Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Felix
I’m nervous as I approach Coach’s office, but worse than that, I’m horny, and that makes me even more nervous.
I don’t have a fetish for being yelled at; it’s just that my system is overloaded with hormones right now, and Ari was so nice to me, so fierce and ready to defend me, and he looked so good while he was doing it.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him while I was in the shower, but I didn’t want to take the time to jerk it and maybe keep Coach waiting, so now I’m sick with nerves but also half hard.
It’s times like this I really hate my life.
The door to Coach’s office is half open, and he’s not here yet, so I sit in the visitor chair to wait.
Then immediately get up and start pacing, too nervous to sit still.
Over the past week, Coach Locke has been focused on getting the best out of us that we’ve got, but he hasn’t been mean or abusive.
That’s got to be a good sign, right? Maybe he’ll hear what I’ve got to say and understand why I’m sometimes touchy.
Or maybe he’ll use it as an excuse to get rid of me immediately. It might not be my fault, but I am beating up on my own teammates—not to mention, there’s a risk that I’ll be uncontrollably violent with another team. Nobody would blame him if he acted to protect his players and the league.
His heavy step followed by the door closing drag me away from my horror-filled thoughts, and I turn as he rounds the desk and drops into his chair. For a long moment, he just looks at me, his demon face unreadable, and then he gestures toward the visitor chair.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“Your actions today were unacceptable and inexcusable.”
It’s not a question, but I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“While I recognize that you were provoked, your response was excessive and put the health and safety of your teammates in danger. This team has a poor enough record as it is, and I will not allow our performance to be impacted by bad impulse control.”
He’s going to fire me. “I’m sorry, sir. It was— I’m sorry.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him, but I can’t. This isn’t the right time.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I take a breath and surprise myself. “Is Sarcnet okay?”
Coach’s face doesn’t change—not that I notice, anyway. Demons are so hard to read. “He’ll be fine. He’s with the medical team now, and then he’ll be collecting his things and leaving the facility permanently.”
Rampaging hormones are no match for the utter despair that overtakes me, and my erection gives up all hope. He fired Sarcnet. For charging me? I’m gone, then. What I did was so much worse. “Oh.”
“You’re a talented player, Ansas, and I don’t believe you’ve been developed to your full potential.
You’ve been held back by poor coaching, a mediocre team, and your propensity to react violently with little provocation.
I had hopes that you would be able to overcome those limitations, but if you do, it won’t be on—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, suddenly desperate. “I’m sorry, I need to tell you, there are extenuating circumstances.”
He sighs and sits back, clearly not believing me. “Really.”
“Yes. I’m not trying to absolve myself of blame.
I know I need to do better and work on my control, but it’s a lot harder right now than…
” Fuck, how do I explain this without sounding like I’m making excuses?
“For the last couple of years, I’ve been more, uh, volatile than usual.
I’m not sure how much you know about shifters and our physiological development, but—”
“Reproductive puberty?” For the first time since I met him, I can clearly read Coach Locke’s expression. I’ve surprised him. Not as much as he just surprised me, though. “You’re going through reproductive puberty?”
I nod, relieved that he knows it exists. That’s a step up from Franks. “Yeah. Yes.”
He looks at me steadily. “That’s not anywhere in your file.”
“No.” I wince. “It wouldn’t be. I, ah, mentioned it to Coach Franks, but he… he didn’t think it was an issue.”
Locke is silent for a moment. “None of the trainers have said anything, and it’s not in their notes, either.”
This is painful. “I spoke to Edison about it, when it started. He was the one who told me I should speak to Coach. But I guess when he didn’t get any instructions about it, he…” What? Dismissed my health concerns? “…forgot.”
His lips tighten slightly, and I hope I didn’t just get Edison in trouble. He’s one of the better trainers we have. I don’t blame him if he did forget—this team is chronically understaffed because nobody could stand working with Franks, even tangentially.
Locke sits forward suddenly, startling me. “I apologize,” he says, which startles me even more. “It’s clear to me that this club has mismanaged your training and failed in our duty of care to your physical well-being.”
What?
“Is it okay with you if I get Edison to join us now so we can set up your new training plan?”
What?
“I… yes?”
He eyes me. “Has the adrenaline cleared? Did you get some electrolytes and a snack?”
I stare at him blankly, and he sighs. “Felix, are you aware of the studies that show high-pressure situations and extreme athleticism can have a major impact on shifters in reproductive puberty?”
My eyes go wide. “There are studies?” Why didn’t I know that? It seems like it might be relevant to my situation.
Locke nods, getting up and going over to the mini fridge against the wall.
He opens it and grabs a bottle of Gatorade, then fishes a protein bar out of the box on top.
“Yes. Extensive studies, and they all show that consistent adrenaline spikes—the kind you experience all the time as a peak athlete—can have a negative magnifying effect on the hormones that are wreaking havoc on you right now. They also have the side effect of prolonging your puberty, because your body has to split focus between puberty and the demands you’re making on it.
” He hands me the snack and retakes his seat.
