A muscle twitches near his eye, his nostrils flaring. Seems I hit some sort of button. Good. Maybe I’m finally getting through that thick skull of his.
But then he narrows his eyes and smirks. “He’ll get bored of you soon.”
I jerk back, blinking.
His lips lift into even more of a venomous grin. “Then I’ll touch him in whatever way I want.”
Viktor.
He’s talking about Viktor.
Whatever little decorum I had flies out of the window and I grab his jersey, slamming him against the wall. “Lay a finger on either Novotny or Henneman again and I will break your arms in a way they won’t heal properly. You won’t be so lucky next time.”
The grin falls, morphing into a glare.
“I saw the marks, Zach. The scars. He didn’t want that, didn’t even enjoy it. And you don’t even fucking care. You’ll—”
“I do fucking care!”
He looks over my shoulder, his features scrunching. I turn, expecting to find Viktor, but instead find Reed, eyes wide and skin ashen.
Fuck.
I let go of Knight and step back, raking my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Can I go?” Knight’s voice waivers, some emotion slipping through.
“Yeah.”
He leaves and I drop into my office chair, keeping my distance from Reed. This is the last thing he needed to see, the last way I needed to react in front of him.
“Jackson, I’m sorry. If you want to report what you saw, I fully understand.”
He clears his throat, then steps into the office, closing the door. “Knight deserved it. And well, we’ve been wondering what the fuck went on between him and Novy. Now I’ve got something to hang over Knight’s head . . . you know, because Petrov has no clue and will likely kill him.”
My eyes widen and I groan. “Jesus, fuck. Why are you smiling about that?”
“You have no idea how hard it is to keep Zach in line sometimes. Now I have something that might help.” Jackson takes a seat in Nieminen’s chair. “Anyway, I was wondering if I can talk to you about something. But I don’t want Coach Nieminen to know. I’m still figuring things out, but there’s something I want to get your opinion about.”
“Um, sure.”
He sits back, picking at the sleeve of his jersey. “And don’t worry. You’re just protecting your boy. It’s nothing like what happened to me. I just . . . sometimes it’s like a flashback. PTSD or something.”
I keep quiet, partially because he’s opening up, and also because I’m stuck on the way he called Viktor my boy.
My first reaction was to correct it tomy brat.
There’s also another reason, one that has me smile in a way I haven’t in a while.
For the first time, I feel like a real coach, not just some new guy running drills and barking at the players.
And fuck does it feel good.
Chapter 14
Viktor
Pulling up to Beckett’s apartment feels weird when I’m driving the McLaren instead of the Pacifica. But the last thing I want is for anyone to find out about my stalkermobile, least of all Becks.
