. One hand came up, hesitated, then gently tucked a piece of wet hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek.

"You were really brave. With him."

"You were braver. You yelled at David Chen. No one yells at David Chen."

"You're wearing my shirt," he said, voice low, like it was an observation and a question.

"You told me to wear something that says girlfriend," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then back up. Grey, stormy.

"House Rule Number 12, Chen," he whispered, leaning down, close enough that I could feel his breath. "If you're going to wear my clothes at midnight, you have to let me..."

He didn't finish.

Because my phone buzzed. His phone buzzed. Both at once.

Another @WhitmoreGossip post.

Photo of my dad leaving our building, Cole's silhouette in our doorway behind me, me in his henley, his hand on my cheek.

Caption: DADDY'S GIRL? Papa Chen flies in to rescue his daughter from her captain boyfriend. Midnight meeting in the captain's apartment. Things are getting SERIOUS. 👀 #MeetTheParents #CaptainAndPuckPrincess

We stared at the photo. At us. At how close we were. At how NOT fake it looked.

Cole let go of me like he'd been burned.

"Go to bed, Chen," he said, voice rough.

"Cole -"

"Go to bed. We have 5 a.m. practice. And tomorrow, the whole school will think you just met my father."

He went into his room and shut the door. Not soft this time. Hard.

I stood in his henley, in our kitchen, alone, with my father's words echoing.

You are doing a terrible job of looking fake.

Maybe because we weren't faking at all anymore.