CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ALEX
“You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” Coach snaps, slapping a thick manila folder down on his desk. Pages scatter from the folder, and I catch a glimpse of my file… grades, warning slips, and whatever else fits inside.
“I’ve never cared to measure the temp of my shit, but yeah, let’s say it’s hot.”
I can see the moment he goes from mad to livid. It shouldn’t be funny but watching his angerliterally loadis definitely comical, his ivory-colored flesh slowly turning red from the neck up.
“Does this look like a fucking joke to you?” he barks.
I don’t respond, only sit here, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“Huh? You’re Mr. Fucking Untouchable, right? I have very few rules, Williamsburg.”
Lies. His rules, they run longer than the Nile.
“And you’ve managed to break every one of them. But do you want to explain this?” He opens the folder and pushes the report of my grades in front of me. “Fucking failing, Alex. Seriously?”
I open my mouth to speak but he continues before I can get out a word.
“We’re heading to nationals, and you’re riskingeverything.All we’ve worked for. Kincaid is outbecauseof your party and instead of leading by example, you constantly fuck up.”
I flinch at that.
“I’m this close to benching you for the conference.” He holds up two fingers, barely pinching them together.
My vision tunnels, and a tightness forms in my chest. “You can’t do that.”
He tilts his head back, thrown off by my response. “Hell if I can’t. You know the rules. Maintain a C average to stay on the ice. You’re barely scraping together a D. And your fight on the ice just made the decision a lot easier.”
I get it. I screwed up, lost my cool when everything was riding on that game. And if it weren’t for Kane coming in with the save at the very end, we’d be fucked. But Walton tested me.
“You don’t understand. Walton—”
“I don’t care,” he snaps. “I told you to keep your head in the game but like always, you do what you want. You want to throw away your shot? Fine. But you won’t mess it up for the rest of the team.”
“Coach—” I breathe.
“You’re dismissed,” he says coolly.
“What about the game?” I force out the words, my throat burning, my voice singed as if I swallowed a gallon of acid. “Are you benching me?”
Silence stretches between us, and it feels as if suddenly all the oxygen in the room has evaporated. Coach doesn’t glance away; he doesn’t even blink. He just stares at me with steady disappointment. And somehow that cuts more than if he had just continued yelling at me.
“I earned my spot on that ice,” I whisper more to myself than him. “You know that.”
“You should have thought about that before you turned the rink into a UFC match. You can go. I’ll let you know what I decide.”
I stand up too fast, the weight of his words weighing down on me. Storming out without another word, I slam the door shut behind me hard enough to make the office window rattle. My pulse jackhammers in my chest, a blind rage burning deep as I head straight for the locker room. I shove through the double doors. Practice is over and everyone has left for the night.
“Shit,” I grunt out, knocking over the nearest laundry bin. It clatters to the floor with a thud as the items inside spill across the floor.
When I finally let my gaze settle, I realize Sam is still here—in the threshold of the utility closet. It’s the very place where she came on my hand. My chest tightens at the memory, my eyes roaming over her from head to toe. Sam cocks a brow and awkwardly rolls her shoulders. Her eyes lock on mine and I notice a slight change in her breath as her hand lifts to the reddish hickey on her neck. My cock twitches at the sight of it, knowing my mark is on her and the team is none the wiser.
I remember the way she melted into me even though every fiber of her being wanted to push me away. Remember the warm vanilla that seemed to be soaked into her flesh. It carries, even in the distance. I don’t have to see her in a room to know she’s present; I smell her. And it pisses me off. If she were any other girl, I would have moved on by now, but instead, she’s deep in my head.
Bullying her started off as just a way to make her pay. For what exactly? I’m not sure. I told myself it’s because she benched Kincaid.
