She marched over to him, her steps eating up the distance at a sharp, quick clip. “I understand your life hasn’t been easy, but when are you going to stop assuming that the only reason anyone wants you or thinks about you is because you’re David Petrov’s kid?”

“That is the only reason people are interested.” He’d accepted it years ago. It was what it was. There was no point in fighting it.

“You are so full of shit.” Her hands were on her hips and her face was flush with emotion. “Hundreds of thousands of kids hit the ice thinking that maybe they can make it to the NHL one day. Only a few hundred actually wear the professional jersey each season. Do you really think you got your spot because of your last name?”

“It got me a look.” Coaches had told him exactly that straight to his face.

Shelby let out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. You had an advantage for sure, but it’s not the only reason you’re here. There are a lot of hockey players’ kids out there who never made it to this level.”

“They weren’t David Petrov’s kid.” His dad was a legend. A hockey god. The kind who kids everywhere pretended to be.

“For someone who is so fucking concerned that everyone only sees him as his father’s kid, it sure looks to me like the only one who does is you.” She crossed her arms, challenging him with her straight-on glare. “It’s time for you to grow up and decide. Are you David Petrov’s kid or are you Ian Petrov, your own man?”

The punch landed harder than a check against the glass, laying him out right there for the world to see.

“I’m gone, that’s who I am.”

And he walked out the door, got into his car, and kept driving until Harbor City wasn’t even a glimmer in his rearview mirror.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Ian hadn’t meant to end up back at the cabin, but here he was. He didn’t have any bags. He’d driven up the snow-free mountain roads, the wildflowers starting to peek through the spring grass, and had pulled into the driveway just as the Morgans were adding an Airbnb rental sign to the brand-new address plaque.

He parked and walked over to Mrs. Morgan, who was supervising Mr. Morgan as he used the post hole digger. “Can I rent it today?”

Mrs. Morgan smiled in recognition. “You betcha, especially since you’re a big reason why we decided to list it.”