Page 55 of The Break Down

It’s fucking maddening.

And I’ve had it.

We’re leaving for Consequence tonight.

It’s something like a ten-hour drive.

Everyone crammed onto that goddamn sweaty team bus like sardines.

Tank snoring in one ear, rookies shouting in the other.

No space. No privacy. No Finley.

And I know I can’t do it. I won’t make it.

Not with the way I want her.

Not with how I need her.

So yeah. I went and did a thing.

But not before Coach Dane handed me my ass with a side ofwhat-the-fuck-are-you-doing.

He cornered me after our last practice, sweat still dripping down my back, my boots barely off, and his arms crossed like he was waiting to deliver divine judgment.

“Alright, Jackson,” he said, tone sharp, “I’m only telling you this because between her sobbing?—”

I straightened like he’d punched me in the gut. “She’s been sobbing?”

He leveled me with a look. “Don’t interrupt. I’m on a roll.”

I shut my mouth. Barely.

“Between her falling apart in the RV and the confounded editing tent,” he continued, “and you running drills like someone swapped out your brain with a potato, something has got to give.”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “Coach, seriously, Finley cried?”

“Yes, Einstein. Actual tears. Not the dainty movie kind either—the ugly, red-nosed, hiccupy kind. Carolina had to give her chocolate and a five-minute pep talk. You happy now?”

“Fuck.”

Coach threw up his hands. “You think I care about your love life? I don’t. But I do care about my Number eight playing like he’s concussed when he’s not.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “Jesus.”

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. Hard.

The kind of slap that says I’ve broken bones smaller than you.

They didn’t call him Great Dane for nothing.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, voice dropping into that dangerous, father-figure growl. “You’re going to get your head out of your ass. You’re going to find your girl. You’re going to talk to her like a human man with working vocal cords, not a cryptid that grunts and broods. And then, if you’re very lucky, she’ll forgive you for whatever dumbass thing you did.”

I blinked.

Coach pointed a finger in my face.

“Then—and only then—will we have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this goddamn season. Because I don’t need my best forward playing like a kicked puppy.”

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