Page 93 of ICED
He waits.
I wait.
The silence stretches so long it makes the walls feel smaller.
Then he says, “Fifteen minutes late, Jackson.” His tone’s even, but I know it. That’s not calm. That’s coiled.
I shift on my feet. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Not like you,” he says simply. “You’re reliable. Quiet. Early. So, what’s going on?”
I swallow, jaw tight. “Just a rough morning.”
“Yeah?” He steps around the desk, face still blank. “Funny, rough mornings usually don’t make a man skate like he’s ready to kill something.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t want to say it. Don’t want to throw Maya’s name into this, not in a place full of spreadsheets and power plays.
But Coach Bentley doesn’t blink or move, he just waits.
“There was… an incident,” I say finally. “Early this morning. My girl’s house alarm went off. Again.”
His eyebrows lift a millimetre. “Second time in what…two weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Police involved?”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t call them. Thought it might be another fault.”
“What about you?” he repeats, slow. “You don’tlooklike a man who thought it was nothing. You look like a man who hasn’t slept.”
I don’t say anything. I Can’t. Because he’s right. It wasn’t nothing.
My gut’s been turning since I got to Maya’s flat at half two this morning. Something about how fast Maya went quiet. How Lila asked that question without flinching.
Coach watches me like he’s reading a scouting report. “This about that woman from the bakery, her kid?”
I meet his eyes. “Yeah.”
“You protecting them?”
“Trying.”
He nods once. Then again, slower. Paces a few steps. Runs a hand over his stubble like it helps him think. “Look, I’m not asking for your business, Jacko. But whatever this is? It’s bleeding into your game. Into the room. You’ve got rookies looking at you like you’re about to snap a stick over someone’s head.”
I blink. “I didn’t realise,”
“That’s the thing. You didn’t.” He pauses, lets it land. “You’ve earned a lot of rope here. More than most. But if something’s going on,reallygoing on, you need to handle it. Clean. Smart. Or it’ll bite you, and them, and maybe the team too.”
My fingers curl at my sides. “I’m handling it.”
“Are you?” His voice isn’t unkind, but it cuts deep. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like a man who knows something’s wrong but doesn’t have proof. And that’s a dangerous place to live.”
He’s right again. I hate that he’s right. I’m running on instinct. Fear. Fury.
And not a scrap of evidence.
Coach sighs and moves back behind the desk. “You wantto miss practice again, you text. Don’t make me chase you. Clear?”
