“What are you doing here?” I ask her, linking our hands together as I sit in the chair next to hers.
Maggie shrugs. “I’m worried about you. I think you should tell Uncle Hudson what’s going on.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “I’m worried as hell, and if keeping you and the Nugget safe means calling in reinforcements, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Jesus, JT, what the hell’s going on?” Coach has shifted back into big bro mode and though there’s still shit we’ll need to sort through, I’m too desperate not to come clean.
“Curt got early parole. He’s pissed as hell and wants whathe thinks I owe him. I was dodging his calls, hoping he’d take the hint, but that’s not how my family rolls. Anyway, shit hit the fan last night. He came to our place and wanted to talk. He knows who Maggie is and that we’re having a baby.”
“Shit,” Coach mutters. “Alright, well?—”
“He’s gonna bet on the game. He wants me to choke so he can win big since we’re favored. Obviously,” I say, cutting Coach off before he loses his shit, “I’m not even considering fucking with the game. But he threatened to fuck up my career, to make it look like I was mugged. And he threatened Maggie. That shit can’t stand, Coach. There’s gotta be something I can do, but you know as well as I do that if cops show up at his door, things are not gonna end well for me.”
Coach nods decisively. “I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t understand. He’s?—”
“I said I’ll take care of it, and I will. You have my word, both of you. Granted, that may not mean much right now, but I promise, I’ve got it. You,” he says, looking at Maggie, “take care of yourself and that baby. And you,” Coach says, his eyes trained on me, “take care of your girlfriend and the child she’s carrying. And make sure you’re on time for practice. We’ve got work to do before this weekend.”
“I can’t let you take care of this, Coach. I just need your advice. It’s not your job to protect me from my fucked up family or my past mistakes.”
‘That’s where you’re wrong. My role as your Coach, as your friend, as your family is exactly that—to look out for you. I’ve done a shit job of it lately, so let me earn my keep, ok? I’ve got this. Your job is to play your best goddamn game. My job is to drown out all the noise so you can do that.”
For a minute, I just close my eyes. My fingers are still linked with Maggie’s and her touch grounds me. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, I can take a good, deep breath.
I stand up and reach for Maggie, helping her out of thedeep, cushiony chair. She loops one arm around my waist and positions the other on her lower back. Placing a kiss on the top of her head, I breathe in the scent of her and promise myself I’ll wait until we get outside to pull her close and kiss the hell out of her.
“JT,” Coach calls, “one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
Coach looks me over like he can see me innermost thoughts. I hope like hell he can’t for both our sakes. “Whatever harebrained, half-assed scheme your boys are cooking up?”
I make a face of disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
Coach doesn’t buy it. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Call them off. Ollie or Dean orJesus…Mickey.
I don’t say a word, but when Coach utters Mickey’s name, I can’t look him in the eye.
Coach runs a hand through his hair. “Sweet fucking hell. Call it off. You got me?”
“Loud and clear, Coach,” I say, taking Maggie’s hand and sending up a prayer that Mickey hasn’t gone full vigilante quite yet.
CHAPTER 44
JT
What wasit Coach said the other day? My job is just to play the game. As simple as it sounds, he’s probably right. I have to put my faith in my training and my teammates and in the man who got us here for the second year in a row.
I have to shut out all the noise and just play.
Nothing to it, right?
Tell that to the big fucker from St. Sebastian who’s decided to merge hockey and wrestling into one fucked up sport where the refs don’t call shit.
Yeah, I’m having a blast out here while this brute plays dirty so his teammates can slip one past me.
Well, they can try.
