Chapter 18 ~ Bellamy
My reputation is on the line, but I want to play games
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Stepping into Coach Walker’s office feels a lot like marching into the high school principal's office after getting into a fight—I am talking tails between legs types of scary.
The walls are covered in team photos going back twenty years, most of them with coaches who aren’t mine, with faces I have never met in person but whose legacies I carry every time I step on the ice; they stare at me like judges and jury witnessing my execution.
Coach Walker is sitting behind his desk, one of his hands twirling a puck, his eyes fix on me with the kind of seriousness that means he is choosing his words carefully.
None of this is a good sign.
Did I expect him to call me in? Yes, but not for him to give me the silent treatment before telling me what the verdict is.
“Sit.” He gestures to the empty chairs in front of his desk.
When I do, the chair creaks under me, and I realise I am still in my towel. After Minho told me I’d been summoned, all I managed was to throw on my hoodie. And hadn’t had time to finish dressing, nor did I get a chance to dry my hair.
Coach pushes a printed copy of the post across his glass desk. “Tell me this is a lie or a stupid prank I can easily explain away.”
“It’s a lie.” The practised line comes out so fast, too fast, and I hate how desperate I sound for him to believe me, but it’s how it needs to be.
The entire walk to his office was used to come up with a good lie mixed with truth to save my ass a little.
“She wasn’t even my professor at the time when I was asking her if I could get a paper printed.
That’s all, I swear. Someone clearly took the photo at a bad angle and made it look like—”
“I know what it looks like.” Coach’s voice sounds bored, but his hands are white-knuckled around the puck. “And I don’t care what it looks like. I care about what it does now that she is your professor—I care what this does to everything you have been working towards.”
“How bad is it?”
He leans back in his chair, setting the puck down before rubbing his face with both hands. The gesture makes him seem older than he is, and I notice the way his knee shifts under the desk—the bad one, the one that gives him hell during cold weather. If it’s acting up, that means he is stressed.
Which means, unfortunately, for me, this is bad.
How poetic I screw up my life on my own. Minho is probably somewhere in the locker room having the best laugh of his life.
Just wait until he finds out I did all of this for him. I can almost hear him laughing right now as if he’s on the other side of Coach’s door, which I closed.
“The NCAA called,” He says too calmly for my liking. The words land like a check into the boards, and all the air leaves my lungs.
“What?”
How did they already talk to Coach?
“I have someone from the NCAA who saw the post and called me, but trust me—” He taps the paper with one finger. “This rumour has already made it to their desk, and now they’ll want to know if there’s an investigation to open.”
Holy shit.
I am so fucked.
I look down at my hands, anything to sell the lie. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The only thing I did do was probably get Professor Smith put on leave or fired. And is either of those things the worst-case scenario when I know for a fact I am not the only Eden U student or athlete she’s slept with?
The answer would be no.
Coach sighs, and there's a hint of relief there. “I know that, you know that, but the NCAA doesn’t, and they won’t care until they’ve spent God knows how long poking around and finding nothing.
And in the timeframe of their investigation, your reputation, to put it lightly, is in the toilet.
” He shakes his head. “Along with that of the team, and every recruit we have been courting will most likely decide to go elsewhere.”
Shit.
I did not think this through.
I open my mouth, then close it before nodding in defeat. If this is the price for Minho, then I will pay it. I just wish the team weren’t affected by my lack of careful planning.
“So what do I do?”
Coach Walker’s eyes meet mine before he leans forward, his voice dropping low. “You fix your image and fast. Do whatever you have to do to make this go away before it becomes a real investigation.”
I laugh, but it lacks any real humour. “What? Like getting a girlfriend to distract everyone?”
To say I am so screwed doesn’t do this justice. And to think this was Minho’s plan—how diabolical it would have been if this had blindsided me.
“Or a boyfriend, I don’t fucking care, just if you do go on dates, make sure it’s someone who looks like they belong in your life, someone who can make this rumour look ridiculous and for the love of God, someone your age.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded for a long moment. The idea feels so surreal, like the plot from a terrible movie. Faking a relationship to save my career should be laughable if it hadn’t been for my future being on the line.
“And my mom?” I ask hesitantly.
She’s going to freak when she hears about all this.
