Page 6 of Boots & Scars

"And that girl must have seen it," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "because the second the NHL released you from your contract, she left as quick as a rat fleeing a sinking ship. Was it necessary to do what you did to Matthews? A few punches would have done the job just fine."

A growl rumbled in my throat. "He needed to know he can't talk about her."

Walker sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You aren't wrong," he finally admitted, his tone grudging. "But those lines shouldn't be crossed. You're not easily rattled, Sinclaire. But the second they found something… hoh boy, they knew how to press your buttons. And now look. A goddamn Sinclaire, in my damn office." He shook his head, a look of disgust crossing his features. "I should make you clean toilets. Out of respect for your dad, I'm going to actually challenge you. Because I think you're more than this pathetic sack of shit sitting in front of me."

I cocked an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Should I feel privileged?"

He shot me a look.

Good. At least I knew I could get under his skin too.

"I told you, don't do me a favor, and don't do me one forhim," I added, my tone turning icy.

Walker's eyes narrowed. "What's your problem with your father? I know he and your mom divorced, but that?—"

"You don't know shit," I cut him off, my voice low and dangerous. "So I'd shut your fucking mouth unless you want me to show you just what I did to Matthews. You think I give a shit about hitting an old man? I don't. Especially not one that's fucked with me and my brother."

"Your brother was out of line," Walker said, his jaw tightening.

I fired back without missing a beat. "Maybe your daughter was."

"Enough," Walker snarled, slamming his hand down on the desk.

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing to slits. "Would you look at that? Seems like you're just as needled as I am, hmm?"

"Is this really what you want out of your life?" Walker asked, his voice low but intense.

"Why do you care what I want?" I shot back, my tone bitter and sharp.

"It's my job to turn young adults into productive members of society," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "Contributing in a positive, constructive way. When I was your father's coach?—"

"Assistant coach," I corrected, lifting a finger with a smirk.

Walker continued, unperturbed. "It was my job to do the same," he said. "Don't you want to go back to the NHL?"

"I doubt Texas misses me," I said bitterly.

"It pains me to admit it, but you actually have a fanbase there, Sinclaire," he replied, leaning forward slightly. "You're not just a goon. You have skill. And you're throwing it away because you're a petulant child. So what if you have issues with your dad? If you have issues with the NHL or Matthews or even your fiancée?—"

"Ex-fiancée," I interrupted again. "That bitch left the second they dropped my contract."

Walker stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "What did Matthews say about her?" he finally asked.

"Fuck off, Walker," I snapped, feeling the anger surge inside me like a wildfire. "You care so much, go ask him. What's said is said. What's done is done. Get to the part where you tell me what I'm doing here so we can both hate each other without dealing with each other."

Walker sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a headache. He opened hismouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it, closing it with a frustrated click of his teeth.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and staring him down. The silence stretched between us like an unspoken challenge.

Finally, Walker spoke again, his voice tinged with resignation. "All right then," he said quietly. "Let's cut the bullshit and get straight to it."

I gripped the armrests tightly, feeling the rough leather bite into my palms. The urge to launch myself across the desk and wipe that smug look off Walker's face simmered just below the surface.

"The only reason you aren't in jail is because of this," Walker said, his voice steady, almost bored. "This opportunity the NHL granted you. In fact, if you really gave a shit, you could work your way back to the NHL."

"By kissing their ass? I don't think so."

"Quite frankly, I don't give a shit," Walker shot back. "You're going to teach skating to a bunch of kids who are trying to get credit for physical education. And you're going to be nice."

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