Thompson steps forward, slipping his hands into his pockets. The man’s never been one for small talk, and the weight in his voice proves it. “Clay, what we need to know now is how you plan to handle this moving forward? Because fair or not, perception matters. It matters for recruiting, donors, and alumni. People are watching.”
I nod, shoulders squaring as I meet his gaze. “I understand,” I say quietly. “And I want to be clear, I’m sorry for how this reflected on the program tonight. None of this was planned. I’ve been dealing with rumors and half-truths, reporters twisting the story however they want. I’ve hit a point where I couldn’t just sit there and let them keep doing this. I couldn’t let them hurt someone I care about in the process either.”
Sanders crosses his arms, studying me, but he doesn’t interrupt. Neither does Thompson. Their silence gives me the space to keep going.
“I’m not hiding anything,” I continue. “Yeah, I have a relationship with someone who is a student at Kolmont. But it’s not how it sounds. She’s someone I’ve known my whole life. Someone who’s been a part of my world long before I ever came back to coach here.” I take a breath, the lump in my throat tightening as I hold their eyes. “It doesn’t interfere with my job, and it won’t. I’m all in—on this team, on this position, on doing right by the guys who look up to me. I just want the chance to prove that. To show you I’m more than whatever headline people are trying to write.”
Sanders doesn’t speak right away. He studies me like he’s weighing every word, then he gives one slow nod. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Thompson exhales, tension finally bleeding from his shoulders. “Good,” he says, voice even. “We’ll monitor how it plays out in the media. We’ve got your back. Just keep your head down. Win games. Let your work do the talking.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, relief finally setting in.
Sanders steps forward and claps a hand on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. “We’ve always believed in you, Clay. Don’t give them a reason to doubt it.”
That one sticks. Because it’s more than approval, it’s trust. Their trust in me, when so many people have formed their own opinions without giving me a chance, means everything to me. I’ll fight to keep it.
Their footsteps fade into the distance. I rub a hand over my chest, forcing out a breath. The adrenaline and frustration drain away, leaving that familiar weight right where it always settles.
The hallway feels colder now, but under all the noise in my head—rumors, pressure, the mess I’ve made—there’s still a spark left to chase.
They gave me a shot. Now it’s on me to prove they were right to.
By the time I make it back to the locker room, most of the guys are already packing up, voices echoing off the tile as they load the bus for Kolmont. I pull my phone from my pocket, and the screen lights up with several unread messages, but I zero in on the ones from Tessa.
Tessa: It’s all out there now. I’m proud of you, Clay, for how you handled that.
Tessa: I’m back in Kolmont now. I’ll see you soon.
The sight of her name knocks something loose in me—relief, guilt, maybe both. She’s already home, and still, she’s thinking about me.
I stare at the message a second longer, feeling the edge in my chest start to ease. Then I type back before I can overthink it.
Me: Thank you, baby. On my way out now. See you soon. x
By the time I pull into campus, the lot outside the arena is mostly empty. The guys are exhausted, so they unload the busand take off in no time. The night air hits sharp as I step out, cold enough to bite through my jacket.
Tessa’s standing by the door to the athletic building, arms hugged around herself against the cold, snow gathering in her hair. She shouldn’t even be here this late, but somehow I’m not surprised.
I start toward her, boots crunching against the frozen pavement. Our eyes meet, and the noise in my head finally shuts off.
“Tess,” I say, voice coming out hoarse. “You didn’t have to wait.”
She shrugs, a small, tired smile pulling at her mouth. “I figured you’d be a little bit. Coach stuff.” She smiles. Her breath fogs in the cold, her eyes scanning my face. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine. A hell of a lot better now,” I tell her, even though I’m running on fumes. “I talked with Coach Sanders and Thompson. They just wanted to hear it from me. I told them the same thing I told my players—I wasn’t going to hide that we’re together, or that you’re a student at Kolmont. But it’s not going to touch what I’m here to do or my commitment to this team.”
Her shoulders drop a little, tension easing out. “I hate that they blindsided you like that.”
“Comes with the job,” I say quietly. “But it’s handled.”
Snow falls between us, catching in her hair. I step closer and brush a flake from her cheek before I can stop myself. Her breath stumbles, and that familiar spark flares, cutting through the cold.
“You ready to head home?” she asks, her voice soft against the wind.
I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m starving. Thought maybe we could grab something to eat, celebrate a little.”
Her mouth curves. “Your first win as head coach?”
