"Sit down, Barnes."
I lower myself into the chair across from his desk, hands resting on my knees. The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. I wait for him to speak first.
He finally straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm going to ask you one question, and I want the truth. Are you involved with my daughter?"
There it is. The direct hit I've been expecting. He already knows so there’s no point in lying about it.
"Yes." The word hangs in the air between us.
His jaw tightens. "You son of a bitch."
"Coach—"
"No." He cuts me off with a slashing motion of his hand. "You don't get to speak yet. You don't get to explain or try to spin this. You sit there and you listen."
I close my mouth, waiting.
"I brought you back to this team against my better judgment. Against the advice of most of my staff. You know why?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Because you have talent. Because I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd finally grown up enough to put that talent to good use and stop causing so many problems."
He starts pacing behind his desk, energy radiating off him in waves.
"Instead, I find out you've been sleeping with my daughter." He spits the words like they taste foul. "Do you have any idea what kind of position you've put her in? What this could do to her career?"
"I never meant for this to happen," I say quietly.
"Bullshit." Coach stops pacing to glare at me. "You're Nate Barnes. This is what you do. You take what you want without thinking about the consequences."
The accusation stings, mostly because there's truth in it. That was me—before Elena.
"It's not like that," I say, fighting to keep my voice level. "Not with Elena."
"Oh? Then what is it like?" His tone is mocking. "You're in love with her? You want to settle down and be a one-woman man? Please…"
"Maybe I do." The words come out stronger than I intended, surprising us both.
Coach laughs. "You expect me to believe that? Your reputation precedes you, Barnes. You don't commit to anything—not teams, not relationships, not even your own potential."
"People can change," I say.
"Sure they can. But not overnight. And not you." He leans forward again, eyes narrowed. "I know men like you, Barnes. I've coached dozens of them. You're charming, you're talented, and you only think about yourself. Whatever you think you feel for my daughter? It won't last. But the damage to her career? That could be permanent."
His words echo what Elena said in her office—what she told me her father had said to her.
"You're wrong about me," I say, standing now, unable to sit still any longer. "And you're wrong about what I feel for Elena."
"Am I?" He rounds the desk, stepping closer, invading my space. "Then tell me this—did you think about her career before you started sleeping with her? Did you consider what it would do to her professional reputation?"
The guilt rises in my throat. Because no, I didn't think of those things—not at first. Not until it was too late.
"That's what I thought." Coach reads my silence accurately. "You didn't think about her at all. Just about what you wanted."
"That's not fair," I say, anger starting to simmer beneath my guilt. "You don't know everything about us."
"I know enough." His voice rises slightly. "I know my daughter is devastated. I know she's risking everything because of you. And I know all about your past, Barnes. How many women have you gone through? How many hearts have you broken without a second thought?"
"Elena's different," I insist, hands clenching into fists at my sides. "What we have is different."
"Let me make something perfectly clear." He steps even closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, so similar to Elena's. "My daughter is not going to be another notch on your bedpost. She is not going to throw away everything she's worked for because you decided to add 'team psychologist' to your conquest list."
