Page 145 of The Off-Limits Play

I sigh, scraping a hand through my hair. “I’m guessing you know what this is about.”

“I’m not stupid. And neither is my wife.” He clears his throat. “The second I get back upstairs, she’s gonna be grilling me about every detail of this conversation because she’s sick of watching her daughter—the one she nearly lost a year ago—shuffling around the place with puffy red eyes and an aching heart.”

I wince, hating the image he’s painting for me.

“I warned you, McAvoy. I warned every single one of you guys to stay away from my girl, but of course you had to break the rules,” he seethes. “You did exactly what I told you not to do, and now my daughter is hurting. You made it impossible for me to protect her!” He stands up straight, his nostrils flaring as he points at me and spits a little more of his wrath my way. “I want to kick you off the team. I want to kick you out of this damn school! You crossed a line!”

It’s impossible to defend myself, because all he’s doing is telling me the truth, so I keep my damn mouth shut, until he says something I can’t abide by.

“Now, thankfully, Nylah’s strong, and with a little time, she’s gonna heal up just like she did last time. So, what I need you to do for me is promise that you’re gonna stay away from her. If you see her, you walk the other way. You don’t call her, you don’t text, you don’t?—”

“I can’t do that, Coach.”

The silence that follows my adamant statement is frosty at best. I swear, goose bumps are rising over my skin as I stare back at this man. He’s quietly irate. No, livid.

Actually, maybe he’s about to kill menow.

Clearing his throat, he swallows and walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps.

My heart starts to race as I brace myself for battle.

“Carson,” he hisses. “You will stay away from my daughter, or I’m not bullshitting, you are off the team!”

“I don’t care!” I jump up and meet him eye to eye. “I don’t give a shit about football right now. None of it matters without her. Don’t you get it? I’m fucking miserable. It’s all meaningless if she’s not part of it with me!”

Taken back my sudden outburst, Coach goes unusually quiet.

So I take advantage and fill the space before he can. “I love her. I know you think I’m not capable of that emotion, but I am. I love her deep, Coach. She’s brought me to life, and I miss her.” My voice cracks. “I want her back.”

“You’re not worthy of her.”

“Then help me become a man who is.” My tone rises with desperation. “Show me what to do.”

His expression buckles and I blink, hating the way my eyes are burning right now. I’m not fucking crying again. I did that in front of the guys, and I’ll never get over it. They’ve been merciful enough not to hassle me, but I’m not fucking crying in front of Coach!

Clenching my teeth, I suck in a breath through my nose but still can’t stop my voice from trembling. “I’m serious about this. I know I’ve fucked up, a lot. But I don’t want to be that way anymore. When I’m with her… life’s lighter somehow. Like smiling doesn’t hurt, and…” My lips twitch as I think about her pretty face and the way she loves to tease me. “I love how smart she is. She’s so quick with a comeback, you know?”

Coach’s eyebrows dip together, like he can’t believe I’m saying this, but I keep going.

“I love how strong she is. So resilient. What she’s overcome… it inspires me. And I want to help her. I want to run the Boston Marathon with her, and I want to see her succeed in everything she’s passionate about. I want to be someone who deserves to sit beside her and watch movies. Who deserves to hear her laughter and make her smile.”

Coach crosses his arms and closes the gap between us. Backing away, my legs hit the edge of the armchair, and I flop into it.

“I know you hate me,” I quickly blurt. “I know you think I’m a reckless loser. A total fuckup, but?—”

“I don’t hate you,” Coach cuts me off, then takes a seat adjacent to me with a heavy sigh. “You frustrate the hell out of me because when I look at you, when I watch out on that field, all I can see is unbelievable talent and a man who is loyal to a fault. You’d bleed for your teammates without hesitation.”

I nod, because that’s actually true. I’d take a hit for any one of them. “Maybe not Fleischer,” I mumble.

Coach snickers and shakes his head. “What gets me—the reason I don’t want you near Nylah—is because you seem hell-bent on your own destruction. I can never tell from one week to the next what kind of mood you’re gonna be in. Am I gonna get your best or your worst? Are you gonna practice and play like a champion or show up drunk and reckless, foul-mouthed and ready to choke out one of your teammates?”

The urge to argue that Fleischer fucking spit in my face is tempting, but I grit my teeth.

“You’re one big ball of potential, McAvoy, but I can’t rely on you. You don’t respect me, and you don’t respect yourself. So how can I trust you to show up and be the man I need you to be?”

“But I want to be that man.” I give him a desperate frown. “Not just for you but for her. I want to learn how to control this…” I pound my stomach with my fist. “This feeling inside me. It rages up sometimes, and I can’t stop it. I try to dull it with alcohol and other shit, but it’s black and overpowering. Help me stop it. Please, help me.” My voice breaks. “Help me get her back.”

Coach bites his lips together, sucking in a slow breath and finally nodding. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

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