the prospect of either my own humiliation or The Beast breaking my neck.
Coach Thompson burst into the locker room. He checked on his highest paid player then came to spit on me, soaking wet and broken in the damn shower.
“Goddamn it, rookie.” He hissed. “Don’t give me a fucking reason to cut you. You pull this bullshit again, and you’re outta here.”
“Yeah.” I rocketed to my feet. “I’m sure I’ll be packing my bags soon enough.”
The locker room was silent as I emerged—dripping, bleeding, cold.
Jack ignored me, touching his nose. Probably broken.
“Fuck…” He surveyed the damage in the mirror. “I promised Leah I wouldn’t get in any fights this year.”
He wouldn’t have to worry about it.
I wouldn’t fuck with him anymore, the one man on the team who had yet to give up on me. I wouldn’t have a chance once the team cut me.
Regular season started in a week, and when it did?
I doubted I’d be an Ironfield Rivet.
21
Elle
I waited alone in Coach Thompson’s office.
My camera rested in my lap. Was it possible it felt heavier? A couple hundred stolen pictures might have a given it a little extra heft. Or maybe that was my conscience weighing me down.
Peter and the coach made me wait. It was probably some psychological game, but it let me pick through my fraying thoughts.
I clutched my messenger bag, but, like a kid who had to touch the stove to make sure it was hot, I poured over the contents once more.
Not that I didn’t believe it, and not that I hadn’t expected it, but the note from my father was just as cruel, cold, and calculated as ever.
His law office was in Atwood. I’d made an appointment. Wanted to see him. Thought that maybe since I had accidentally started a family, it might have been nice to visit my old one.
Wrongo.
The receptionist presented me with a manila envelope. Inside was my marriage license—a formal little thing for such a haphazard mistake. White stock paper. Scrawling calligraphy.
A post-it from my dad stuck on top.
Elle—as long as this marriage is valid, you are not welcomed in my home. Tristian Marina
He hadn’t even signed the note as Dad.
I expected nothing else, but it still hurt. And that was fine. It was the final lesson I needed.
The man who signed that note wasn’t my family, but I had a real one now. My own little world—a growing baby in my tummy and a man who would love him without any conditions.
The door opened.
Moment of truth.
Peter and Coach Thompson took their seats, staying silent as if they expected me to break. I wasn’t intimidated. I didn’t do right by myself, but I sure as hell did whatever it took to protect Lachlan.
Coach Thompson spoke first. “Do you have the pictures?”
This wasn’t some CIA operation. I tossed an SD card onto the desk.
“Excellent.” Peter nodded. “Good job, Elle. How were the shots?”
The images were clean, but I felt dirty. “I did as much as I could without drawing suspicion.”
“Did anyone see you?” Coach Thompson asked.
“No.”
He loaded the card into his laptop and opened the files. I’d snapped various images of line-ups, formations, and installations. I held my breath until he nodded.
“This will work.” Coach Thompson quickly scrolled through the rest of the files. “I can use this.”
I shouldered my bag “Can I go? I have a lot of work to do before the season starts.”
Peter spoke after a long moment, his words soft. “Go home, Elle.”
That would only make the team more suspicious of my absence. “I don’t need time off.”
“It’s not time off,” he said. “Your services are no longer necessary.”
The bag dropped. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, Elle. You’re fired.”
No.
The silence sliced through me. I stared, dropping the fake confidence and attitude.
Coach Thompson reveled in my shock. “No one is sorrier than me to see you go.”
“I doubt that.” My words turned sour. “You still have my nudes.”
“No substitute for the real thing.”
This wasn’t happening. My stomach twisted, roiling with morning sickness, rage, and a quick and quiet fear. If they were firing me…what would they do to Lachlan?
“I did everything you asked,” I said. “I got the pictures. I traveled. I agreed to do this. Why the hell would you fire me?”
Coach Thompson usually spit and yelled on the field. The softness in his voice unnerved me. “The Rivets are a family, Elle. If you’re not one hundred percent committed to this team…”
“I am committed to the team. To the players. To them men out there breaking their