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He scoffs with disdain. “I have a suite.”
“Perfect. Now is the time to go there.”
I turn my back on the tyrant and direct my attention to my captain, who, for once, is speechless. His wide eyes follow his father as he leaves and slams the door.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” His words are rushed, barely above a whisper, his face flushed.
I’m not afraid of Jackson, and I’m certainly not afraid of his father. I didn’t make it this far by being a coward. Something is off about this situation, and I’m not about to let it go.
Reaching out, I clasp his tense shoulder.
He bats my hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Yeah, something is very wrong.
I drop my hands to my sides. “Here’s a piece of advice. Set your boundaries and cut off his access to you until he learns to respect them. You’re a big boy now, and if you want that,” I gesture to his shrine of Aurora, “you need to grow up and dump the toxic baggage. You can’t keep a girl like that by being an asshole, and we both know I’m not talking about her physical appearance.”
FOURTEEN
JACKSON
Ethan Blackwood isour head coach and a giant fucking prick. He’s controlling and arrogant and on my dick twenty-four-seven. He tells me where to be and when. He tells me what I can and can’t put in my body. He has turned the entire organization against me, firing whoever doesn’t follow hisruleswhere I’m concerned. He fired most of the training staff, including the head doctor, for giving me an IV.
A fucking IV.
For hydration.
So what if I came to practice hungover? I’ve done it a million times. He’s lucky I’m not drunk or high.
I toss my helmet into my cubby. It hits the wall and bounces onto the locker room floor.
“Pick it up,” demands the asshole.
I yank my jersey over my head. “Fuck you.”
“The staff shouldn’t have to clean up after you. You’re not a fucking child. You’re a grown-ass adult.” He steps closer, a vein bulging in his neck. “You wanna play on my team? Pick. It. Up.”
I don’t. I turn and face him, sick of this fucking dictatorship. One controlling bastard in my life is enough. “I didn’t choose to be onyourteam. You weren’t the coach when I signed my contract.”
“I’ve read your contract. Nowhere does it say you’re free to show up drunk, hungover, or use substances. In fact, there are stipulations against it. So you can pick up that helmet, go home, and get your shit together, or I’ll drug test you.”
I scoff. “You think I haven’t tested positive before?”
“I’m sure you have, and everyone who swept it under the rug has been removed from this team. There’s no place for that shit here. I’ll submit your positive drug test myself and suspend you without pay. What will Daddy think about that?”
I step into him, fists clenched and my body quaking with fury. “Fuck you.”
He doesn’t back down. If anything, he stands taller. “Say it again, and you’ll sit the bench.”
“Do you want this team to lose? Because that’s exactly what will happen if I don’t play.”
He shakes his head, an expression of pity on his face that I absolutely despise.
“Winning isn’t everything. Your life and health are more important than a few goals. And if you haven’t noticed, this team hasn’t made it past the first round of the playoffs since your rookie year. So tell me, Jackson, how are you improving this team? Each year, your performance declines.”
Shame and rage ignite. I pick up the helmet and slam it into his chest. “Fuck you and your team.”
He doesn’t even flinch. He lets the helmet fall to the floor, skewering me with his death glare. “Go home and sleep. Be back here tonight at seven.”