Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,18

walls were glass. To one side, I could see the turf of The Barn, our massive indoor training facility. Through the other side, I caught a glimpse of the maintenance staff spraying down the lines on the outdoor practice field.

Two more days and that field would be lined with fans. Two more days, and unleashing my temper at practice would cost more than Teagan’s trust. It would be all over the gossip sites.

“Sit,” Coach ordered as he sank into the high-back office chair behind his desk.

I took the seat on the right.

“I’d rather not.” Rick braced his hands on the back of the seat to my left.

“Sit the fuck down,” Coach snapped.

Rick sat.

“You two want to tell me what the hell is going on?” He leaned back in his chair and looked at each of us in turn. “Roman?”

She doesn’t want him to know, I reminded myself, locking my jaw to keep my mouth shut. How the fuck was I going to play on the same team as this abusive asshole and not say something? Not do something? Was I supposed to just let him get away with it? It’s not for you to decide. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

Rick shot me glance tinged with fear but smoothed it over with a smile as Coach said, “fine. Baker?”

He relaxed, going so far as to hunch his shoulders slightly. “Roman kidnapped my girlfriend.”

Coach’s eyebrows shot sky-high.

I scoffed.

“Your ex-girlfriend has been my best friend for the last twenty-two years, and last time I checked, she drove herself to my house. The fact that you are such an asshole that she refuses to speak to you is hardly my issue.” My eyes narrowed on the slimy fucker.

He had the nerve to look wounded. “Man. I get it. It’s hard to want something you can never have.”

My blood ran cold both at the insinuation and its truthfulness.

“But if you don’t at least let me make sure she’s alive in there, I’m going to have to bring the authorities into this. Teagan would never stay away this long on her own.” Fake concern lit his eyes as his forehead puckered.

Fuck keeping my temper in check, I was going to crush his damned throat so he couldn’t utter another manipulative lie.

Coach hit the intercom button on his phone. “Rob.”

“Yes, sir?” The intern’s voice came through the speaker.

“Can you tell me if I have any other appointments this afternoon?” he asked casually.

“No, sir. Not until the one with Mr. Rutherford this evening,” Rob answered.

“Excellent, thank you.” Coach released the button and leaned back in his seat. “Sorry about that, I just had to make sure I didn’t have the producers for The Real Housewives of Raleigh booked or anything.”

I blinked.

Baker tensed.

“But it appears my day is drama and bullshit-free with the exception of you two.” Coach leveled us both with a glare. “Look, I could give a shit about your love lives. I just need to know if you can keep it professional on the field…and in my damned weight room.” He crossed one ankle over his knee, cool as a cucumber.

Because he didn’t know the real reason Teagan had fled to my house that night. Coach Goodman was a solid guy. He was ridiculously protective over his daughter, Savannah, too. There was no way he’d look the other way if he knew what Baker had done, right?

But it wasn’t like Teagan had allowed me to take pictures of those bruises, which meant it would be Rick’s word against mine…especially if Teagan wasn’t willing to come forward.

“No problem, Coach. I’m sorry I let my temper get the best of me. I just really love her, you know?” Baker’s face fell.

I blatantly shook my head at his whole forsaken-lover routine before catching the arched eyebrow Coach threw my way. “I’ll be fine.”

Coach glanced between us for a few seconds, as if weighing our responses before nodding. “Good. Now get the hell out of my office. I don’t want to see that shit in there again.” He pointed toward the weight room.

“Yes, sir,” we both answered in tandem as we rose from our chairs.

“You are a piece of work,” I said under my breath as Baker and I walked out into the hallway. Both Nixon and Hendrix stood against the wall, hydrating and doing a piss-poor job at pretending nonchalance.

“I’m not fucking kidding, Padilla,” he hissed as the door shut behind us. “I don’t lose what’s mine.”

“I’ll be certain to let her know that you asked after her well-being.” I