I’ll call you after the game.
I stared at my phone before sliding it into my pocket. She had no idea what she’d truly asked me to do when she asked if I could convince the bratva to take down Jed Carter.
She’d never know if I could avoid it.
During the next period, Haruto let in a goal he should have stopped, and I watched his shoulders slump with defeat, watched him slam his stick against the post in frustration.
Massi tried to rally the team. I could see him talking, gesturing, trying to inject some life into the locker room through sheer force of will. But his face was drawn, exhausted, and I knew he was thinking about his own future, his own NHL prospects, wondering if being captain of a team in utter chaos would be the end of his chances.
In the third period, Cole picked a fight, because of course he did. He slammed into the penalty box with blood streaming down his chin and met my eyes with pure fucking hatred.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d beaten that man bloody, as much for Cole as Eva. He was mine to protect, just as shewas, and watching Jed Carter as a pawn made me want to burn the fucking city down to keep them safe.
The game ended. Marauders lost 4-2. Tristan had scored one goal and assisted the second, but it wasn’t enough.
I watched the post-game handshakes, watched my team skate off the ice with their heads down, gritted my teeth through the press conference, and then flagellated myself for not caring more.
What kind of a coach was I?
Dmitri
It’s done.
Dmitri
You did good tonight.
What kind ofmanwas I?
Finally, the locker room emptied. Tristan gave me a long look before leaving. “Coach?”
“Yes, Baptiste?”
Tristan looked at me for far too fucking long, his eyes flicking to my bruised knuckles, widening, and then going back to my face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, shook his head, then left.
How the hell was I going to get this team to a championship if I couldn’t even get the players to talk to one another?
My fault.
I opened my text chain with Eva and typedAre you okay?before deleting it. She said she’d call. I needed to let her do it on her terms.
I drove home and let myself into my apartment.
I typedBaby girl, please, then deleted it.
I waited another thirty minutes.
I typedI’m sorryand left it there for a long moment, my thumb hovering over send before deleting that too. Sorry for what? For blackmailing her in the first place? For blaming her for Jed Carter’s evil? For beating the shit out of a man for following her?
Yeah, fuck, for all of that.
I grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured myself a glass, then a second.
I should drink water. Should go to bed. Should?—
My phone screen lit up with her face, and I nearly dropped it trying to answer.
“Eva,” I breathed.
