Page 6
“Enough,” Coach mutters, standing up and huffing. “Koteskiy, get everyone in the locker room, clothed please. Kane, you too; we’ll finish this another time.”
Rhys is gone as soon as he gets the order, but I stay for a moment, hefting up out of the chair slowly.
“Toren,” Coach Harris calls, before dropping his voice to a whisper. “Please, just keep the fighting on the ice. You’re too valuable, and you’d make a hell of an enforcer in the league. But, if I’m going to try to scout you, I need you to keep it together.”
I hate the way I can’t swallow, his expectations like a weight on my already heavy shoulders. I hate even more that I want to please him. That part of me that secretly imagines what it might be like to have his approval. I try to shake it off. I don’t care. I don’t care.
“Got it,” I say. “Only beat up the guys who aren’t wearing our colors.” I then quickly leave the room before something truly snarky and rude slips out.
• • •
“All right, kids,” Harris claps, grabbing the attention of the locker room. Everyone is dressed in their practice gear, a few with their skates on, while I barely had time to change into my compression pants and long sleeve, pulling up my socks as he entered. “Going to get through this quick so you all can get to your next drills.”
Relaxing back with arms crossed, I eye Holden Dougherty, my right defense partner, as he slithers in late, gliding behind the coach and into the slot next to me.
“Sorry, Coach,” Holden says. “Slept through my alarm, car wouldn’t start, and then—huge accident on the freeway.”
“You live on campus, Dougherty,” Coach huffs.
Harris told us once that we looked quite ridiculous next to each other, like two sides of a coin. Holden, with his dirty blond hair, peachy pale skin, and rounded baby face. And me, with black hair, olive skin, and a soul most people believe I sold to Satan.
“As you all know we have a few introductions for today. We have two new interns for athletic training—our coaching interns will be coming in over the next few weeks, so if you see any new faces around, behave.”
As he takes a step back to allow the heads of each department to introduce each new intern, I zone out. Head back against the stall, eyes nearly closed from the headache I’m nursing.
“One more thing,” Coach Harris calls, resuming his center positioning. “We have a new assistant coach, to focus on our defensive pairs.”
Holden perks up beside me, like a homeless puppy acting well trained in front of a new possible family. I roll my eyes but can’t stop myself from looking up. Johnson hated me easily, and part of me wants to think Harris got rid of him because he saw it. The fantasy in my head—that he was protecting me. The reality is probably that it had nothing to do with me.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Coach LaBlanc,” he announces and my heart drops.
Sitting up quickly, my eyes narrow. No fucking way. I watch as he enters.
Polished brown loafers, sleek black slacks, and a crisp blue button-up, complete with a brand-new Waterfell Wolves navy tie that is perfectly centered, straight on. His belt cost more than an entire year of tuition at this damned private school, but it’s pocket change to him. His thick brown hair is graying on the sides, but still perfectly trimmed and styled, the lines around his blue eyes pulling, like he’s spent his life smiling and laughing—a fact I know to be false.
He’s barely in the room, but my entire body feels like it’s on fire.
I stand before he can speak, eyes connecting with his across the room. His are already trained on me, like I knew they would be, because there’s no way he didn’t know I was here before he took this job. He wants to ruin my life, my career, and anything else he can—
“Kane,” Coach Harris admonishes, his voice making my thought spiral and stall out, but only for a moment. “Sit down.”
“I—” My voice is shaking. I can’t control my own goddamn words. “I quit.”
I don’t know if I mean it, but I have to get out of here before I explode with something worse, the burning in my skin heightening to a new, uncontrollable level. If I don’t leave, I’ll start fighting every person too close to me just to get it out.
Grabbing for my bag on the floor, I toss in my skates and pads.
“Jesus,” someone mutters. “Another Kane blowup—thought we hit our cap on those.”
“Relax.” Holden smirks, but I can see cautious worry etched into his eyes. “Kane threatens to quit every few weeks, it’s just his time of the month.”
I can’t even laugh at the joke because just breathing feels like taking in more smoke in a burning building.
“Settle down, son.” Coach LaBlanc chuckles, peppered-brown hair slicked back across his head, the portrait of calm dignity.
And I’m fucking losing it.
“Don’t fucking speak to me,” I growl out, hands weaving into my hair. Turning to Harris as I step closer, I drop my voice into a low whisper. “I won’t skate under him. I’ll fucking quit before I ever listen to a goddamn word he says.”
