However, I’d rather deal with the paparazzi than endure Coach’s wrath.
I didn’t know a face could turn so many shades of red in so little time, but he proved my previous understanding of biology wrong. When it reached a particularly fascinating hue of magenta, I worried I’d have to add killing my coach to the list of grievances certain members of the public had against me.
“You do not skip matches to see your girlfriend!” The vein in his temple throbbed so furiously I half expected it to pop out, reach across the table, and strangle me. “Of all the bloody stupid, reckless things you’ve done, that has to take the fucking cake!”
“She was in the hospital.” I defended myself as much as I dared. I understood why he was upset, but it wasn’t like I’d skipped the match to frolic on the beach. I had a good reason. “I got the call right before the match, and I had to make a split-second decision. If it was your daughter in the hospital, wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”
I wanted to snatch back the last sentence before it even left my mouth. Coach was extremely protective of Brooklyn, and referencing her in any way while he was in a rage was probably not my best idea.
A thundercloud darkened his face. “What did you just say?”
I blanched. “I mean, it was an emergency, sir,” I amended. “I’m sorry I missed the match, but I wouldn’t have done it unless it was important.”
Thankfully, none of the tabloids had reported on the reason for Scarlett’s hospitalization. To me, the reason was important, but I suspected Coach didn’t think it was serious since she’d been discharged after an overnight stay. Hell, he wouldn’t consider anything short of near-death serious. However, he couldn’t prove it.
Judging by the tic in his jaw, he’d come to the same conclusion, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“Next time,” he said. “You call me, and you tell me what the bloody hell is happening. I don’t want to hear it from your fancy-ass publicist.”
Was that it? Was he about to let me off the hook?
I held my breath. “Yes, sir.”
“Now.” Coach’s glare pinned me like a flailing bug to my chair. Shit. Not off the hook after all. “Can you explain why both my captain and my lead striker walked into practice today looking like they lost a round in an MMA fight?”
I forced myself not to touch my cut lip. The paps had, of course, caught wind of our injuries when we arrived at the training grounds. They were probably spinning salacious tales about our fight over Scarlett at that very moment.
They wouldn’t be wrong, but I wasn’t going to regale Coach with the ugly details from Saturday.
“Vincent and I had a misunderstanding that…escalated over the weekend, but we sorted it out. I promise it won’t happen again. Sir,” I added quickly.
“It better not.” The vein in Coach’s temple pulsed again. “I’ll let it slide for now, but if I catch one bloody whiff of dissent between you two today or any other day, I won’t be so lenient. Now get the hell out of here and join your teammates in training. You’ve missed enough work this past week.”
Relief flooded my veins. He wasn’t benching me or making me, I don’t know, scrub the stadium with a toothbrush. Thank God. “Yes, sir.”
The meeting had gone far better than I’d anticipated, but I hightailed it out of there before he changed his mind.
I only missed warm-ups and the first five minutes of training, so it didn’t take me long to catch up.
The rest of the team didn’t hold my absence on Saturday against me—they had wives, girlfriends, and beloved family members too; they understood—but I could tell by their stares that they were curious about Scarlett and my meeting with Coach.
“What happened?” Adil pounced during our first break. “What did Coach say?”
The other players drifted over, their ears perked as I summarized our conversation.
“You’re lucky, mate.” Stevens slapped me on the shoulder. “If the match had been a loss and not a draw…”
Shudders rippled through the group. If we’d lost, I’d be six feet under the pitch instead of standing on it.
I’d watched a replay of the match. We’d played well, but so had Holchester. They didn’t have any megastars in their current lineup—Bocci was the closest they had to one—but they were incredibly cohesive. That was their biggest strength and our biggest weakness.
Hopefully, that changed this season. We were already playing better together now that Vincent and I had patched things up, but we had room to improve.
“Forget the match,” Samson said. “I want to hear about your secret girlfriend. DuBois’s sister?” He whistled. “Ballsy. Very ballsy.”
Heads swung between me and Vincent, who was walking toward us from the water station.
I was not in the mood to discuss my love life with anyone right now. Luckily, Vincent cut in before I had to respond.
“Is this training or is this a gossip session?” he asked pointedly. “We’re not here to discuss our personal lives unless you want to tell us about the girl you hooked up with during our last away match.”
The rest of the team laughed and elbowed an embarrassed-looking Samson. He’d brought a girl back to the hotel but refused to tell any of us who she was, which was unusual for him. He was typically an (over)sharer.
“Man, Captain, why do you have to always do me like that?” he said with a shake of his head.
Vincent grinned. “You make it too easy.”
We didn’t get a chance to speak further. Greely shouted at us to gather for our next set of conditioning drills, and our good-natured teasing immediately morphed into concentration.
Our assistant coach was running today’s training. He was usually nicer than Coach, but he ran us ragged. By the time practice ended, no one had the energy to do more than shuffle into the locker room for a hot shower and a change of clothes.
“Thanks for running interference earlier,” I told Vincent. We’d finished cleaning up around the same time, and I fell into step with him as we walked toward the car park. “When the guys were asking about Scarlett.”
He lifted a shoulder. “She’s my sister. I don’t want those idiots thinking about her in any romantic way.” He side-eyed me. “Too fucking late for you, though.”
I smirked.
“How is she?” Vincent asked. “I talked to her on the phone last night. She says she’s fine, but you know her. She’ll say she’s fine even if she’s forced to run a marathon barefoot over hot coals.”
