Maybe I was. It wasn’t the first time a beautiful woman had said it to me. But when she said it, I felt an overwhelming urge to prove to her I was more than just a kid.
Except, what came out of my mouth was, “It’s better than being a rigid bitch.”
The moment the words left my lips, I knew it was wrong. I didn’t call women bitches—hell, I didn’t call anyone that. I was nice-guy Teddy, always trying to please, always walking the high road. But with her? I didn’t know what it was. I felt the need to push back.
The silence between us was thick, the tension palpable. Her eyes narrowed farther with each passing second. Then, just as quickly, they glazed over, her fury deflating like air from a balloon.
No. This wasn’t what I wanted.
“Do whatever the fuck you want.” Her voice was cold as she pushed past me. I barely managed to stay upright, my balance off. Neither Ryder nor Rowan bothered to help, but I steadied myself on my own.
Ryder sighed, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “Ted?—”
“I fucking know,” I shouted, spinning on my heel and heading toward the locker room. The pounding in my head only grew louder, and my vision blurred. I kicked my duffle bag away from my locker with a frustrated roar, but my knee chose that exact moment to remind me just how much it hated me.
Pain shot through me, hot and sharp, and I collapsed onto the bench with a thud.
It wasn’t Frankie who pissed me off, not really. I’d done that all on my own. I could barely function from one moment to the next. The pain had kept me up all night, and when I wasn’t asleep, I felt like I was constantly underwater, suffocating.
A soft pattering echoed into the room just before Guardian bolted in, his wet fur trembling from the cold. I’d forgotten he was here with me. Without a second thought, he jumped into my lap, and I wrapped him in a spare shirt, trying to warm him up.
I bent my neck and rested my chin on his soft head, closing my eyes for a moment of relief. My teammates began filtering in, and I ignored the concerned looks, the questions about my knee and head. They all knew what this sport could do to us, but I was a thirty-two-year-old minor leaguer with only a limited time left to live out my dream.
Every injury could be the end.
Griff entered the room, clapping his hands to rally the team. When he stopped in front of me, I didn’t bother looking up. He waited, though, until I finally met his gaze.
When I did, I saw something close to pity in his expression.
“You heard?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Every word,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve got a lecture prepared about how I expect my players to treat their coaches, but I’m not sure you need it.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Valentine, you’re the heartbeat of this team. I’m not blind to that. You don’t wear the C, but you are a leader. I know the way you spoke to Coach Frankie—when she was just doing what I asked her to—wasn’t you. Is everything okay?”
No. It fucking wasn’t. “I’m just tired, Coach.”
He gave me a long, searching look, lips pressed tightly together. “I’m going to have Coach Frankie stay home from the road trip. You’ll report to her on your recovery progress, as well as to the trainers and docs.”
I let out a long, resigned sigh.
“Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Fucking fantastic. Not only did I have to sit out the next few weeks of games, but I didn’t even get to do it alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FRANKIE
“Is this seat taken, Coach?”
I turned on my stool to find Shai standing behind me. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Elmo’s was our spot—the bar near the arena where we always ended up after games or particularly brutal practices.
Shai was the only person in the Guardians organization, besides Sullivan, that I ever let my guard down around. Her contribution to our team was dressing up as the goofy golden retriever mascot, a role she played with unshakable enthusiasm.
