“… a bag of pucks, at least, Sal …”
“... it’s MY fucking team, and …”
Before someone spotted me eavesdropping, I knocked. Killer answered a moment later.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I asked, a loaded question if ever there was one.
He ushered me in. “Have a seat, Dak.”
I entered Killer’s office, the familiar scent of leather in the air. Mr. Capuano stood nearby, arms folded and his presence imposing. The tension in the room was palpable as I took my seat across from Killer at his desk. The creak of the chair as I settled into it was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.
As soon as I sat, Mr. Capuano began to pace restlessly behind me, his presence looming over me like a dark cloud. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my skull, his disapproval and disappointment drilling into my very being.
Killer, ever the professional, cleared his throat and calmly got down to business as if Mr. Capuano wasn’t suffocating the room with his anger.
“Dak, we need to discuss some recent events,” he said, sounding composed.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“At the beginning of the off-season, we laid out our off-season expectations for you.”
“Yes, Coach. And I hope you can see I took my training this summer seriously. I feel great out there.”
Mr. Capuano’s footsteps grew heavier, wearing into the carpet.
“I speak for the entire coaching staff when I say, we noticed.” Killer struggled with a smile that tried to spread. “We wereveryhappy with your performance out there today, Dak.”
I couldn’t help but grin, too. “Thank you, Coach.”
Mr. Capuano couldn’t hold back his disdain any longer. “Oh, stop sucking the kid off already, Dean,” he groused. “He didn’t fucking do what he said he’d do.”
I didn’t hesitate to defend myself. “Yes, I did. Ask Parker if you don’t believe me. I didn’t miss a single day.”
“Did you have any alcoholic drinks?” Killer asked.
“Not one,” I said proudly.
Killer shot a glance at Mr. Capuano as if to say,Well? What more do you want?
Mr. Capuano neared, his face inches from mine, the overwhelming heat of his body radiating against mine.
“And how about women?” he demanded in a low and intimidating voice. “Did you fuck any women?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Capuano—”
“My daughter, maybe?!” Mr. Capuano yelled, smashing his fist on the wooden desk. “Of all the women in this fucking city, you had to fuckmydaughter?”
“—with all due respect, sir, it’s no secret that I’ve been dating Ottavia. You knew that months ago when we met for dinner.”
He let out a sharp laugh. “With all due respect toyou,kid, you don’t have the slightest clue what I know or don’t know.” His tone suddenly changed, and his friendly smile unnerved me. “But I’m curious, Dakota. Where did you meet Ottavia, anyway?”
“Well. Ah.” I shifted in my seat. “At a bar, I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh yeah? Pretty sure, huh. And when was this, this meeting at a bar, exactly?”
“Oh, something like five or six months ago, I think?”
“Liar,” he roared. “You’ve been lying to my face from the beginning and you’restillblowing smoke up my ass. Don’t you get it yet, dumb fuck? I’m not some clueless moron off the street. I’m Salvatore Capuano. Your owner.” He jammed his thick finger into my sternum. “Get that? Iownyou.Idecide your fate. Not him”—he gestured over his shoulder at Killer. “Me. No one else.”
