I expected him to fine me on the spot.
Instead, he got quiet and walked out.After the game, in the visitors' locker room, I informed Chloe I wasn’t going to do media.
“You weren’t invited,” she replied briskly.
Nova and I haven’t spoken in days, and it’s been fucking terrible.
Half a dozen texts to check in on her, none answered.
I don’t hate that she found out, but it’s how she found out.I was planning to tell her about my deal with Harlan.
But only after I worked out a way to tell Harlan—and everyone—about us.
My head falls back against the leather seat.Emotions claw at my chest, raking talons that reach beneath my ribs to the places I can’t protect with ego or reputation or silence.
She’s hurting, and I can’t fix it.
Not if she won’t answer my texts.
Not when I’m on a plane a thousand miles away.
I need her to understand I wasn’t trying to manipulate her.
A year ago, all I wanted was for my knee to hold up.
It’s been solid for weeks.
So, why does it feel like my life is crumbling?
“I fucked up,” I say.
Miles shifts forward, glancing around the plane.The rest of the team is locked in one-on-one conversations, or sleeping, or watching videos, or listening to music.
“The guys will give you another chance,” he says.
“It’s not the guys I’m worried about,” I admit.
We’re practicing the next day, running plays with the assistant, when Miles calls out, “Where’s Coach?”
I glance at the clock in the corner of the gym.It’s not like him to be late.
I head to the bleachers and grab my phone from my bag.No messages.I punch in his contact.
It rings.
Again.
Voicemail picks up.
“Get your ass here, old man, I’m doing your job and mine.You’re gonna want to take a picture because it’s not happening again.”I click off and rejoin practice.
It’s not an apology, but it’s halfway there.
I crossed a line with Coach.Took shit out on him that wasn’t his fault.
I’ll make it up to him today.
Jayden and the assistant coaches run the team through some drills while I watch.