“You should have been put on a regimented diet and training plan to mitigate the impact of the adrenaline spikes.”
I sit there, Gatorade in one hand and protein bar in the other, and try to breathe past the heavy weight that’s suddenly on my chest. “There’s a way to make it easier?”
Coach nods. “To the best of my knowledge, it won’t make it go away, but the hormonal incidents won’t be as bad.”
Hot tears flood my eyes, and I blink hard.
“Take a drink,” Coach urges, discreetly nudging a box of tissues across the desk. “It’ll help. I’m going to call Edison, but we don’t have to do this right now if you’re in the middle of a hormone surge.”
“No!” I shake my head fiercely. “Let’s do it now.” I swipe the back of the hand holding the protein bar over my eyes, then, as Coach picks up his phone, I open the Gatorade. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it’s going to get better.
I can’t believe I could have had help all along. Son of a bitch! Rage courses through me, and I force myself to bite viciously into the protein bar instead of saying something or doing something I’ll probably regret later.
Coach finishes his call. “Edison’s on his way. While we’re waiting—and your mouth is full—this might be a good time to set some expectations.”
I swallow hard, the suddenly too-dry protein bar a hard ball in my throat. “Yes, sir,” I mumble. Is he going to fire me anyway?
“While it’s a relief to understand why your style of game play has gotten so much rougher recently, not to mention why you’ve been assaulting your teammates”—I flinch.
Ari accused me of assaulting my teammates too.
I hate that word, even if it is technically correct—“it doesn’t excuse you completely.
Going forward, I’m going to have higher standards for you than for any of your teammates.
You will not fight, ever. I don’t care if you’re provoked; I don’t care if someone drops gloves and the whole damn arena is chanting, ‘Fight!’ You will skate away—with a fucking smile, if you can manage it—and let someone else handle it.
Your job on this team is to score goals.
You’re good at it, and with better coaching, you’re going to be the best goal scorer in the whole damn league, but I will cut you loose if you can’t control yourself. Is that understood?”
My eyes are wet again, and my jaw is clenched. This combination of gratitude and anger is a new one for me. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If the team can help me manage the hormones, I can damn well stop myself from hitting people.
I really, really hope.
There’s a brief knock on the door, and then it opens and Edison enters, stopping short when he sees me. “Oh. Sorry, I—”
“Come in and join us,” Coach says, and Edison closes the door and obeys, eyeing me cautiously.
I’m suddenly conscious that I must look a little unhinged, clutching my Gatorade and the remaining half of the protein bar, my face tearstained and probably red.
I muster a smile, but I don’t think it’s all that reassuring.
“Felix tells me you’re aware that he’s currently undergoing reproductive puberty,” Coach begins. “We’d like your help setting up a diet and training plan to manage it.”
Edison’s mouth drops open in shock. “Wait, you don’t have a plan?
But… fuck, Felix, I’m so sorry! When Coach Franks didn’t ask me to put one together, I assumed you’d decided to handle it privately.
Do you mean this whole time you’ve been just…
riding it out?” He looks horrified, and something inside me unclenches.
I have support here. Work has always been a maelstrom for me.
I love what I do, but as an organization, the Warhammers haven’t been the most supportive—not in any way.
The few people I like here are the exception to the toxic culture, not the norm.
Learning that things are starting to change, that some people here are looking toward a better future for the club… that’s going to make me cry again.
Sniffing back the tears, I incline my head to Edison. “Thanks. Uh, Coach Franks thought the hormones added to my game, so…” I shrug. Normally I wouldn’t verbally bash a coach or anyone associated with my career, but Franks got fired for a reason, and we all know what he was like.
Edison snarls. It’s an actual snarl, his shifter side coming out. “That’s abuse.”
“It is,” Locke agrees. “And you can be certain that the people who need to know about it will be finding out.”
“I don’t want to make an official complaint,” I say. That sounds exhausting and complicated, and I just want to play hockey.
“You won’t have to,” Coach promises. “Unofficial will work just as well.” He returns his gaze to Edison.
“Before we dig into the details, could you hit the highlights of what the plan will look like? Felix isn’t familiar with the information on how adrenaline impacts reproductive puberty—only with how it feels,” he adds dryly, and I almost choke on Gatorade. Coach has a sense of humor. Who knew?
“Sure.” Edison turns to me. “At the most basic level, what we’re going to do is keep your hormones fed.
We’ll adjust your PT to include things that will appease your instincts—sparring, for one.
We’ll need to find a specialist coach for that, but the theory behind it is that you’re training your instincts to think of fighting as something measured, logical, and balanced, so that when you have a surge of hormonal rage, your instinctive reaction won’t be to violently fly off the handle. ”
No way. “And that works?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
Edison nods. “Yep. I went through it myself, ninety or so years ago. The research was a lot more rudimentary then, but it’s been proven over and over since. Trust me, Felix. With the right training plan, your life is going to change for the better.”
I put down the Gatorade and the last bite of the protein bar, bury my face in my hands, and weep.