Page 1 of Coach's Assist
CHAPTER1
Damien
My skull was pounding,and if I moved my head too quickly, the court would spin around me, making my stomach slosh and sending me off kilter. I was one hundred percent off my game tonight, and I knew Coach Hayes could tell, but Irefusedto sit out a single game when we were in the playoffs.
It was March Madness, the most important time of the season, and I was determined to get us to the final four and bring the championship home my senior year of college. I would be graduating in a couple of months, and we’d come close every year since I started playing to win the championship, but we always fell short.
Not this fucking year. I wouldnotallow it to happen.
Especially when I was hoping to use the championship win to butter Coach Hayes up and soften him so I couldmaybecome on to him. The man was all about following the rules and could be a damn hard ass. Despite his strict discipline and his refusal to veer from the rules, which included absolutelynofraternizing between coaches and players, it didn’t stop him from staring at me a few seconds too longeverygame,everypractice, andevery fucking timewe were in the locker room when he was giving the team a pep talk while we changed or showered.
And fuck, if the way his intense gaze raked over me didn’t make me hard every damn time… I was so fucking gone for him.
I reached out to catch the ball my teammate passed to me, but I moved my head too fast. My equilibrium was instantly destabilized, and my feet shot out from under me. My stomach sloshed, and vomit rose up my esophagus. I vaguely realized I was throwing up on myself before I hit the court so hard, my head bounced off the floor and I promptly knocked myself out.
* * *
When I came to, I felt like absolute shit. My head hurt worse than it had all day, my mouth tasted like stomach acid and the tacos I’d had for lunch, and I was so fuckingcold. I shivered and rolled to my side, slowly dragging my swollen eyes open to take in the room around me.
I was in the trainer’s office.Shit.
Coach Hayes was standing near the door, his back leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring at me as if I’d personally offended him. I grimaced. “Hi, Coach,” I rasped. Then, I coughed becausefuck, my throat hurt.
Jett’s dark eyes flared with anger. Why did he have to look so hot when he was angry? “How long have you been sick?” he demanded.
I winced. “Just started this morning,” I admitted. “I thought I’d be fine. Thought I could get through this game, and then, I could rest for the next three days until our next one.”
“You thoughtwrong,” he snapped at me. “You have COVID, Damien.” I groaned. Fucking COVID. “Now, the whole team has to be tested, and you need to quarantine until your results show negative.”
“Quarantine?” I rasped, shaking my head, groaning after. I struggled into a sitting position. Jett instantly moved forward to help me, his massive, calloused hands firm and strong on my upper arms. I shivered again, this time because of how good it felt when he touched me. With a grunt, Coach Hayes began peeling his hoodie off, revealing a sliver of his flat, hairy stomach before his shirt fell back down. He thrust the hoodie at me.
“Put it on,” he ordered when I slowly took the offered article of clothing from him. “And yes, Damien. Quarantine. You willnotbe playing again or practicing until your results are negative and a doctor has cleared you.”
“I can’t do that,” I protested as I tugged his hoodie over my head. Once I had it on, I rested, panting. My chest ached, and I was sweating. Just tugging that over my head felt like I was running a marathon. “It’s March Madness. I have to play, Jett. The team needs me. We can’t afford the loss of a player right now. Especially me.”
“You’re no good to us out there if you’re sick and can’t function, Damien,” Jett snapped at me. “You knocked yourself out coldandchoked on your own vomit. You scared the whole fucking team. Even the opposing team was rushing to your aid. You weren’t responding to anyone.” He truly sounded afraid, and the worry in his eyes lit me up inside. “So yes. Until a doctor clears you, you arenotplaying. Your health and well-being are not worth a fucking championship title.”
“Coach—” I tried again, hating how raspy and weak my voice sounded because itdefinitelywasn’t helping me plead my case.
“No,” he snapped at me. “End of discussion, Damien. You’ll stay with your roommate until you’re better in case you have another fainting episode.”
I frowned. “Roommate?” I had a roommate now? When did I get a roommate?
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did he have to look so hot when he was so put out with me?
“Yes, Damien. Your roommate.”
I shook my head, then groaned, reaching up to hold my head. “I don’t have a roommate.Christ, my head hurts,” I moaned.
Jett was there instantly, his hands cradling my skull to tilt my head back to look up at him. “What’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten, Damien?”
“A seven? Eight, maybe,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. God, it felt so good when he was touching me like this.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slowly releasing me. “I’ll get the trainer to bring you some pain meds. In the meantime, do you have anyone you can call to take you home?”
I sighed, keeping my eyes closed. “No,” I muttered. Mom and Dad hadn’t bothered to keep in contact with me after I left for college. They wanted me to go to Harvard so I could follow in Dad’s footsteps and become an attorney. The thought of being a lawyer made me sick to my stomach considering I knew the kind of people he defended.
Basketball was my passion, so when I was offered a full ride to play at Rustin University in South Carolina, a school with one of the best basketball teams in the nation, I took the opportunity with both hands and ran with it. As long as I kept my grades up, which was no difficult feat, the school covered my tuition, room and board, and I got an allowance for food every month.
