Page 54 of Mile High Coach
He looks confused, but I don’t have time to think about it, don’t have time to linger on what this might look like. We’re on the side of the arena that’s not open to the public, closer to the offices, but there are still tour groups wandering through, their heads snapping in our direction when they realize it’s Coach Harrison standing with us.
Reaching out for me.
“Lovie, just wait a second.” His hand lands on my sleeve gently, a plea. “We can talk this through.”
“There’s nothing to talk through,” I hiss, half under my breath, tears already threatening in my eyes. The back of mind—the one logical part of it I have left—is already making a plan for how to move forward.
I’ll go home with my dad and sister. I’ll find the money somewhere for the flights. Then, I’ll email Maya and apologize to her for this whole thing, ask for an extended break from being on-site over the holidays.
Given the current situation, I imagine they won’t mind me being away from Baltimore for a little while.
“Lovie.” When I finally meet his eyes, they’re deep blue, darker than I’ve ever seen them before. “There is a lot to talk about. This sucks, and I know that—but we can’t just let this thing go?—”
“There is no thing, Harrison. This was only ever an agreement.”
“You don’t mean that.” He crosses his arms, staring at me like I’m a player he knows he can get on the right path. “I know you’re scared, Lovie. But you don’t have to?—”
I feel Chrys scoot a little closer to me, her eyes darting between Harrison and I, confusion in the little wrinkle between her brows. She’s putting the pieces together, and the last thing I need right now is for my sister to find out what’s been going on between me and the coach.
When I lean closer to Harrison, he keeps his arms crossed, eyes darting over my face like he can figure out what I’m going to say before I say it. And maybe he can.
Keeping my voice as low as I possibly can, I whisper, “Section 2B, Harrison.”
Maybe I’d known, all those months ago, when I was writing the contract, that I would end up needing that section. He’s confused for a moment, then recognition registers, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already turning away.
I can’t stay here. I can’t keep looking at him, talking to him. Because if I talk with him about this, I’m going to let him convince me to stay, to take it back, forget about the contract altogether.
He’ll remind me that my feelings for him have been getting far, far too serious.
And I can’t afford to be in love with Harrison Clark.
Chapter 24
Harrison
When my alarm goes off, it feels like a missile piercing directly into the center of my soft, molten brain.
“Aw, fuck,” I mutter into the pillow, scrounging around on the ground by the couch with my left hand, trying to find the fucking phone that just won’t stop ringing. My skin sticks to the leather when I peel off of it, rolling onto the floor and finally finding the phone under the coffee table.
I jab the screen, turning off the offensive sound and letting my head thump back against the floor.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been on my back in the living room. Not even this week.
It’s been four and a half weeks since the last time I saw Lovie. Almost five weeks since she invoked that stupid fucking article from that stupid fucking contract that I never should have signed. Outside the windows of my loft, snow comes down heavily, and I already know without looking that it’s going to be the kind of icy, frozen snow that makes life a living hell.
The phone goes off again. Apparently, I snoozed it, rather than turning it off. And there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to go back to sleep now.
Not that I should be going back to sleep. I should be getting up, getting some pep in my step if I want to recover any small chance this team has of making it to the playoffs. Of getting anywhere close to the Stanley Cup.
Lovie has been doing her part. All the way from Maine, she analyzes the games and sends in her clinical, voiceless feedback. Admin is still happy with her performance, and has ignored my several suggestions that she would do her job much better from here rather than back in Maine.
All that did was earn me a couple of sly looks—and suddenly I wanted to lay out all the fuckers in that room for implying what they did.
Do I miss her body? Every second.
But I misshermore. The sound of her breathing when she fell asleep next to me. Her laughter out on the ice, realizing she could keep her balance without me. The joy on her face when I admitted to her that she was doing something, that her efforts really were having an effect on the Blue Crabs.
The building feels empty and lifeless without her here, like the brick walls around me have lost some of their warmth.
