Coach sank into his chair opposite us and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
The clock ticked.
The air-conditioner hummed.
The muffled noises from the locker room emphasized the tension dripping around us.
Vincent and I shifted in our seats.
If Coach was employing some sort of psychological warfare tactic to make us uncomfortable as fuck, it was working.
After what felt like an eternity of interminable silence, his eagle eyes zeroed in on Vincent. “DuBois, your father alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Coach leaned forward. “If I ever find out you trumped up a family emergency to get out of something I assigned to you, I’ll have you running interval sprints until you develop a bloody intimate relationship with the nearest rubbish bin. Understand?”
Vincent swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
My snicker died halfway when Coach turned his attention to me.
“This is a new season. A fresh start,” he said. “I’ll chalk last season’s problems up to growing pains, but your petty antics end here and now. You may not have spent the summer together like I’d planned”—he cast another glare at Vincent, who slid a few inches down in his seat—“but that’s not an excuse for picking up where you left off. I expect you to behave like more than adults; I expect you to behave like champions. If that’s going to be a problem, you need to tell me right bloody now.” His eyes glinted with warning. “Is it going to be a problem?”
“No, sir,” we chorused.
“Donovan and I have come to an understanding,” Vincent added. “So you don’t have to worry about us.”
Coach’s thick brows beetled with skepticism. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I picked up on Vincent’s thread. “We’ve learned from last season’s mistakes.”
“It won’t happen again,” Vincent said.
“We are fully prepared to work together to destroy—to beat Holchester. And everyone else,” I went on, echoing Adil’s earlier addendum.
Coach’s eyes tapered into suspicious slits. “Good,” he finally said. “I assume this understanding started with the Sport for Hope charity match?”
Our mouths formed identical O’s of surprise. He knew about my long-time involvement with the non-profit, but how did he know about Vincent?
“I read the local papers, and I have spies everywhere.” The curve of Coach’s mouth would’ve resembled a smile if he wasn’t allergic to smiling. “I heard about your brawl with Pessoa and the Greens too.” The curve vanished. “He’s a wanker, but don’t pull any of that shit during one of my matches, or—”
Someone knocked on the door, interrupting what I was sure would’ve been another flinch-inducing threat.
Vincent and I exchanged glances. Who would dare interrupt one of Coach’s meetings?
Coach’s brows bent further until they formed a single line across his forehead. “Come in,” he snapped.
The door opened, and Greely, our assistant coach, popped his head in like he was afraid Coach would chew off his limbs if he allowed them past the threshold. “Sir, your daughter’s here. She’s waiting in the hall.”
“Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.” Greely left, and Coach glared at us again. He did that a lot. “I have other business to attend to, but I trust you won’t do anything to jeopardize this beautiful, budding friendship of yours.”
We shook our heads in unison even as my unease rattled in my veins.
I was going to take a wild guess and assume dating Vincent’s sister fell under Coach’s “anything” clause.
Vincent and I didn’t breathe until he dismissed us and left to meet his daughter. I guess he didn’t care about leaving us alone in his office—not that we were dumb enough to snoop through his stuff. We valued our lives.
“Christ. I felt like I was a student getting called into the headmaster’s office again,” Vincent muttered on our way out.
We’d given Coach plenty of lead time so we didn’t have to walk next to him. The man was inspiring but also, frankly, terrifying.
“You’re not the only one,” I muttered back. “I’m surprised he didn’t put us in detention and make us scrub the floors.”
“Don’t give him any ideas.”
I snorted.
When we re-entered the main locker room, it was empty. However, a flurry of whispers led us around the corner to the exit, where the rest of the team was huddled around the little window in the door.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Have you ever seen Coach’s daughter?” Adil turned, his eyes gleaming.“She’s here.”
“So?” Vincent yawned. “What’s the big deal?”
“I heard she’s joining the team staff,” Samson said. I didn’t know how, but he always found out about team-related breaking news first. “She’ll be interning with Jones.”
Jones was Blackcastle’s lead performance nutritionist.
