He grinds to a halt in the middle of the space and snaps out a couple of names. “Reinholtz, Collins, and Montgomery. See me on your way out.”
I give him a chin lift in acknowledgment as he stalks into his office, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud.
Well, fuck me.
I’m not sure if I’m about to get my ass chewed out or not. I’m still a little sore from the last time he lit into me. Coach isn’t the kind of guy to pussyfoot around a subject or hold back. If he thinks you’re screwing up, you better believe he’s going to give it to you straight.
In full, Technicolor detail.
And here I’d been feeling relaxed and good about myself after walking off the turf. Instead of hanging around and shooting the shit with Beck, like I’d normally do, I strip and haul ass to the shower. I want to be the first one in Coach’s office and get this over with.
Ten minutes later, with dripping wet hair, I knock on the closed door before peeking cautiously inside. “Hey, Coach, you wanted to see me?”
He pauses the action playing out across the television screen and swivels around to face me before pointing a finger at the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Park it, Montgomery.”
It doesn’t matter if this is my fourth and final year playing for this guy, every time I’m called in here, it makes me feel like an errant eight-year-old sent to the principal’s office. It’s ridiculous. That being said, I do what I’m told and drop my ass on the faux leather chair as the older man scrutinizes his clipboard of notes.
Paper and pencil, if I’m not mistaken.
Coach is old school like that.
“Seems like whatever shit needed to get flushed out of your head has happened.”
It’s not a question—more of a statement.
I sit up a little straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“As long as you continue to play like you are, I’m moving you to first string.” He sits back in his chair and gives me a well-honed death stare. I can’t help but squirm under the intensity of it. “Kwiatkowski is a talented player, but he doesn’t have your intuitiveness out on the field.”
“Thank you.” This is the closest Coach has ever come to giving me a compliment.
See? It’s like I secretly suspected all along. Beneath the hard candy shell lies a soft nougat filling. You just have to take the time to dig deep and find it.
“That being said, you manage to get your head wedged up your ass again, you’ll be riding the pine for the season. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good.” He points to the door. “Now get the hell out of here. I’ve got game film to review.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I practically jump from the chair and shoot through the door as a wave of relief crashes over me. Most of the guys are still getting dressed. Collins and Reinholtz eye me with speculation, looking a little green around the gills. Can’t blame them for that.
As soon as I return to my locker, Beck raises a brow. An answering grin breaks loose across my face.
“Fuck, yeah!” He punches me in the arm. “It’s all about controlling the bullshit up here.” He taps his temple before shrugging. “Or maybe it has more to do with what you’re packing. All I know is that it’s one head or the other.”
I snort.
The guy isn’t wrong.
He grabs his athletic bag and slings it over his shoulder. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Yup.”
So damn ready.
I need to celebrate the good news. Or maybe have a little one-on-one party with Alyssa. I really need to fix the situation with her. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, and I pushed her away, needing a little breathing room to get my head straight. I want to explain what happened so we can move forward with this relationship.
Things are starting to look up.
With that thought circling through my head, I push through the heavy locker room door before skidding to a halt when my gaze lands on Alyssa. She’s leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed over her chest. For a sliver of a moment, déjà vu crashes over me along with a prickle of unease.
Beck plows into me from behind. “Dude, what the—”
“Oh, hey, Alyssa.” His gaze bounces between the pair of us. That’s all it takes for him to accurately size up the situation. With one quick movement, he sidesteps me before calling over