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Chapter Twenty-Three

Atlas

"This is some bullshit," Storm said.

He gripped on to the steering wheel of his SUV so tight his knuckles were white.

"Yeah." I couldn't disagree with that statement. "We did what we had to do, though."

"It sucked," he growled. "He was a good man. A good fucking coach. Who are we going to get now, some prick from the Devils? Someone who thinks the sun shines out of his own ass? Someone who got his head up there so hard, he hasn't seen daylight for fuck knows how long?"

"None of the coaches we had were that bad," I argued.

"If they're on Dominic King's side, they're bad," he insisted. "If he thinks what we just did is okay, then he's bad."

"I know it sucked, but you have to put a lid on it," I said. "We need them to think we're on their side."

He glanced over to me, then back to the road. "Aren't we? Have you been paying attention for the last few hours? Were you there for what we just did?"

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna get hysterical over it," I said evenly. "It was what it was."

"I'm not hysterical," he snapped. "Don't give me that greater good bullshit, either. It wasn't good for any of us, or the team."

"In the long run it will be," I said. "Look, I get it, you're pissed off. I didn't enjoy it either. For the rest of my life, I'm going to see the expression on his face. Nothing we ever do is going to make it up to him or his family. All we can do is keep on keeping on."

"It's easy for you to say, you've done shit like that before," he said.

"I promise you, it doesn't get easier each time," I said. "It gets harder. Do you think I enjoyed looking Coach Stanley in the eyes and doing that? I didn't. Frost and Dallas, they might have, but not me."

"We could have brought them along to make it easier," Storm said.

"We agreed the more of us that were involved in this, the harder it would be to hide it," I said. "It doesn't matter now; it's done. Yes, we probably will get someone from the Devils. Get used to the idea now, so you don't open your mouth at the wrong time. I don't want to end up dead because you can't contain your shit."

"I can contain my shit," he argued. "If you can contain yours."

"I have a locked box in the back of my brain for my shit," I said. I let out a long, slow breath and looked out the window, watching the dark landscape slide by. "We have to act like nothing's changed between us."

"Nothing has," he said. He shifted his position in the seat and cleared his throat.

"We both know that's not true," I said. "We haven't called each other an asshole for at least an hour."

"Asshole," he said immediately. "Just reminding myself how it felt."

I snorted. "I don't hate you." After a moment I added, "Asshole."

"Of course you do," he said. "Anyone with half a brain hates me. Including myself."

"You should give yourself some credit," I said. "You're not that bad. Bad, but not that bad." I couldn't resist the dig.

"You too, prick," he replied.

"Remind me why we got stuck doing this again?"

"Because the others are watching out for Chelsea," I said.

"And because we both wanted to spare them from what we did tonight. Frost and Dallas, they enjoy killing, but this was different. Personal."

"Yeah, nothing says personal like taking your head coach out to a remote location and dealing with him," Storm said.

His voice broke on the last couple of words.

"Like I said, this is some bullshit."

"And we can't talk about it," I reminded him. "Not to the other guys or even Chelsea. The less they know about what we did, the better. Then they don't have to lie."

They could handle themselves, but they didn't have to in this situation. We'd save them from that much.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Was this some kind of team bonding thing?" he asked.

"You could have brought Jay with you. He would have dealt with it."

"I didn't want him to have to," I said. "And I'm not sure he would have. I knew you would."

"Because I'm an asshole," he concluded.

"Because you're a badass," I said.

"But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it. The official story is, you're a heartless prick who wouldn't care what happened to his head coach."

"That's not true," he said, his voice smaller than I ever heard before.

"I know that," I said.

"I think you put on an act. You want everyone to think Storm Keller, fullback, is bullet-proof and gives no shits about anyone but himself. But underneath, you're the same as the rest of us. You have feelings and shit like that."

"Maybe I do." He shrugged one shoulder, making the car veer slightly. He straightened up and pressed his lips together, his focus back on the road. "I fucking hate what we did. I want to walk into Dominic King's office and wrap my hands around his throat. Then I want to drag Otis Skinner under the water and hold them there for approximately an hour. And everyone else who has anything to do with this crap. You know what?"

"What?" I raised my eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Things were easier when I didn't know anything about this mafia stuff," he said. "My life was all about footy, fucking Chelsea and hanging out with Frosty. Now, I feel like we're some weird version of the Blues Brothers. We'll get home and find horse heads in our beds."

"I think you might be mixing your movies, but I get your point," I said. "A few weeks ago, you wouldn't have been driving down the highway in the middle of the night, back to Dusk Bay. You would have been at home, watching a movie or seeing how many times you could make our woman come before she couldn't take anymore."

"Exactly," he said with a grunt. "How did we end up here?"

"I think it was something to do with Frost strangling Ivy," I said. "But the minute you got together with Chelsea, at least some of this was inevitable. She denies it, but this is her world. This is mine, now it's yours. I don't think you're planning to walk away from it, are you?"

"I'm not walking away from her," he agreed. "If this is the shit that has to happen, then I guess…" He shook his head. "This is fucked up."

"It is, but we can deal with it," I said.

He barked a laugh. "It's not like we have a choice. Not now. We're in it up to our balls. Our eyeballs, just to be clear."

"Whatever balls you want to bring into the conversation, we're in it up to them," I said.

"If we weren't, Chelsea might have had to do this herself. I wouldn't wish that on her. Would you?"

"Hell no," he said immediately.

"She'd never forgive herself."

I wasn't sure if that was completely true, but close enough. She was more of a badass than she gave herself credit for. She'd do whatever was necessary, then she'd move on. Like she had from handing Belinda Simmons to her brother to keep everyone from finding out she used to be a stripper. She did it because she had to. When it came down to it, remorse was no use at the best of times. Especially not once the woman was dead.

"Lucky she has us to do that dirty work for her," I said."

"Is that what we are now?" he asked. "Dirty deeds done dirt cheap by Dusk Bay dudes?"

"That can be our tagline," I said. "We could have a van with that down the side." I held up my hands to mime a wide sticker. "Dusk Bay dudes, doing dirty deeds since… Something beginning with D."

He snorted a laugh. "Dusk Bay dickheads, more like it. Dragged into dirty deeds despite demselves."

"To save damsels," I added. "From distress."

"Dat's about right." He nodded, but was trying to hold back a laugh.

"If you're not careful, I'm going to understand what the others see in you," I said. "Not physically; you might be much less of an asshole than I first thought."

"No, I'm as big an asshole as you thought," he said. "I'm just fucking funny sometimes. Don't tell anyone, I don't want them to get some weird expectations about me."

"I won't say a word," I said. He was definitely not that bad, but if he wanted to go on believing he was, there wasn't much I could say to convince him otherwise.

"Good. If you don't, neither will I." He took a breath in through his nose, and out again before he spoke again. "You might not be as bad as I thought you were either. I'm not saying we're gonna be best friends or anything, but I guess I can tolerate you."

"I'm flattered," I said ironically. "All my life, I wanted to be tolerable."

"It's not much of a goal, but congratulations on reaching it," he deadpanned.

"Thanks, I think." I frowned at him and shook my head. Calling a truce with him was a relief. I hoped we could make it last. For all of our sakes.