The words hit like a slap shot to the chest. Everybody in the room can hear the hostility dripping from his lips, even if they don’t understand the reason for it.
“Experience,” I reply. “Sometimes an outside perspective can identify issues that are hard to see from within.”
“Right. An outside perspective.” Tate’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because outsiders always have the full picture, don’t they?”
Coach Enver frowns, clearly sensing something he doesn’t understand. “Barnes, you have a problem with the arrangement?”
Tate’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might blow like Old Faithful. Tell the room exactly what kind of man their new coach really is.
Instead, he shrugs. “No problem, Coach. Just wanted to understand what we’re working with.”
The meeting continues with Enver’s discussion of practice schedules and upcoming road trips, but I tune it all out. All my attention is focused on the guy in the back row who’s glowering at me like he’s planning my excruciatingly painful murder.
When Enver finally dismisses the team, players walk out in small groups, talking about dinner plans and weekend activities. Tate gets up and follows them, but I can’t let him go without addressing this.
“Barnes,” I call out, using the authority of my position. “Stay behind for a minute. We should discuss your specific training plan.”
The last few players glance back curiously, but they don’t stick around. Coach Enver nods at me and heads back to his office, leaving us alone in the conference room.
Once everyone is gone, Tate slams his hands on the table and leans forward, disgust burning in his eyes. “Well,” he snarls. “This is fucking interesting.”
I slide past him, close the door, and turn to face him, knowing that everything I say in the next few minutes will determine whether this assignment will be difficult or completely impossible.
“Tate... ”
“Oh, we’re using names now?” His laugh is sharp enough to draw blood.
“I can explain.”
He walks around the table toward me, and I resist the urge to back away. “Great, because I’d love to hear how the mysterious stranger who fucked me and disappeared is now standing here posing as my new coach, expecting to help me get my game back on track. How the hell is that supposed to work, exactly?”
THREE
tate
The words windaround my neck, choking me slowly. I stare at him for a long minute, waiting.
“I don’t have all fucking day,” I growl. “You have an answer or not?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. For someone who seemed so confident a minute ago, he’s suddenly at a loss for words.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I push past him and head toward the door, my gut twisting harder for each second I glare at him. I’m fucking done with this conversation, this bullshit attempt to smooth things over to save face with Coach. “I thought that night was real. I thought what happened was fucking real. Didn’t take me long to realize I was used. I was an idiot for trusting you.”
“You weren’t an idiot.”
I turn back to face him, barely containing the fury coiling in my chest. “Right. I was just easy.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, like I haven’t spent two years trying to forget how his hands felt on my skin. “Ayoung, confused hockey player sitting alone in a bar. I had prey written all over me and I was the last one to realize it.”
Something flickers across his face…anger, maybe, or frustration. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“From where I’m standing, it looks pretty fucking clear. You saw an opportunity, and you took it. I’m sure I wasn’t the first desperate kid you picked up, and I won’t be the last.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” Fury burns in my veins. “Tell me about all these mysterious circumstances that forced you to fuck me and run.”
