Page 102 of The Defender
One step. Two steps. Three?—
“Where’d you go after the gala?” The voice emanated from the darkness like a visitor from the depths of hell.
“Jesus!” I startled, my adrenaline spiking.
I searched the living room until my eyes adjusted enough to make out the familiar shapes of the furniture. Coach sat on the sofa, his burly frame unmistakable. I couldn’t see his exact expression, but the crossed arms and suspicious question gave me a small hint as to how he felt.
It reminded me of when my father would wait up to yell at me every time I stayed out past curfew.
“Coach.” I ironed the wrinkles of trepidation out of my voice. “You’re up late.”
“I was worried about you, given your intruder situation.”
My shoulders relaxed an inch. “I’m?—”
“I was also worried because Brooklyn hasn’t answered any of my calls since the event, which is unusual.” A heavy pause. “You don’t happen to know why, do you?”
My muscles tensed right back up. It took every ounce of willpower not to picture what Brooklyn and I had been doing an hour ago. People couldn’t read minds, but I was convinced Coach could somehow reach into my brain and squeeze out every filthy thought I’d ever had.
“She’s probably sleeping.” Technically not a lie. “The event ended pretty late.”
Coach stood up and walked toward me. A sliver of moonlight peeked through the window on the front door, illuminating his expression.
I expected him to look angry, which he did. But he also looked tired and a little defeated, like he’d been fighting a battle that’d lasted far longer than he thought it would.
I didn’t back down, not even when he stopped a foot away from me. He wore the same suit he had on at the gala, but he’d swapped out his trainers for slippers. The sight would’ve been hilarious were I not drenched in cold sweat. “Now that it’s just us, do you want to tell me the truth about why she bid on you at the auction?” he asked, his voice neutral.
Indecision warred inside me. I didn’t want to say anything before Brooklyn got a chance to tell him herself, but they weren’t on the best of terms. She might never tell him, and if she did, I could imagine their conversation devolving into cold war. They seemed to know just how to push the other’s buttons.
“I didn’t know she was going to bid on me.” I settled on a mild version of the truth. “As for her reasons, she can tell you better than I can.”
Coach’s mouth tightened. I could practically see an inner war waging as he decided whether he wanted to grill me further or if he wanted to live in blissful ignorance.
“You’re both adults,” he finally said. “But she’s my only child. She doesn’t think I’ve been…present enough in her life, and she may be right. However, if there’s anything going on that could affect either of your careers”—his glare drilled into me—“I need to know immediately. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get some rest. We have our morning run at five sharp.”
I’d hoped he would forget about the run since he was up late as well, but I guess that was too much to ask.
I headed for the stairs, but the night’s events kept churning in my head.
The auction. Brooklyn’s bid. Coach’s interrogation. Her flat and how fuckinggoodit felt to give into our feelings fully and be with each other.
But as long as we kept it a secret from her dad, we could never be together in the open. What were we really afraid of anyway? She was only an employee at Blackcastle for two more weeks, which negated the club’s anti-fraternization policy. It wasn’t like they could fire her.
Coach would definitely lose his shit over me dating his daughter. Maybe he was overcompensating for the fact that he hadn’t been a big part of her life growing up, but he seemed particularly protective of her when it came to her love life.
If he found out about us, he could punish me with tougher drills, which I could deal with, or he could ice me out.
I didn’t want that. I respected him, and I’d come to see him as a second dad. But I also knew he wasn’t going to come after me in a way that would affect our performance. He loved Blackcastle too much, and he wouldn’t trade or bench me out of spite.
Even if he did, I’d tell him the truth anyway because if I had to choose between being with Brooklyn and staying on Coach’s good side, I’d pick her. Every time, over anything.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the revelation unraveling in my gut.
I could wait until the morning to tell Coach, or I could suck it up and do it now. It wouldn’t make a difference. A few hours of sleep wouldn’t change how I felt about her or our relationship.
