Page 78 of Sexting the Coach
“I never should have said those things to you, Elsie. And I regret it every day. I’ve missed you.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“More like, I hated myself.”
Silence settles, and I’m surprised when I’m the one to break it. “I don’t want to do sports PT.”
“Okay.”
“I think I’m doing it because I couldn’t help you, so it’s like…repayment. Trying to make up for what I did.”
“It was an accident. You don’t owe anyone, Elsie.”
“I’m realizing that, now.” I suck in a sharp, quick breath, then look back up at Drew. “Also, I’m pregnant.”
He blinks, his eyes going wide, and when I open my mouth to say more, he holds up his hand. “Hold on, one second,” he starts to rise up from the couch. “I’m going to need more tea before we have this conversation.”
Chapter 34
Weston
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You have eyes, Meyers. Figure it out.”
“That’s no way to talk to your boss.”
I look up from the box that I’m currently filling with my hockey books, raising an eyebrow in Karlee Meyer’s direction.
My office is littered with half-packed boxes, the result of an hour of work. Sunlight streams in through the window. It’s chilly and muggy—San Francisco’s trademark winter—but I have the window open, anyway. It’s like my anger has increased my body temperature and keeping it freezing is the only way I don’t get worked up all over again.
I got here before the sun came up after a long, sleepless night.
Back when I was going through my divorce with Leda, I’d met with a counselor who did a lot of comforting through facts. That many people perceive break-ups similarly to the loss of a loved one, because the process really is grief.
I think she assumed I needed the validation for my feelings. That the reason I was so numb in her office was because I was holding back, rather than the truth that I’d fallen out of love with Leda long before the divorce came.
But her words came back to me last night, when my entire body was throbbing with unimaginable pain. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t handle the anger coiling up inside me, tight and hot, like a turnkey on a wind-up toy.
It was grief. The first day after the loss of Elsie, and I knew what I should have been feeling all those years ago, when going through the divorce. I should have beenmourningLeda, and that fact that I didn’t really justified the separation after all.
This morning, when the first rays of light shone through my windows, I realized that in my big, turn-in-the-badge moment yesterday I hadn’t taken time to get my things. Luckily, the security guard recognized me and let me in without question.
The Squids hadn’t taken me off the staff registry. Just like they said they wouldn’t. Whatever—they can keep me on the list, but that’s not going to stop me from quitting this stupid, fucking job.
I don’t know what made me think I’d make a good coach in the first place. It’s not even like I was a decent player, let alone that I could lead all these guys. Set a good example.
My marriage fell apart, my family is practically non-existent, and I fell in love with a girl half my fucking age the first chance I got. Sent her running the first time I dared to get close, then followed after her and tried to get her again, only for her to turn me down a second time.
Fucking embarrassing.
“Not my boss anymore, Meyer,” I say, knowing my voice is impossibly bitter. “Or are you not familiar with the wordresignation?”
“You can’t resign,” Karlee says, crossing her arms and staring me down. The look of a woman who’s used to getting what she wants with a strong word. Well, too bad. “It’s the middle of the season. The team is headed to the Stanley Cup, because of you. They need you.”
“They’ll be just fine. They can have Fincher.” Fincher. I can’t even think his name without fury rising up inside me so potent that I could choke on it. He’s the one who took that video—I know he was. Turning away from her, I reach for a little trophy—MVP something or other—to tuck it into the box, too. “I only barely got the job over him, anyway.”
Karlee snorts, and when I glance up at her, she’s shaking her head and looking at me with a mix of disgust and pity. “You wanna talk frank, Wolfe? Then let’s talk about it, even though it’s not professional and I’m really not supposed to be discussing it with you.”