Coach’s expression softens a little. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t hear about this until you come by later today. Your mother and I—” He pauses. “We’ll handle it together.”
I nod. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Don’t thank me, find a way to fix this, and in the meantime, we do have to play this by the book,” he says, and I know what’s coming before he utters the words.
“You’re benched from playing the next three games.
Minho will take your place as Captain and Centre, and Brett will be moved to Left Winger until this all clears up, and we can get you back on the ice. ”
My jaw clenches even though I’d prepared myself for those words. But what I didn't expect was Minho being promoted to Captain. Oh, he is definitely having a good laugh about this somewhere.
At least I won’t miss the Briarston U game, that is, so long as I keep the NCAA off my back, I should be okay to play by then.
“Got it.”
He waves a hand toward the door. “Now get out of here; I have calls to make.”
When I get up off the chair, my legs are unsteady under me. The walk to the door feels longer than it should have, and when I pull it open, I stop dead in my tracks.
Minho stands in the hallway, his back pressed to the wall opposite the door, his face pale. His eyes meet mine, and I know—I just know he heard everything, if not, then definitely the part where I am benched—again.
The door clicks shut behind me, and we stand there in the empty hallway, the weight of his dad’s words still hanging over my head like a guillotine I use to fuel what I do next.
One moment, the distance between us is like a physical wall; the next, I have a hand wrapped around his throat and push him up against the wall.
“Was this your doing?” I growl.
Minho’s eyes widen. “W-what?” He shakes his head. “No, I swear I didn’t, I–” He clamps his mouth shut, and I know exactly where his mind went.
If this works, I am buying him all the Oreo doughnuts he wants. Maybe if he’s lucky, I’ll add in a ride on my dick.
“I don't believe you.” I lean in closer, our noses brushing together. “What did Armani give you, and don’t say he didn’t slip something into your hoodie?”
“Bells, I—” He glances down each side of the hallway before his eyes find mine again. “I swear, I didn’t leak those photos; I never even got the chance to see them until now.” I loosen my grip on his throat, and he pushes me off him.
“But you planned on leaking them, didn’t you?” I ask him, and part of me genuinely needs to know how far he was willing to go to screw with me.
“I don’t know why you're even mad at me.” He pats his clothes down as if to get rid of nonexistent dirt before dropping his voice so low it's laced with venom. “You're the one who slept with her, not once but multiple times, clearly, while supposedly having feelings for me.” He laughs, blinking back unshed tears and something in my chest twists. “I shouldn’t even be surprised; this is who you are. You’ll fuck anything to get my attention, and the moment you nearly get me, you find a way to screw it all up.”
Right.
Yes, because everything has to be my fault.
My skull is pounding, and the words are out before I can rein them back in.
“You’re blaming me for this? You had the photos; for all I know, you did leak them to punish me.
” I know it’s not true that this is my doing, but I hate how he finds a way to pull away the moment something is thrown on his lap for him to use to justify not giving up a chance.
He scoffs. “After last night, I planned on getting rid of them. The hard drive never even left the apartment, so—” He stops, and I see in real time the moment his mind puts the pieces together, blaming the person I want him to never talk to.
“I didn’t know he’d do it,” he whispers, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Armani said I’d gone soft, and then he saw how you felt about me, but I didn't think he would take it upon himself to do what I couldn’t. Bells, I’m–”
He wasn’t going to go through with it.
Holy shit.
Is it wrong that I don’t feel guilty for ending their friendship before they could truly rebuild what they lost? If anything, I do feel like shit for making him feel guilty for something he didn’t do, and once Nyla completes her part and he’s mine, I’ll tell him everything.
And now that his dad’s given me the perfect idea to make sure this sticks, I know I’ve won. “Be my boyfriend.”
Minho’s head snaps up. “What did you just say?”
“Be my fake boyfriend.” I step closer, my voice dropping low. “You want to make it up to me? Help me look like I’ve been hooking up with you, and I will help you with whatever you want.”
His eyes widen before he barks out a laugh. “I knew you weren’t in your right mind; I didn’t think you were mentally insane.” He laughs a little harder, and I can’t find it in me to care if we draw attention to ourselves. “And make it up to you? I’d rather gouge out my eyes with a wooden spoon.”