Page 139 of Stick It
ETHAN
Thud.Thud. Thud.
A relentless pounding on the door drags me from my thin veil of sleep. My head throbs, the dull ache of exhaustion pressing against my skull. I groan, rolling over, but the knocking persists, loud and insistent.
“Fuck’s sake. Does no one answer the goddamn door in this house?!”
With a grunt, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, barely registering the fact that I’m only in my boxers as I shuffle barefoot down the hall.Fuck it, if some asshole insists on banging on the door at the ass crack of dawn, then they can deal with me wearing fucking boxers.
Stomping down the stairs, I swipe a hand through my mussed-up hair, probably only messing it up more. What I need is a shower.
And five more hours in bed.
And for my brain to stop replaying images of Dylan kissing her old fucking teammates.
“Ugh.”
Still feeling groggy, I yank open the door, intent on tellingwhoever is on the other side to piss off. Except the words lodge in my throat.
“Uhh…Coach?” Confusion slams into me. I glance past him, although I have no idea who the fuck I’m looking for, before snapping my gaze back to his. “Umm…what are you doing here?”
His arms are crossed over his chest, his expression carved from stone. I’d say it’s a typical stance for Coach except, he looks about as fucked in the head as I feel. His eyes are bloodshot, day-old stubble darkening his jaw. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him anything other than clean-shaven.
Astute, yet dulled with fatigue, eyes sweep over me once, lips flattening in clear disapproval. Well, fuck, now I wish I’d taken the two seconds to pull on a pair of sweatpants. Maybe a T-shirt, too.
“Where is she?” he all but demands in his typical no-nonsense, do-as-I-say tone.
I cringe.Shit.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mutter, “She’s not here.” He tenses immediately. “She stayed the night at Wren’s.”
I don’t know if he knows who Wren is, but he doesn’t appear overly concerned at the news, so I’m guessing he’s at least heard of her. Except, isn’t that weird as fuck? If Dylan wasjust another player, he wouldn’t have a clue who her friends are outside of the team. Just like he’d have no idea whomyfriends are outside of the team. Same for any player.
Fuck, my headache is back.
I just can’t make sense of any of this.
I’m scrutinizing Coach’s face, trying to piece it all together, to understand, so I notice the way his lips press together—in concern? Irritation? I can’t fucking tell. He nods once, the motion sharp and curt. I expect that to be the end of this awkward interaction, however, he makes no move to leave.There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he asks, “Can I come in?” For the first time in years, I hear hesitancy in his voice.
Surprised, I blink at him, but I find myself stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah, sure.”
Coach steps through the doorway, his presence making the hall feel smaller, heavier. “How is she?” His voice is gruff, but there’s something in it—guilt or worry—that catches me off guard.
It’s just so…out of character for Coach.
Not to mention showing up at a player’s house.
It sends my thoughts spinning again…
But then I glance sideways at him, andseriously? Dylan and Coach? Maybe I’m too close to the entire situation, but I just don’t see it.
There was a moment last night, when my emotions where high, anger and confusion were clouding my judgment, and Finn had just added more wood to the bonfire by telling me she’d fucked her old coach, where I assumed it to be the truth…but in the stark light of day, I just don’t fucking get it.
“She was upset when she left the arena,” I finally answer, watching him closely, trying to get a read on what he’s thinking. If the jumbotron stunt happened to any other player, he wouldn’t be on their doorstep with the first streaks of daylight. So why is he here? What makes Dylan different? Is it just because she’s a girl? He’s been preaching all season about how we shouldn’t treat her differently, but maybe seeing her hurt or upset got his instincts all screwed up.
Or could it be something more?
Silence stretches between us, thick and awkward. I don’t have the first fucking clue what to say or do, so I blurt out the only thing that comes to mind. “Want a coffee?” I sure as hell need one.
