“What in the hell are you doing way up there? Are you with that woman?” He let out a long sigh. “Ian, you can find a woman anywhere. There is no reason to deal with one who doesn’t have your best options in mind.”

He set his half-empty glass of scotch down on the coffee table, unease taking away that soft fuzziness the alcohol had given him. “What are you talking about?”

“She wouldn’t let me in to that stupid event with the dumb kids. She wouldn’t guarantee a dinner. She just wants to interfere, to come between us. You’re better off without her.”

For as much as he wanted to believe his dad was lying, he knew deep in his gut that he was actually telling the truth—not about being better off without her but about her actions at the rink. She’d tried to tell him. He hadn’t listened. His brain had automatically gone to that place it had always gone. Years of his dad comparing Ian to him had left a mark so deep, he hadn’t even realized just how bad it was.

You’ll never skate like I did.

That kid only wants to hang out with you because of me.

That coach was doing me a favor when he called to see if you were interested in playing.

You’ll never be the player I was.

All of it had never been about Ian. It had only been about his dad and his ego. Without realizing, Ian had fallen into that habit, looking at every part of his life only in comparison to his dad’s.

The mental locks he’d built up over decades of having to deal with his dad were hanging useless and busted. He braced himself for that explosion of rage. It didn’t come. Oh, there was anger and annoyance and the kind of fuck-me-are-you-serious irritation that had him clamping his jaw shut tight enough to give him a headache, but no lights-out rage. Whatever was coming for his dad, none of it mattered anymore.

Oblivious to Ian’s silence, David kept talking, “No son of mine will…”

The rest of his words faded out, replaced by Shelby’s question. Who was Ian? He sure as hell wasn’t this man’s son. He didn’t have to live up to David Petrov’s scoring records or on-ice skills. He never had. He was Ian fucking Petrov and he had better shit to do than to listen to an egomaniac rant about how he was done wrong.

Nothing he could do or say would change his dad. The only thing he could do was kick him out of his life for good.

So he hung up without saying a word because it wouldn’t have made any difference, deleted the old man’s contact information, and blocked him.