“You’re constantly letting Dad dictate how you think! You yell and scream and throw temper tantrums when it’s about your stuff. Your kitchen, your wardrobe, your interests. But when it comes to important things, he has the run of the house—and the run of your brain, apparently.”

“Demi,” my father rumbles.

“It’s true,” I insist, angrily shaking my head at her. “You haven’t even given Hunter a chance. I expected better from you. And you,” I turn toward Dad, “you did meet him, and he was nothing but nice to you. He wasn’t rude, he listened when you spoke, tried to pay for lunch—”

“Because he’s a rich boy,” Dad says snidely.

“No, because he’s a nice person. And I’m really, really into him.” Anguish rises in my throat. “You guys don’t have to like him if you don’t want to—that’s fine. But he’s going to be in my life either way. We’re dating now, and it’s serious between us. We’ve talked about going away for spring break, and maybe Europe this summer. Hunter will be in my life whether you like it or not.”

Dad is frowning. “You’re supposed to take Molecular Biology in the summer,” he reminds me.

Frustration seizes up all my muscles. For a moment I find myself too tense to move, let alone speak. I inhale again, willing myself to relax. I know from experience that temper tantrums don’t work on my father. He’s impenetrable to yelling. If you want to get through to my father, you need to use logic.

“I’m not taking that class,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in taking any more sciences.”

His brow furrows. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying my brain is going to explode. I don’t care about bio or chem or any of the pre-med courses I’ve been taking these past couple years.” I lick my suddenly bone-dry lips. “I won’t be going to med school after I graduate.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. Nobody says a word, and yet my head is a cacophony of noise thanks to my shrieking pulse. Dad’s shock is unmistakable, but I can’t tell if he’s angry.

“I’m not going to med school,” I repeat. “This is something I’ve been thinking about since…well, pretty much since I started at Briar. I want to go to grad school, get my master’s, get my doctorate. And while I do that, I can get a counseling degree and actually see patients—”

“Clients,” he corrects stiffly. “There’s a difference.”

“Fine, whatever, it won’t be patients. It’s still people—people I’ll be able to help. That’s what I want to do,” I finish, and when I realize my shoulders have sagged in defeat, I force myself to straighten up. Because fuck that, why should I be defeated? I’m proud of this decision.

Dad flicks up one bushy eyebrow. “What does your new boyfriend think about this?”

“He supports me one hundred percent.”

“Of course he does,” Dad sneers.

“Marcus,” Mom says sharply, and I look over in gratitude. Maybe what I said got through to her a little.

“Is he the one who talked you out of going to med school?” my father demands.

“No. I told you, I’ve been struggling with this forever. I make my own decisions—Hunter just supports them. Unlike you.” My chest clenches with disappointment. “Anyway. This is why I came home today. I wanted to tell you guys, in person, about the two very important life changes happening for me right now. I’m with somebody new and I’m pivoting career-wise. I’m sure there are lots of interesting specialties within psychiatry, but that’s not the path I want to take.” I pause. “Oh, and since I’m being extra honest right now—I don’t like hoop earrings and I gave Pippa your birthday present because I’m never going to wear those earrings.”

The dining room falls silent.

Mom rises and starts gathering up the dishes. Without a word, I help her. As we trudge silently into the kitchen, I notice that her eyes look moist.

“Are you crying?” I ask in concern.

She blinks hard, and her long eyelashes shimmer with tears. “I’m sorry, mami. I didn’t realize… I…” She pauses, then tries again. “You know your father, Demi. He’s an alpha male. And you’re right, I defer to him a lot and I’m sorry for that. I should be forming my own opinion of your new boyfriend.”

“Yes,” I agree.

She rubs her knuckles beneath her wet eyes. “The next time you’re in the city, why don’t you bring him and we can go out for lunch or dinner?” she suggests, her voice soft. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful. Thank you,” I say gratefully.

“As for the rest of it, you know I’ll support you no matter what career you choose.” She winks at me. “You could be a stripper and I’d be in the front row cheering you on—but please don’t choose that path because I think your father might actually kill you.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Do you think he’ll kill me for the med school thing?”

“He’ll come around.”

“You really believe that?”

“Absolutely.” She sighs. “But I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for giving away your birthday gift. He picked those earrings out himself, Demi.”

The journey home is timed perfectly. Hunter’s game starts at eight, and the bus pulls into Hastings just before seven. That gives me plenty of time to go home, shower, and make my way to the hockey rink to meet Pippa, and Hunter’s roommates. Well, except for Hollis and Rupi. They’re away on a weekend trip, which is a relief because the arena is already loud enough without adding Rupi Miller’s voice to it.

I do have one more task to complete, though. I’ve been thinking about it for days now, ever since Hunter told me he loved me.

I feel like a jerk for not saying it back, but I didn’t want him to think the only reason I was saying it was because I was upset, or simply grateful that he wasn’t cheating. When I do say it, I want to be calm and centered. I want him to look into my eyes and see the sincerity shining there when I tell him I love him. Because I do love him.

And when I love someone, my first instincts are to protect them, support them, encourage them to embrace their strengths and combat their weaknesses. I heard the confidence in Hunter’s voice when he announced that he would never cheat on me, and it told me something important.

It told me he’s starting to trust himself.

Sure, it helps that his season didn’t fall apart after we started sleeping together, as he feared it might. But even if it had, I still think he would’ve learned these same lessons. That he’s capable of staying faithful. He’s capable of playing hockey and having a girlfriend, a sex life.

I truly believe he can succeed in the NHL without letting the lifestyle corrupt him. Don’t get me wrong—I can see how it would freak him out. Garrett Graham can’t leave his house without a disguise, for God’s sake. And Garrett’s girlfriend told me at the nightclub that there’s a woman who lurks outside their city brownstone hoping to catch glimpses of him.