“My pack isn’t interested in an omega.”
“How is your pack?”
“Fine,” I spit out the word.
“Is this rut or trouble at home?”
“I said everything is fine.”
“Really? With your pupils dilated like that?”
“It’s…” I stop myself just shy of saying, “It’s the concussion, asshole.” Admitting to a concussion would make this all worse.
Coach stands up so I know he’s done with me. “You’re going to spend the rest of the day on the ice with Julius, and you’re going on this date.”
“The hell…”
Coach cuts me off, “You refuse and I bench you for the rest of the season.”
I stand up so fast the chair topples back. “Over a date?”
“No. You’re falling apart, you don’t want to do anything about it, and I don’t know if you’re worth my time anymore. I need a professional, not another meathead I have to babysit.”
Fear mixes with rage. I can feel my hands tightening into fists. The only thing stopping me from launching myself at him is the desk between us. I break eye contact and take a step back, my calves bumping into the chair.
Rut. Rut? Is that what this is? Or am I just going crazy?
“Go on the date. I don’t want to have another conversation with Marilyn about how you’re not returning her calls. She said you ran out of the locker room naked when she tried to find you.”
My cheeks burn. I don’t think defending myself by saying that I was wearing boxers is a good idea.
“My pack’s not interested in an omega.”
“Yeah, you said that, and that could be part of the problem. Go on the date and enjoy some shiny happy omega company rather than your ball-busting packmates.”
“Fine.”
“Good. Now, get on the ice. Julius is going to abuse you until your mood improves. And then we’ll decide if we’re benching you or not.”
I step around the chair and stoop to pick it up. I even dust off the seat for good measure for the next torture victim.
Forty-five minutes later and I’m puking on the ice.
“Your edge work sucks.” Julius says.
I spit nasty bile from my mouth and straighten up. My thighs are screaming.
“Crossovers down and back.Move.”
I throw my stick. It skitters down the ice. “Like I’m twelve and drilling for the travel team.” I’m gulping air, trying not to puke again.
“Stop acting like a baby, and I’ll stop training you like one.”
I push forward with my back leg, snatching up my stick.
“You’re getting lazy. You’re weak on the outside edge.”
I sink lower, bending my knees more, switching from foot to foot.
