“Blyat,” I swore, grabbing the boards.
My assistant coach leaned over. “Coach, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
I wasn’t fine. I was standing with blood under my fingernails, watching my team fall apart while the woman I’d just committed violence for sat thirty feet away, looking like she was going to burst into tears.
Over the last week, I’d applied the sort of brutal Russian training in practice I’d avoided my entire career. Breaking boys down to build them back as men was bullshit, but every single time the team broke apart, misery seemed to be the only thing that brought them back together.
And yet, here we were again, the team playing like shit,and I was worried about the playoffs for the first time in my career.
At the first intermission, I followed the team back to the locker room. They sat in silence, not looking at each other.
I opened my mouth to tear into them, and then I caught sight of my reflection in the glass partition of my office, saw the darkness in my eyes.
What the fuck could I say?
This was my fault. I’d destroyed this team by using Eva and letting my revenge consume all that was good about her, Cole, and Tristan.
And now, I’d crossed yet another line for the bratva.
Cole and Tristan sat beside each other on a wooden bench, saying nothing, staring into space.
“Whatever’s broken between the two of you, you better fucking fix it before the next period,” I snarled then walked out before they could respond.
Me
What’s wrong?
Eva
I don’t want to talk about it.
My chest constricted.
Me
Baby girl, tell me.
Eva
Don’t you have a team to coach?
I didn’t like how she deflected instead of answering the question when she was clearly hurting. I especially didn’tlike the tight feeling in my chest when I weighed my job as a coach against the violence I’d committed tonight.
Me
What’s wrong?
Eva
You’re not going to let this go, are you?
Me
No.
Eva
