“Office,” he says sharply. “Now.”
I don’t argue. I don’t say anything at all. I follow him like my body is on autopilot. The hallway is quiet compared to the locker room, but my ears are still ringing. My vision pulses at the edges. My face throbs.
Coach doesn’t slow down. He pushes open the door to the visiting coach’s office and motions me inside. The door shuts behind us with a heavy thud.
For a second, he just stares at me. Then he explodes. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demands. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
The words hit me, but they feel distant, like I’m underwater.
“I—” My mouth opens, but nothing useful comes out.
“You assaulted a teammate,” he continues. “In my locker room with the press standing outside.”
“I’m sorry,” I say automatically.
“That doesn’t cover it,” he snaps. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges.”
I nod, heart pounding too slowly now, like it’s exhausted.
“There will be consequences,” he says. “You’ll be benched. Youwillbe fined. And if this happens again—” He stops and exhales hard through his nose. “This isn’t you,” he says, voice still furious but edged with something else. Disappointment. “Or maybe it is, and I didn’t see it.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
He studies my face, then gestures sharply. “Go see Shane.”
I blink. “What?”
He points. “You’re bleeding.”
I touch the side of my eye, having forgotten the trickle from earlier. My fingers come away red. “Yeah,” I mutter, even as a throb of pain pulses behind my right eye.
“Get it cleaned up,” Coach says. “We’re at the hotel tonight. Fly out tomorrow afternoon. I want you lying low. No press. No comments. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Coach.”
He nods once, sharply. “Get out.”
Once I’m with Shane, he barely says a word as he cleans the cut, dabbing antiseptic that burns like hell. He tells me I’ll have a black eye by morning. He puts on a waterproof bandage and clears me medically, but his eyes are worried.
When I walk back into the locker room, it goes quiet. Not awkward quiet. Heavy quiet.
Kirk is gone, but I don’t ask where.
I strip and shower without looking at anyone, the hot water stinging my face, sliding down my back, washing away sweat and blood and something else I can’t name. By the time I come back to dress, most of the guys are gone. The loss still hangs in the air.
Marco is still here. He looks up when he sees me. His eyes flick to my face and soften. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He doesn’t push. “Bus leaves in fifteen.”
I nod, my lungs feeling too tight. “I’ll be out soon,” I say, barely above a whisper.
Marco hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Okay.”
Dread unfurls in my gut. Shame follows close behind.
I pull my shirt on with shaking hands, knowing the moment I walk out of this room, I’m going to have to face Rafe. And I have no idea how to explain any of it.
