Chapter 56 Busted
Ava Reed
I didn’t even get a full minute to breathe before my dad zeroed in on me like a sniper.
He had that look too. The one that meant he’d already noticed everything and was just waiting to confirm it.
"Ava. A word?" he called
Liam shot me a told you so look, but I ignored him, standing stiffly before following my dad down the hallway. Every step made my stomach twist tighter. The house suddenly felt too warm, too quiet, the laughter from the dining room fading behind us like a door sealing shut. When we reached his study, he closed the door behind us and just stared, and I stared back. He crossed his arms, and I crossed mine.
The study smelled like leather and old books, like strategy and authority. I’d been summoned into this room a hundred times growing up. For bad grades. For missed curfews. For boys he didn’t approve of. It never ended lightly.
A full ten seconds passed in tense silence before he finally said,
“So. You and Carter.”
Two names. That was all. But they hit like a gavel.
"What about us?" I blinked.
"Are you two… involved?" He arched a brow.
I choked out a laugh. Involved? What were we, characters in a period drama?
“Dad, no. He’s my housemate, your player, and the most annoying human being I know.” I waved a hand dramatically. “That’s it.”
I said it too fast, I blinked too much, and my Dad wasn’t buying a single bit of it. Fuck!
I could practically see the checklist running behind his eyes. Elevated heart rate. Defensive tone. Excessive blinking. Guilty.
"Hmm," he said, like I was some science experiment under a microscope.
My stomach flipped.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably.
"Nothing." He shrugged. "Just interesting."
I narrowed my eyes. Nothing was ever just interesting with him.
Interesting meant he was connecting dots. Interesting meant he was three steps ahead, watching me try to catch up.
Still, I stayed composed. Poker face locked in.
Years of being his daughter had trained me well. Chin up. Shoulders back. Don’t crack first.
After a few agonizing seconds, he finally said, "Alright. Let’s go eat."
And that was it. No speech. No threats. No "stay away from my player, Ava."
Just that.
Which somehow felt worse.
I followed him out, more freaked out than before.
Because silence from my father was never mercy. It was strategy.
By the time I sat at the dinner table, I was still on edge. Meanwhile, Liam? Completely unfazed, just relaxed, smirking, and eating like he owned the place. He was so lucky I didn’t have a fork in my hand.
He looked comfortable here. Too comfortable. Laughing at something my mom said, reaching for the bread like he’d done this a thousand times before.
“So, sweetheart,” my mom started, pulling me out of my murder plotting. “How’s work?”
I grabbed my glass, needing something to do with my hands. "Busy. Non-stop, but I love it." I gave an unbothered shrug
"And you, Liam? How’s hockey?" She turned to Liam next. "Been a while you came here for dinner,” she giggled
"Good. Tough, but good. The team’s been pushing hard lately." He swallowed a bite and shrugged.
His tone was respectful, easy. The perfect athlete answer.
“You had an amazing game last week! That last goal was insane.” Mom beamed.
“I try.” He grinned
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stuck.
Of course she watched his games. Of course she adored him. Why wouldn’t she? He was charming, talented, and apparently fearless in the face of parental interrogation.
Then Mom tilted her head, all sweet and innocent. “And what’s it like living with Ava?”
I froze mid-drink. Liam, on the other hand? Oh, he was enjoying this.
“It’s great,” he said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief. “She’s…” He turned to me, smirking. “Let’s just say… she keeps things interesting.”
My pulse kicked up. That tone. That stupid tone.
I narrowed my eyes. Oh, you little…
Mom chuckled. “But isn’t it a little awkward? You’re both young, single…” Her smile turned teasing. "Do you ever have issues when you want to bring a girl home?"
My entire soul left my body. I swear I felt it float up toward the chandelier.
And I swear, Liam did not miss a beat. He just leaned back in his chair, he smirked and said, "Can’t say that’s been a problem."
His eyes flickered to me, and then, with the smuggest expression ever, he added,
"Haven’t needed to bring anyone home."
The audacity. My brain short-circuited.
Did he want to die? Was he actively trying to sign his own termination papers?
Mom let out a soft ‘Oh?’
Dad? Dad was glaring daggers. And me? I was fighting for my life.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears, loud and frantic, like it was trying to escape.
I wanted to throw my drink at him or crawl into a hole and die. Instead, I cleared my throat and grabbed my water like it was an oxygen mask. I was so focused on not combusting that I almost didn’t see my dad slide his phone onto the table.
The movement was slow. Deliberate. Calculated.
Face up, with a picture pulled up on the screen, I frowned and glanced down… and I froze.
It was me and Liam. Kissing! The night he won the match.
The arena lights bright behind us. His hand tangled in my hair. My body pressed into his like gravity had shifted.
My entire existence shattered. I barely heard my dad’s next words over the roaring in my ears.
“We should decide which photo will fit the press more,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb.
My head snapped up. Liam’s did too.
For the first time all night, he wasn’t smirking.
The air got thick, no one moved and no one breathed.
Even my mom looked stunned, her fork hovering midair.
And all I could think was…how so screwed we were.
Because this wasn’t just about a kiss.
This was about contracts. Headlines. Reputation.
And the fact that my father clearly knew far more than he’d let on.