Tate was right about one thing. I am always looking for ways to push him away. But not for the reasons he thinks.
I’m pushing him away because every day I don’t give Morrison his name is another day closer to the moment when my “handler” decides I’m more of a liability than an asset.
And when that happens, everyone I care about becomes a target.
NINETEEN
zane
It’s beenradio silence for days. Tate treats me like I’m just another coach, answering questions with “yes, sir” and “no, sir” like we never saw each other naked.
I pretend I don’t notice the way he won’t even look at me during film review, or how he leaves the second practice ends.
Morrison is still breathing down my neck for those compromised player names while the one player I actually give a damn about acts like I don’t exist.
“You know what they did to you in Detroit,” he said last time we spoke. “You want that to happen to others when you could have stopped it?”
That fucking chilled me. And those words have looped through my mind ever since.
“Your positioning on that last save was off,” I say after practice, keeping my voice professional. And damn, is it a struggle. “You were cheating too far to your right.”
“Noted,” he says, not looking up from unlacing his skates.
“Tate.”
“What?”
The single word is flat, empty.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
His head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Happy now?”
“Are we going to do this forever? Act like strangers?”
“I thought that’s what you wanted. Professional distance.” He stands, towering over me even in his socks. “Stepping back, remember?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, man. It sure as hell felt like you were giving me the brush-off.” He grabs his gear bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Again.”
The reference to Vegas hits like a sharp slap, and I’m going after him before I can stop myself, crowding his space so he has to acknowledge me.
“You think I wanted to tell you that? You think I enjoyed watching you look at me like I was something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe?”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because you deserved to know what you were getting into. Because I’m not the kind of guy you should be wasting your time on.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
We’re standing too close now, close enough that I can smell his body wash.
“You really want to get mixed up with someone who owes money to the kind of people who break kneecaps for fun? You think that’s a smart thing?”
“It’s not keeping you away from me. And if you’re so bad for me, then why do you keep coming back?”
I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “Because I can’t help myself. Or stop myself. Even though I know I shouldn’t get mixed up with you.”
