Chapter 13 #2
Too fast, because I left my watch in my stall and had to go back for it. By then the room had thinned. Roman was gone. Milo was talking to Tessa in the hall about some charity appearance and using both hands to explain something that did not require either of them.
I kept my head down and aimed for the back exit.
I almost made it.
“Holloway.”
Declan’s voice came from the short hallway outside the coaches’ offices.
My whole body stopped before I told it to.
I turned.
He stood near the equipment room door.
Of course. Of fucking course.
No one else was in the hall. The main locker room noise carried faintly behind me, distant enough to feel unreal. A cart rattled somewhere around the corner. The building smelled like wet gear and floor cleaner.
Declan looked like a head coach after practice. Pullover. Dark pants. Tablet in one hand. Whistle gone. Hair slightly damp at the temples. Face controlled so tightly I could see the strain in it now.
I saw it because I was looking for cracks.
Maybe because I needed proof I wasn’t the only one coming apart.
“Coach,” I said.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the corner, then back to me. “You ate?”
Of all the things he could have said, that nearly broke something in me.
I huffed out a breath that wasn’t a laugh. “That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
His nostrils flared, subtle, irritated. Familiar enough to make heat crawl under my skin.
“I had a protein shake,” I added, because apparently I was incapable of not answering him properly.
“When?”
“After skate.”
“That was not a meal.”
“I’m aware of the food pyramid, thanks.”
His gaze sharpened.
My mouth shut.
The silence that followed had hands.
He stepped aside as someone passed at the far end of the hall, one of the arena staff carrying a stack of folded towels. I shifted at the same time, trying to give space that wasn’t needed. The hallway narrowed for half a second.
My shoulder brushed his chest.
His hand moved on reflex, not grabbing, just catching my wrist to keep me from backing into the wall hook behind me.
It was nothing.
A wrist. A second. His fingers over my pulse.
My knees nearly forgot their job.
Declan’s grip loosened instantly, but he did not let go fast enough to pretend it hadn’t affected him too. His thumb rested once against the inside of my wrist, light enough to be accidental if both of us were liars.
His eyes dropped to where he touched me.
Mine did too.
The air got so thick I could barely breathe.
He released me.
I missed the contact before my skin cooled.
“Eat before you leave,” he said, voice rougher than it should have been. “There are prepared meals in the staff fridge. Take one.”
“I’m not stealing coach food.”
“You’re not stealing if I’m telling you to take it.”
“That sounds legally questionable.”
“Jace.”
My name, not Holloway.
Not loud. Not soft.
Enough.
I swallowed and looked over his shoulder because looking at his mouth was a bad plan and I had already proven I was a man of terrible plans.
“Fine.”
His attention moved over my face like he was checking for damage he couldn’t ask about. “And don’t drive if you’re this distracted.”
“I can drive.”
“I didn’t ask if you were capable. I said don’t if you’re distracted.”
The authority in that should have annoyed me. It did, technically. Underneath it, my body tightened with an answer I didn’t want anyone to hear.
I shifted my bag on my shoulder. “You always this bossy with everyone?”
“No.”
The honesty hit the floor between us.
Declan looked away first this time.
There it was. A crack. A real one. Not dramatic, not enough to make him careless. Just a fracture in the armor, showing the man underneath was not standing as steady as he looked.
He cleared his throat. “Go.”
One word.
A dismissal.
A mercy.
I went.
I grabbed the first meal container from the staff fridge without looking at the label.
In the parking lot, I sat in my car with the engine off and ate cold chicken and rice with a plastic fork because heating it up would require walking back inside and I did not trust myself to be in the same building as him again today.
My phone buzzed twice while I ate.
Vanessa, asking if I had an ETA.
Harper, sending a picture of a dented microwave with the caption: Your expensive housewarming gift just made a noise like a dying goose. If I perish, tell Dad I was his favorite.
I answered Harper first because it was easier to be someone’s brother than someone’s boyfriend.
Me: Unplug it, idiot. I’ll buy you a new one.
Harper: Stop buying things. I can afford a microwave.
Me: On a student budget?
Harper: I said afford, not emotionally recover from.
I smiled for half a second.
Then Vanessa’s message sat there waiting, and the smile died.
Me: I’m sorry. I’m not going to make dinner tonight. I’m wiped.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Vanessa: Okay.
Then,
Vanessa: I wish you’d told me earlier.
I closed my eyes.
Me: I know. I’m sorry.
She didn’t reply.
I deserved that.
I drove home carefully, both hands on the wheel, Declan’s order about not driving distracted lodged in my skull like a command. At every red light, I remembered the hallway. His fingers on my wrist. The way he said no when I asked if he was like that with everyone.
No.
Such a small word to ruin a person with.
At my apartment, everything looked the same and felt wrong. Vanessa’s coffee mug from the morning sat in the sink. One of her hair ties was on the counter. My sneakers were kicked near the door, one upright, one on its side like it had given up.
I took a shower even though I had already showered at the rink. Hot water this time. Too hot. I stood under it until my skin went red and my thoughts did not slow down at all.
Coach.
Player.
Vanessa.
Olivia.
His hand.
My wrist.
His mouth.
I got out hard and furious and ignored it for exactly three minutes before giving up and gripping the edge of the sink, head lowered, breathing through the need like it was pain.
I didn’t touch myself. Not because I was noble.
Because if I did, I knew exactly whose name would be in my mouth, and there were some lines I was apparently still pretending mattered after crossing the biggest one.
At 10:46, my phone lit up on the counter.
I grabbed it too fast.
Declan: My office. Tomorrow. 7am.
No punctuation beyond what he needed. No apology. No explanation. No heat on the surface.
Just an instruction.
My body answered before my conscience could get a word in.
I stood there staring at the screen, towel loose at my hips, blood rushing hot and humiliating and undeniable. Hard again from one message. From the clean line of expectation. From knowing he would be there before me, controlled on the outside, not controlled enough underneath.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
I typed okay.
Deleted it.
Typed Yes, Coach.
Deleted that too, because seeing it on the screen made my stomach clench and my cock throb.
Finally, I put the phone facedown without answering.
Then I picked it back up two seconds later and set an alarm for 5:45.
And another for 5:50.
And another for 6:00.
Only after the third alarm did I let myself look at the message again.
My office. Tomorrow. 7am.
I knew I should be scared of what came next.
I was.
I also knew I would be early.