Coach huffs, his expression not quite as friendly. “Couldn’t keep these three away,” he grouses. “Even threatened to bench them, but they wouldn’t crack.”
A smug smile paints over Swayzee’s face. “We took the calculated risk. We can’t afford to be down a defensemananda centeranda winger. Plus, the Kid’s dad is a doctor.” He lifts his chin, eyeing Haas. “Figured that makes him good at this shit by, like, the transitive property or something.”
Haas shifts his weight and scratches at the back of his neck, looking from me to Coach. “Yeah, my dad is a doctor, but he works at the pediatric urgent care center in my hometown. I don’t have any pull—”
Coach grips his shoulder, cutting him off. “Relax, son. No one expects you to be pulling strings around here.”
Wesley’s shoulders sag, his posture softening as he nods.
Tanvers steps forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Then, before I can reply, he whips out his phone. “Smile,” he mutters, taking a quick picture. Then, head down and brow furrowed, he taps out a message. “Jet told me to send him proof of life. He’s worried sick.”
My scowl softens, even if I’m still fucking mortified.
Atty perches on the foot of my bed and grasps my ankle, his focus fixed on me.
I hold his gaze as silence settles over us. It’s awkward, the discomfort only punctuated by the drip and occasional beep from my IV.
Atty ducks, and I take the opportunity to scan the room again. This time, my heart sinks. She’s not here.
A more reasonable person would assume she went for a walk, or to find coffee or food. Maybe she excused herself when Coach and half the team showed up. Maybe she’s outside that door, waiting in the hall.
I’m not a reasonable person.
My gut tells me that if I ask, I’m not going to like the answer.
She’s gone.
I don’t need anyone to confirm what I already know deep down.
I breathe in to steady myself, but flashes of fire like the ends of a heated fire poker prickle my skin, making me grimace.
“All right.” Coach claps twice, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “You’ve got your proof of life, boys. You can assure the rest of the team that Tremblay’s going to be okay.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Everyone out. Except you, Davvies. I need a few words with my defensive line.”
The guys say their goodbyes, Tanvers offering a hand and Swayzee gripping Haas’s shoulders from behind and ushering him out the door. When they pull it closed behind them, theclickreverberates through my chest and inspires a fresh ache in my bones.
The second they’re gone, the pain intensifies.
Someone else walked out that door earlier, and I didn’t have a chance to even try to apologize.
Slumping back against the pillows, I close my eyes and will myself to accept the truth. I promised I wasdonetrying to force Sawyer to do anything she doesn’t want to do. That includes being here. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. If she wants or needs space, or—bile rises up my throat at the thought—she wants to go tothem, that’s her prerogative.
The only way I can love her now is by letting her go.
And I do.
I fucking love that woman.
I’ll love her for the rest of my life.
But I won’t trap her. Not again.
When I open my eyes, exhausted and thoroughly defeated, my best friend and my coach are both staring at me. Atty is sitting in the chair by the bed and Coach is standing several feet away.
“Son.”
The word sends a hint of irritation through me. The term of endearment has always irked me, but less so when it’s coming from Coach Connors. Still…
He ambles closer, giving Atty a terse look before settling his focus on me again.
