Page 16 of The Coach

“Circle out, Kaminski!” I shouted, hands fisted at my sides. “Stay light on your feet!”

He heard me, stepping back, finding his rhythm, and then moved in with a side-hook and a quick grab at the opponent’s knee. The Bullet faltered, just enough for Jared to sweep his leg out, sending him down hard. I blew out a breath and watched as Jared pinned his opponent, holding tight, the seconds ticking down to the final whistle.

The ref held up Jared’s arm, and he walked back to us, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, his grin wide. Score one for us.

“Nice work,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, though my eyes were already on the next kid stepping onto the mat, our 157-pounder, Derek. Derek was all sharp angles and quiet determination, and his opponent—stockier, solid, with a steady grip—looked every bit his equal. This was going to be close.

Derek started strong, circling his opponent like a shark, keeping his distance, watching for an opening. Then he lunged, but the Bullet sidestepped, slipping behind him and slamming him down with a bear hug that knocked the breath out of him.

“Don’t let him lock you down, Ferrelli!” I yelled, feeling that familiar twist of frustration. Derek struggled, twisting, his hands scrabbling for a grip, finally slipping free just as the Bullet went in for another shot. But he was too quick—Derek couldn’t shake him, andthe next thing I knew, the Bullet had him pinned, the ref blowing the whistle. Derek lost, but his face was unreadable as he walked back to us, jaw set, shoulders stiff.

“Keep your head up,” I told him. “You fought hard. It’s not over.”

He nodded, and I could see the fire in his eyes, the determination that wouldn’t quit, even in the face of defeat. That’s what I loved about these guys. They didn’t quit. No matter how hard it got.

The next few matches were a back-and-forth, each wrestler giving everything they had, pushing through moves I’d drilled into them so many times that I could almost see each feint and grapple in my mind before they made it. Scott won his bout with a quick takedown and a swift headlock, grinning like a maniac as he pinned the guy’s shoulders to the mat. Ethan fought hard, but his opponent was quicker, slipping past his guard and flipping him over in a single, brutal motion. I wish I had Alex with us, but his shoulder was still out of commission.

With each win, the team cheered, slapping each other’s backs, their excitement contagious. With each loss, I pulled the guys aside, gave quick words of encouragement, focusing them, reminding them that a single failure didn’t define them. My throat was hoarse from all the shouting, my hands aching from clapping backs and steadying shoulders. I could feel the tension building with each match, the team feeding off each other’s energy, eachdefeat hitting harder, each triumph driving them forward.

When they called Cruiserweight, Tyler’s class, my breath hitched for a moment, but I didn’t let myself waver.

“How’s the leg?” I asked him, standing close, too close, so only he could hear me.

“It’s fine,” he said, securing his protective headgear, then glancing at me.

God, one look from those deep brown eyes and my pulse quickened. I nodded, leaving him to do his best.

He walked to the mat, steady and calm, that same fierce determination I knew so well now burning in his gaze. His opponent waited on the opposite side, all easy confidence, hands loose, gaze fixed on Tyler with a hint of a smirk. The kind of look that made my stomach clench, a mix of irritation and something darker. I didn’t like the way that boy’s eyes lingered on Tyler. Why the fuck was he smiling?

The whistle blew, and Tyler moved, fast, circling around, his stance low, balanced. The other boy matched him step for step, waiting, watching, his movements easy, almost lazy. Tyler lunged for his leg, trying to sweep him down, but the Bullet twisted, slipping free, driving forward with a shoulder that sent Tyler back a few steps.

“Keep your stance, Tyler!” I yelled, my voice louder than I intended. “Focus!”

He heard me, shifting his weight, his gaze sharpening. The Bullet moved in again, his hand flashing out, but Tyler dodged, slipping around him, almost getting him in a hold before the boy twisted free. Tyler’s jaw tightened, and I could see the frustration creeping in, the tension in his shoulders. His leg was holding up, but I noticed him favoring it, just enough to make me worry.

Then the Bullet moved in, fast, locking Tyler’s arm in a vice grip, twisting him down, their bodies tangling in a brutal dance of strength and skill. Tyler struggled, trying to break free, but the boy held on, his grip unrelenting, and then, with a final twist, he had Tyler pinned. The whistle blew, the match over as fast as it began.

Tyler lay there a second longer than he should have, breathing hard, his face blank with the aftershock of defeat. A knot tightening in my gut, I watched as the Bullet leaned down, offering Tyler a hand. Tyler took it, though reluctantly, his jaw tight. The boy’s smirk widened as he pulled him up close, holding onto Tyler’s hand just a little too long. He said something, right at Tyler’s ear, and I could see the way Tyler’s eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. The other boy’s hand lingered on his shoulder, a touch that was too familiar, his smile too flirty, and the sudden rage flared up in me, hot and undeniable. They exchanged a few words, too distant for me to hear, before that cocky bastard turned and walked away at last.

Tyler trotted back, his face blank, but there was frustration in his eyes, the faint glimmer of something else as he glanced at me.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded, heat surging through my veins.

“What?” Tyler said, half-bewildered, half-confrontational.

I took him by the shoulder and almost dragged him away from the rest of the team, their faces a mix of confusion and curiosity. I leaned in and growled low so that only Tyler could hear me. “What didthat kidwant from you?”

He stared at me, blinking like he had just seen Bigfoot in a tutu. “If you must know,Chrisasked if I’d like to go out for a drink later. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Because you’re mine!The thought flared through my mind. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I was a volcano ready to erupt. And destroy this entire goddamned building. Maybe even the whole town.Mine, mine, mine!But the rest of the team was watching, the competition still not over, and I bit my tongue, swallowing my anger like something barbed and vile. I was making a fool out of myself. “Nothing,” I said at last, my voice a bit shaky, though my hands clenched at my sides so hard that my nails dug into my palms. “In any case, you fought hard. That’s what matters.”

There was something raw in his expression, something that twisted in my chest, but then his face closedoff, set in a mask of control. I forced myself to look away, to keep my focus on the team as Finn Collins took his place on the mat.

The match continued, each bout a whirlwind of shouts and slams, victories and losses, the energy in the gym building to a fever pitch. I cheered, shouted, guided my boys, keeping them steady, even as my mind kept drifting back to Tyler, to the look on his face, to the way he’d walked off the mat with that faint, unreadable expression. To the way that Chris kid had looked at him, with that easy confidence that made me want to cross the mat and knock it right off his smug, handsome face.

But I kept my focus, kept my emotions in check, and by the end of the day, the team was still standing, bruised and tired but holding their heads high. We’d won some, lost some, but they’d fought hard, given everything they had, and that was all I could ask for.

As we headed back to the hotel, the team buzzing with the adrenaline of the night, my gaze was steady, my expression calm. But inside, I was a mess, a tangled knot of emotions that wouldn’t let go.

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