I didn't talkto her.
Not the next day. Not the day after that.
I ran drills. Called plays. Barked corrections at everyoneexcepther. Because if I opened my mouth—if I so much aslookedat her too long—I'd crack.
And I couldn't afford to crack.
Not when Nate was circling. Not when the press was starting to sniff around. Not when Gideon had already called twice this week asking if everything was "under control."
So I stayed silent.
Billie played like she had something to prove.
Every shift was a war. Every drill, a statement. She led the breakouts, anchored the power play, barked orders at her linemates like she'd been born wearing a C on her chest. The girls followed her without question. The wins started piling up.
On paper, everything looked perfect.
But I saw the cracks.
The way her laugh didn't quite reach her eyes anymore. The way she flinched when someone touched her shoulder. The way she sat alone in the locker room after practice, staring at her skates like they held answers she couldn't find.
The way she lookedsmallerevery day. Like she was folding in on herself. Disappearing.
And I was the reason.
I'd told her I wanted her safe.
But not like this.
Not pretending to love a man who'd hurt her. Not performing for cameras that didn't give a damn about who she really was.
Notwiltingunder the weight of protecting me.
I watched her skate out after practice one night, her bag slung over her shoulder, her hood pulled up against the cold. Nate was waiting by the doors, leaning against his car like he owned her.
She climbed in without a word. Didn't look back.
I stood there in the empty rink, my reflection staring back at me from the glass, and finally admitted the truth I'd been avoiding for weeks:
I was a coward.
Not because I wanted her.
But because I'd let her fight this battle alone.
And that ended tonight.
The rink was empty by the time I made the call.
My voice was rough when I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over her name in my contacts like it might burn me. I hit send before I could second-guess it.
She answered on the second ring.
"Coach?"
Even her voice did something to me—husky, guarded, like she was already bracing for the worst.
"My office. Now."
