Chapter Fifty-Five – Torin
My father used to tell me don’t expect much from humans — sorrow business at best. I never really understood what it meant. I thought he was just a bitter old man.
However, now, I understand.
Coach has been with me through the worst of times — when I nearly ended it, when my father passed, when Dylan and I were nothing but two angry people trying to make it through this fucked-up world. But he has decided to betray us in the most twisted of ways.
The most fucked up part? It’s not just the blackmail or the video. It’s that he knows we have already lost so much, yet he still pursued Fawn, knowing it would destroy us.
I nearly lost the girl I love — the one person who sees me for who I am, who keeps me in check, who encourages me to be better. The thought of it is enough to make my jaw lock and my fists clench until my knuckles ache.
When Fawn finally confided in us, I wanted to do something drastic. Something stupid. Something I could never take back.
Fawn is the only one who has been able to calm me down enough to think rather than react. It is because of her I didn’t act last night.
But that gave me time to think . . .
All night, with the rain pounding against the windows and Dylan sleeping between us, I nursed the rage instead of letting it boil over. I got Fawn to tell me word-for-word what the coach said to her.
I have a plan, and I need to destroy him.
The moment I step into the rink, something doesn’t feel right. Not just different but tainted. As if the air itself is aware that there is something rotten beneath the familiar surfaces. This is the place that once felt like home, but now it just feels like a lie.
A couple of employees walk by, laughing at something insignificant.
“Yo, where’s the coach?” I say, adjusting my voice to a carefully controlled, calm pitch.
“In the office,” someone responds without hesitation.
Of course he fucking is.
He is up there, occupying Dylan’s position, as a saint, while my best friend faces severe grief over his mother. He claimed he would hold the fort until Dylan could find his footing again.
Moving on to climb the stairs, I proceed cautiously; every step is as heavy as if counting down. My jaw clenches so tightly it hurts. I stand still in front of the door, take a deep breath through my nostrils, and let the breath irritate my lungs.
Don’t explode. Not yet. Stick to the plan.
I ease the handler down and open the door.
There’s the wrinkly old fucker, sitting at the desk as if it were his own. At ease, as if he had not harmed others. Like, he doesn’t deserve to be dragged out of that chair and beaten until he can’t recognize his own reflection. I take a deep breath, forcing myself not to react straight away.
“Hello, Torin,” he says with a smile, which I know is a mask. “What brings you here?”
“Ah, Dylan sent me,” I answer easily, sitting down in the chair across from him. “A few things he needed taken care of.”
Hook. Line. Sink. It’s the truth.
He nods. “How’s he holding up? I expect to see him back at practice soon.”
“Well,” I say matter-of-factly, “He’s not doing well. You know . . . his mother just passed away.”
He merely nods as if I’m talking about the weather. How can the man who once saved my life be so cold?
“You know, Coach,” I add, tilting my head, softening my tone, “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”
“For being there during our childhood,” I answer. “For being there when I was on the verge of losing hope.”
He holds up his hand in a dismissive motion. “I cared. That’s all.”
I react with a scoff. “Would you say,” I whisper, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, “that you cared a little too much?”
Silence. He studies me now, really looking at me, like he’s trying to decide which version of me he’s dealing with.
“In other words, you cared enough to threaten the woman I love.”
His face freezes, and any warmth he had drains from it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.”
“Let me guess, she told you a lie? And you’re gonna believe it?”
“I believe her because she’s the only truth I’ve ever trusted.”
“Seriously?” He crosses his arms. “Fine . . . Yes!” He blurts out, finally confessing. “Because this is what she’s doing, turning you against the team, against me. I was only thinking about you boys. That’s why I did what I did.”
The chair crashes backward on the floor the moment I lunge up. “You were only thinking about yourself!”
“She’s making you and Dylan a laughingstock around Ivywood.” He replies, “Son—”
The word makes me wanna vomit, and I feel a knot in my stomach.
“Do not,” I grit out, dropping my voice. “Ever call me that!”
He rises in one fluid, violent motion. “I’ve done a lot for you and this team. Don’t you dare forget that. You owe me!” He pulls out his phone. “I fucking warned her—”
That’s it. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
Crossing the room in a second, I grab him by the collar and strike one satisfying blow to the face.
Once and hard. The sound of the punch echoes through the office like a gunshot.
He falls into his chair, blood flowing from his nose, thick and dark, as he looks at me in utter shock, as if he is having trouble registering what has happened.
“Give me your phone,” I snarl, fist still twisted in his collar, knuckles slick with his blood. “Now!”
His trembling hands rise in a gesture of surrender. I remove the phone from his hand before he changes his mind.
“Have you shared the video?”
He shakes his head vigorously, like a frightened little child.
“You’d better not be fucking lying to me,” I whisper menacingly. “Remember, I served? I know people who could make you disappear.”
The last bit is a lie, but the way his face goes as pale as his hair clearly shows he believes it.
He tries to get up from the chair, primal reflexes triggered, but I hold him back forcefully, landing a strong punch in his jaw. “The first punch was from me, that one’s from Dylan.”
My attention turns to the phone, my hands moving quickly, my anger simmers just below my skin. There it is, the video. A feeling of revulsion washes over me. I delete it, then look in the trash and backups. Twice. Three times. It’s all gone. It’s completely erased.
“Everything I did for you,” he croaks. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”
I laugh, cold and sharp. “You ain’t getting any pity from me.”
He spits blood onto the floor at my feet, which makes something in me snap.
I heave him fully off the floor and push him forward, forcing him to lean over his desk. “I wish I never found you at the bottom of that tree. I should’ve let you die!” he growls, his voice full of venom.
The last remaining restraint that I have is lost at that point.
Without pause, I pull his pants and underwear down.
His saggy ball sack and cock are on display.
He struggles, trying to get away in sheer panic.
Without hesitation, I punch him again, striking him in the side of the head. “That’s from Fawn.”
He goes still, shaking.
I step back, pull out my phone, and take a photo.
One click. Proof. The plan.
“It’s not very nice when someone has something they can use against you, is it?” I snarl into his ear. “If that photo ever got out . . . it would ruin you, right?”
A weak, broken noise begins to come from his throat — a whimper. The man whom I had thought was unreachable and unbreakable is now nothing but flesh and fear. Fuck, I thought he would have put up more of a fight, but no, he’s weak. A weak little man.
“For a man with such a big mouth and an even bigger ego, you’re really not packing much, are you?” I scoff. “Makes sense now, why you’re always grumpy and miserable. All that power-tripping, huh?” I step back. “Now get up and put it away.”
He slowly stands, his hands shaking as he puts his pants back on. Shame clings to him even more tenaciously than the blood on his face. He looks at the floor as if it could swallow him whole. “What . . . what do you want from me?” he asks, his voice trembling.
“I don’t want to see your face around here ever again. You leave quietly. You don’t talk about us. You don’t think about us. And if you do—” I tap the phone in my hand, “that photo finds its way out, and you don’t wanna be the laughingstock of Ivywood, right?”
He nods in agreement, touching his nose with the back of his hand. Once he leaves for good, Dylan and I will sweep the office for any more of his creepy cameras.
“I wouldn’t go to the cops if I were you,” I continue, speaking in a flat, ominous voice. “Remember, I have connections with former military personnel competent enough to make you disappear into thin air. Do you understand?”
He swallows so hard, I hear it. “I . . . I understand.”
“Good.”
I turn and leave the office without further comment. The echo of my boots rings out on the stairs, each step lighter than the last. The rink now feels different, as if it has been cleaned, as if a poisonous part has been removed.
My chest loosens, knowing Dylan and Fawn are safe.
And now, we can all be together.