I walk through the athletic building and down the hallway toward his office, pausing when I get to the open door. When he sees me standing there, he lifts a hand, waving me in.
“Shut the door behind you.”
Fuck.
I nod as I grasp the handle and pull the door shut before turning back to face him. I take a seat in the chair opposite him, my teeth clenched together, my knee bouncing with nervous energy.
He leans over his desk, placing his elbows on the tabletop as he stares at me, letting out a long, deep sigh.
“You know I don’t beat around the bush. I’m honest with my players, Cairney. It’s the only way I know how to be, how to run my team. I know this has been a big change for you, and I also know how talented you are. I just don’t know if it’s enough.”
My knuckles turn white as my fingers tighten around the arms of the chair. What the fuck is going on?
“I knew that it would take time for everyone to find a rhythm, to figure out how to mesh together, but it’s just not happening, Cairney. There’s still too big of a disconnect between you and theguys, and quite frankly I don’t know if I can fix it. I can preach it all day long, schedule team-building exercises, work on establishing trust and a bond, but if everyone’s not giving it all they’ve got, then what do we do next?” he says, chewing the inside of his lip when he pauses. I can tell he’s on edge about it judging by the tightness in his jaw and the tired look in his eyes. We’veallbeen wound tight about it, and he’s not telling me anything that I don’t already know.
I came here not giving a shit about letting anyone in, or get too close, but I guess… Coach is right. It’s not working on the pitch. I guess I have to work to build a relationship with them. To form some type of…trustwith them. I’ve just been keeping to myself and showing up because that’s what’s been expected, but now I realize that’s not enough.
I can’t give the bare minimum and expect them to give me anything but that in return.
He sighs again, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t force them, Cillian. If we can’t get you guys working together, communicating, being a team, then I have no choice but to remove you from the team.”
“Coach…” I start, and trail off when he lifts a hand, his expression softening slightly.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, son. Trust me, I do. But you know that me taking you on to my team midseason was a liability. One that I was willing to take because you’re one of the most talented players I’ve ever seen. I think you made some mistakes in London, and while I hope that you’ve left everything that was holding you back behind, I don’t know the future. But what I do know is that while I want this to work, and I want you to bea part of my team, it’s not fair to those guys either. They’ve been working their entire college career for a shot at the championship. At playing professionally. There’s a lot at stake, and jeopardizing the program while some of these guys have a year left is something I can’t let happen. Do you understand?”
After a beat, I nod, my white-knuckled grip on the armchair the only thing keeping me grounded. I want to tell himfuckfair, and that I don’t give a shit about these knobs who haven’t made a single bloody effort to make this shit work because they don’t want to, but I don’t. I stay quiet because it’s not going to do any good. And I know that this is a give and take. I’ve gotta give as much as they do.
“I’m not saying that you’re off the team. I’m saying that you need to put forth more of an effort to bond with these guys. Whatever it takes, I need you to do it. You used to lead your team in London, Cillian, and you were damn good at it from what I hear. You’re a leader. Not a follower. Make the effort, and make this work, or you’re going to force me to make a decision I really don’t want to have to make. Hell, maybe Rory was right, and we need to do more team-building exercises, I don’t know.”
More fucking obstacle courses?That’swhat he thinks the answer to this is? We’re better off being locked in a room to—
Wait.
My thoughts drift back to the other night at the party. The one my sister insisted she go to and because I wasn’t about to let her go alone, I ended up there with her and… Rory.
What if Coach Matthews was actually right all along, and the only real way for me to get in with these guys isher?
When he said that on the first day at the pitch, I had no clue what he meant, but now… I’m wondering if maybe he was right.
I don’t understand it, not by a long shot, but for whatever reason these guys trust her. They respect her. They go to her for advice. She’s clearly important to them. I’ve seen it with my own eyes these last few weeks.
Bloody hell, Rory St. Jamesmightjust be the answer.
For the next few days, I’m so swamped with homework and training that I’m barely keeping my head above water. All while still thinking about the conversation in Coach’s office, and the fact that I might not have a spot on the team for much longer.
Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn. I didn’t come this far to lose my shot at a professional career because I couldn’t play nice with these guys. I’m not the same guy I used to be. I’m better than this shit.
I’m losing my fucking head, and that’s got to be why I find myself crossing the indoor training pitch when I see Rory sitting on the lush green turf of the try lines, the tip of her pen caught between her plump lips as she stares down at the playbook that’s sprawled open in her lap.
She’s got her long dark hair pulled up in a high slicked-back ponytail and is wearing a tight pair of lavender leggings and a baggy T-shirt that swallows her small frame.
When I come to a stop in front of her, hauling my bag higher on my shoulder, she lifts her gaze from the book and peers up at me. Her cheeks are flushed red, like she’s just gotten out of a shower.
And my mind immediately imagines hot pelts of water turning her creamy, pale skin a feverish shade of red.
Maybe she showers in the locker rooms like we do.
Shit, now I’m thinking about her naked in the locker room while she’s nearly eye level with my dick.
