Chapter 35
Colin
IT’S GAME DAY. And instead of being down in the locker room with the team, I’m in my office, staring at the bleachers as they fill up with visitors.
A sea of black and turquoise, accented by the green of the pitch and the clear blue sky above.
It’s a perfect day for a match, and I’m a fucking coward.
It took Lennox exactly one hour into practice earlier this week to figure out something had happened.
And because he’s a giant oaf with good intentions and the subtlety of an ox, Ansel joined him in cornering me after practice.
They’d asked what was wrong. When I said all was fine, Ansel wanted to know why Ollie kept glaring at me.
It got worse as the week went on. Every practice has been rough.
Players are tense and tempers are short.
It doesn’t help that we’re playing our rivals, the Nashville Music.
Scott and Frank, the head PR asshole, stopped by yesterday as we wrapped up practice, and it was a damn miracle neither of them commented on the way it’d ended.
“Ready for the match tomorrow?” Scott asked, his attention landing on each player as they jogged off the pitch.
Not even close. “Absolutely.”
Frank rolled back on his heels. “I’ve got everything set up for the press. You’re going to do a pre-game interview with Sullivan Adams; I promised him an exclusive with you.”
With a wince, I agreed. I’d heard that Sullivan Adams is known for his ability to sense any drama on a team – and if there isn’t any, I’m fairly certain he isn’t above creating it.
Now, I glance at my watch. I’ve got enough time to go to the locker room and check in on the guys before the interview. I may have acted like an utter ass these past few months, but I still have a job to do.
But before I can leave, Ollie walks in. He’s already kitted out, the uniform barely containing him and putting every ounce of him on display.
The funny thing is, until now – until right this very moment – I’d thought of him as a little kid who needed direction.
It’s how I’d approached mentoring him, and he’d seemed to take to it willingly.
But now, looking at him as he folds his arms and glares at me from across the office, I think I’ve been wrong.
I’ve underestimated him, to my disappointment and to his disadvantage.
“Ollie.” I wipe the resignation from my voice and straighten, adjusting my hold on the clipboard.
“We should talk.”
“And you think doing that before one of the most critical matches of the season is the way to go?”
“You’ve not really left me much of a choice, Coach,” he states flatly, his eyes so much like his sister’s that it’s disconcerting.
“Fine. Talk.” I wave the clipboard at him. “But I have to meet with a reporter so we need to do this as we walk.”
Ollie’s eyes narrow. “You think you can control this the same way you control the team.”
I walk around him, knowing he’ll fall into step beside me. Five minutes. I can handle whatever he throws at me for five minutes.
Ollie swears under his breath, appearing at my side a moment later. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
I yank open the door to the private stairwell. “That’s how you’re talking to your coach now?”
“That’s how I’m talking to my brother-in-law now, you arse.”
I don’t acknowledge it, focusing instead on jogging down the stairs.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” he asks, easily keeping up with me.
“Well aware,” I shoot back. We reach the bottom floor and I turn to him, ready to face the music.
“You deserve a hell of a lot more than the punch I gave you,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
I rub my jaw. If it weren’t for the beard, there would have been a lot of questions from the staff and team. It’s still tender. “Probably,” I acknowledge. “I’ve apologized to Sam. Multiple times. But I owe you an apology, too.”
He rears back, almost as if I’m the one throwing a punch.
“The way I treated your sister was terrible. I know. But I let you down, too. And I’m sorry.”
He stares at me for a long, quiet moment, his chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”
I hold my hands up. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Fuck you,” he repeats, his voice growing louder.
I move closer to him on instinct. “Ollie.”
“No!” he yells, his entire body shaking. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done this before a game,” he mutters.
I’d like to tell him I told you so, but figure that’ll get me another punch.
When he opens his eyes, they’re bright with unshed tears. “I trusted you. The moment we met, I trusted you. Which is apparently something we Nash siblings have in common,” he scoffs.
The comment hits true, and I wince.
“You took my trust for granted. You took everything about me for granted – it’s a miracle you even put me out on the pitch, but I know you only did that because you were analyzing everyone on the team.
Otherwise? I saw how you looked at me. Like I was the eager kid, the baby of the team who had more energy than brains.
But I’m more than that. Ansel saw it. Coach Ryan saw it. ”
“It’s my job to take everyone’s talent into consideration,” I begin.
“We’re not talking about the team!” he roars. “We’re talking about the way you trampled all over my sister. The way you behaved then, and apparently the way you continue to behave.”
A throat clears, and we both whirl to see Frank stepping into the stairwell, with Kari right on his heels as she murmurs to someone on the other side of the door before closing it.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Frank asks.
