Chapter 5 Off Limits

Dad didn’t speak as we walked down the hall. His pace was clipped, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, shoulders locked in a tight frame that told me he was either furious or about to be. The steady rhythm of his boots on the tile was the only sound until we passed a trainer carrying a box of towels, who glanced between us with the kind of polite curiosity that meant gossip would be circulating before lunch.

The farther we got from the rink, the quieter the air became. The muffled scrape of skates and thud of pucks faded, replaced by the sterile hum of the arena’s fluorescent lighting. My own heartbeat sounded too loud in my ears.

He didn’t stop until we reached his office, the small, glass-fronted one overlooking the ice. From here, you could see the whole rink: the empty goal nets, the slow swirl of the Zamboni starting its rounds.

The door shut behind us with a soft, deliberate click. Dad turned, phone already in hand. His jaw was tight.

“Care to explain this?”

He held the phone out.

The image on the screen was grainy but damning me and Liam in that narrow hallway earlier. His hand brushing my hair back. My face tilted toward him. The kind of frozen moment that looked ten times more intimate in still form than it had felt in real time.

A caption was stamped under it: Coach’s girl cozying up to the rookie? Three flame emojis. A flood of likes.

My stomach dropped. “That’s not…”

“Don’t say it’s not what it looks like,” Dad cut in, voice sharp enough to slice the air. “This was posted less than half an hour ago. It’s already being shared.”

“Who even….” I started.

“Doesn’t matter who took it,” he said, pacing once across the narrow carpet. “What matters is how it looks. You’ve been here less than 48hrs, Harper. Do you have any idea what this could do to him? To me?”

“It’s just a picture,” I muttered, even though I knew how hollow it sounded.

“It’s not just a picture…it’s a headline. And that headline will follow him the rest of the season.” His gaze locked on mine, unblinking. “This team doesn’t need distractions. Liam doesn’t need rumors. And I don’t need people thinking about my daughter….”

“Thinking your daughter is what?” My voice came out low, tighter than I meant.

“That you’re trouble.”

The word hit like a slap.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.

“Then why were you alone with him?”

Before I could answer, a knock sounded at the door. It opened without waiting.

Liam stepped in, still in his hoodie, damp collar clinging to his neck. His hair was pushed back carelessly, drops of water catching the light. His eyes skimmed over me for less than a second before landing squarely on my dad.

“I saw it,” he said.

Dad’s reply was flat. “Then you know the problem.”

“I know people jump to conclusions,” Liam said evenly. “I can handle it.”

“You think you can handle the media tearing into this? Painting you as….” Dad stopped, lips pressing together.

“What?” Liam’s tone didn’t rise, but something in it felt like a warning.

Silence stretched, heavy.

Dad finally exhaled. “Wait outside. I need a word with you.”

“I’m right here,” I protested.

“Harper. Outside.”

The steel in his voice made my feet move before my brain caught up. The hallway outside was cooler, quieter. I leaned against the wall, phone in hand, but didn’t look at it, just stared at the pattern of scuffs on the floor.

Through the door, their voices rumbled low. My name surfaced once, then Liam’s. Then a word that froze me in place.

I edged closer.

And then, clear as a bell: “She’s off limits. You can have anyone else in this city, but not her. Not ever.”

My breath caught.

There was a pause, long enough for my pulse to drum loud in my ears. Then Liam’s voice, quiet and steady: “Understood.”

The door opened without warning. I straightened fast, pretending I’d been mid-scroll on my phone.

Liam stepped out first, his expression unreadable. Not angry. Not soft. Just… blank. His gaze didn’t linger on me. He didn’t say anything. He walked past without slowing, the faint smell of soap and cold air trailing behind him.

Dad followed, his face a mask of the same professional neutrality he wore on the bench. “This conversation stays between us,” he said. “And we all move on.”

I nodded, but my throat was tight.

I didn’t see Liam again as I left the arena. The snow had picked up thick, lazy flakes that clung to my coat and hair. The wind cut sharp down the street, the kind that made you hunch your shoulders without realizing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A notification. I’d been tagged in another post.

I didn’t want to look, but I did.

Same picture, this time zoomed in. The grain made it look almost cinematic shadow and light caught in perfect, damning composition. The caption: Looks like our rookie’s been busy off the ice.

Comments stacked underneath:

Not bad for a coach’s kid.

She’s trouble, but I’d risk it.

I wonder how the coach feels about this.

The pit in my stomach tightened. I shoved the phone away.

The snow was falling faster now, turning the street into a blurred grayscale. I kept my head down as a black SUV pulled up to the curb a few feet ahead. The passenger window rolled down.

Liam.

For half a second, hope flickered stupidly, maybe he’d tell me my dad was overreacting. Maybe we’d laugh about how ridiculous this had gotten.

But he didn’t call out.

He just looked at me. Cool. Measured. Like there was nothing left to say.

I took a step toward the car. “Liam…”

His gaze shifted away, toward the snow-covered windshield, as if the sound of my voice hadn’t reached him at all. His hands tightened once on the wheel.

Then the window slid back up, smooth and final, the barrier between us locking into place.

The SUV pulled away.

The wind cut sharper without the shelter of the car. I stood there until the red of his taillights dissolved into the storm.