“Sorry, Dad,” I call out, sheepish. “I was just messing around.” I hear a choked noise. Ryder sidles up to me, those blue eyes darkening. I tip my head to flash him an innocent smile. “What?” “Dad?” he growls under his breath. “You’re Garrett Graham’s kid?” I can’t help laughing at his indignation. “Not only that, but I’m helping with your shooting drills today.” His eyes narrow. “You play hockey?” I reach over to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, prom king, I’ll go easy on you.”