My lip curls. “None of your goddamn business.”
He puffs up, the industrial lights shining on his bald head. “A coach and a player are arguing in the stairwell before a game –”
“Match,” the rest of us say simultaneously.
He sneers and waves his hand. “Before a game, so yes, it is my business.”
Kari clutches an iPad to her chest. “Mr. Adams is right outside this door,” she clips, leveling a look at me and Ollie as she speaks. “Are you ready?”
“Not until I know what you two were talking about,” Frank interjects.
“Enough.” I raise my voice just high enough so that they know I mean it, then turn to Kari, deliberately putting my back to Frank. “Please lead the way.”
She gives a curt nod, squares her shoulders, then turns and opens the metal door. “Mr. Adams! Sorry for the delay.”
The man puts keen eyes on me, then roams over the rest of our party. Assessing us like a fox, certain the prey he’s hunting is cornered but still hiding. “Not a problem. Coach Thicke, nice to finally get a one-on-one with you.”
I grin and shake his hand, hoping to hell that he buys the act that I’m happy to see him. “Absolutely. You know Ollie Nash?” I nod to Ollie as we all follow Frank, who wasn’t subtle about stepping in front of Kari to lead our little procession. Prick.
“The impressive openside flanker from Australia,” Adams answers, reaching to shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Ollie answers, then looks at me. “I’m gonna meet up with the rest of the team.”
He jogs off, but doesn’t get too far before a little boy is tugging at his dad’s coat and intercepting Ollie’s path to gawk up at him. I catch Ollie kneeling to the kid’s height before losing sight of him, then turn my focus back to the task at hand.
I have got to get my head in the game.
“You good?” Kari asks under her breath.
I jerk my head toward her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She gives me a flat expression.
“I’m fine.”
I’m not fine. The match is a complete shit show, and I don’t use that term lightly.
I stay up in the booth like normal, so every mistake we make is on crystal-clear display.
Ten-year-olds can control the ball better than we do, and our passes are intercepted by the Music time and again.
Our scrums are loose, our kicks are damn near nonexistent, and the tries we do manage to score are utterly pitiful.
We get our asses handed to us.
Ansel’s gaze locks with mine as I enter the locker room.
The guys are in various states of dress, and all pause as I walk into the center.
I’ve never been the kind of coach to lay into my team after a beat-down, because all it does is pour salt on a very open wound.
Instead, I hold my clipboard in the air until there’s silence.
When all eyes are on me, I speak. “I don’t need to tell you how bad that was.
You played it and I watched it. So go home, enjoy your day off tomorrow.
Because on Monday, we’ve got a lot of work to do. ”
Ollie makes a dismissive noise and shoots me a dark look before shaking his head and returning his attention to his shoelaces. Lennox turns his attention to me and raises an eyebrow. Ansel catches it, his own expression morphing into one of confusion.
This is getting out of control. I spin on my heel and leave, knowing that I’m risking all my players wondering what the hell I’m doing. But I need out of here.
What the fuck is wrong with me? How did I get here? All I wanted was to focus on the team. But the second I laid eyes on Sam, all bets were off. The way she’d grinned at me, all mischievous and willing to see where the night went once I flipped that coin…
To this.
I climb the stairwell once more, needing to grab the laptop with the ass-beating on it so that I can study it tomorrow. But since today is clearly not my day, who should I find in the booth but Scott.
It’s obvious he’s been waiting on me. He nods at the chair beside him, swiveling it to face me. “Have a seat.”
I sit.
“Wanna tell me what that was down there?” he asks.
“I don’t have an answer for you, Scott.”
“Unacceptable,” he says. “I hired you –”
“To win,” I interrupt. “Yes, I’m aware. You didn’t hire me for us to have our asses handed to us by our rivals. I’m aware of that, too. This is the only loss we’ve suffered. It was abhorrent, sure, but it’s the only one.”
He studies me, making sure I’m very aware of who between us has the power.
It reminds me of my football coach in high school.
The guy was a dick, using intimidation and punishment to get us to do his bidding.
And, sure, it worked, but the team suffered.
I won’t be like that. So even though it chaps my ass to sit here and say nothing, letting him think he’s winning, I do it.
I want Sam.
The thought spears through me unbidden as Scott continues to glare at me. I want Sam, and I fucked up so badly that I’m pretty certain there’s no way back.
Finally, Scott stands. “See that we win next week.”
I raise a brow. “That’s the goal.”
“No. It’s not a goal. It’s an ultimatum.”