Coach Whittaker eyed me as I took off my gear, his gaze lingering on the scar on my arm as I stripped out of my compression shirt.
“Lennon, a word,” he said.
I bit back a groan as I tugged on a T-shirt and headed toward his office. “Yeah, Coach?”
“I got a call I thought you might be interested in.” He gestured toward the seat in front of his desk. I sat, and he leaned against the desk. “But first, tell me how the sessions are going with Amber.”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot, you know.”
“Eventually, you’ll believe me,” I said, feeling irritable.
“I think it’s more what you want to believe, Lennon,” Coach said.
I gritted my teeth. “Why did you call me in here?”
“Well, I wanted to see how you were doing since Dieudonne put his hands on your neck in the game tonight.” He peered at me. “I was giving you space, but I’ve made a note of each time someone touches your neck and head. You freeze. It’s not long, but it’s worth noting because I’m not the only one who has. Players are making a point to do it, which means they know it’s a weakness of yours.”
The cold, icy feeling returned, along with a throbbing in my ears. I swallowed the reaction, just as I tried to ignore how much the moment had again reminded me of the attack—and of everything it had cost me. “It’s not. I’m fine.”
“Amber’s expecting your call tonight to discuss how that made you feel,” Coach said.
“I said I’m fine. Jesus. What do you want from me?” I swallowed hard, realizing how disrespectful I’d been.
Coach stood and moved behind his desk.
I clenched and unclenched my hands. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“I think it’s the tip of the iceberg, actually. You’ll talk to Amber.” He pointed his reading glasses at me. “And you’ll let me know if there’s something we need to sort out.”
Much as I wanted to tell him to fuck off, I bit back the response. “Yes, Coach.”
“You’re not yourself, Lennon,” he said, concern darkening his eyes. “If you’d just be honest about what happened and how much that attack affected you?—”
I shot out of my seat and was out the door before I realized I’d walked out while my coach was still speaking. Unwilling to go back, I stalked to my locker, grabbed my wallet and jacket, and slunk out of the space, pretending not to hear Cormac calling my name.
Amber called me four times that night, but I ignored the phone. It was petty, stupid, and landed me in back in Coach’s office the next day.
“You’re not skating until you work your shit out,” he announced. “Go talk to Amber. And, Lennon, I know about Vivian. I know you’ve refused to see her since you came back.”
“How the fuck do you know about that?”
“Your mother came to see me. She’s concerned, as am I.” He waited until I met his gaze. “You’ve been more aggressive on the ice, more likely to hit first and hit harder—and worse yet, more often. The younger guys look up to you, Lennon. Right now, you’re not acting like the role model I expect you to be.”
“I’m doing my job,” I snarled. “I’m keep my offensive line safe.”
“No, you’re actually making it more likely that someone will get hurt.” Coach sighed as he settled back in his chair, swiveling to and fro for so long, I started to get antsy. My legs jiggled. “If you can’t work this out—whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’ll have no choice but to bench you.”
“Me? I’m putting up the best stats of my career?—”
“You’re on the verge of a complete loss of control.” Coach peered into my face for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Just talk to her, Lennon. Work out whatever the problem is so you can get your head back in the game.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Amber or Vivian. I didn’t ask. I just nodded before heading down the hall to Amber’s office. At least he couldn’t fault me again.
“So…you want to tell me why you ignored my calls?” Amber asked in lieu of greeting. She was in her mid-forties with pretty, gamine features and a tumble of dark, natural curls. Her coal black eyebrows rose as she regarded me from behind her chunky, stylish spectacles.
“I was bus?—”
