Page 21 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)
A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL
CREW
C onvincing Coach Lawson to let his daughter exploit the hockey team—even though it’s for the greater good—seems like a terrible endeavor that will either result in him laughing in my face or his daughter screaming in mine. And I don’t know who is more terrifying.
I slowly creak open the door to his office, peeking around the corner like I’ll be shot on command.
I shouldn’t be this nervous. Coach and I are…
cool . Yeah, we’re cool. Except I’m keeping a gigantic secret from him that would cause a world war if he were to ever find out.
Not only that, but I’d lose his trust, his respect, everything .
I feel so bad lying to him, but technically, I didn’t know who Merit was when I slept with her.
So I can’t really be to blame here, right?
No, Crew. You’re still very much to blame.
Coach glances up from his stack of paperwork, his lips stretched into a welcoming smile. “Crew, what brings you by on a Sunday?”
This is a trap. I don’t know how, but it is.
Anxiety is fast-acting as it buffs down my confidence, reducing it to a sad, pathetic pile of sawdust. Even though Coach is wearing glasses—and should therefore look a lot less intimidating—his eyes are still as unnerving as always.
I’m looking into stygian waters devoid of light, harboring some of the deadliest ambush predators known to mankind, concealed under the guise of floating, algae-covered driftwood.
The words dissolve on my tongue. “Oh, I?—”
“You played your ass off last night, son. You whipped those guys into shape, and the work paid off. I have a great feeling about this season,” Coach interrupts, that burred voice of his rich with pride.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You keep playing like that every week, and the Mustangs have a real shot of winning the Frozen Four.”
The Frozen Four. Right. Collegiate hockey’s version of the Stanley Cup. That should be the end goal, right? That should be what I’m focused on.
But it’s not.
Okay, just come out and say it, Crew. But don’t act like you’re really into this idea. Just remember, this is in the team’s best interest—not yours.
With perspiration leaking out of every orifice and my lukewarm lunch slinging back up my esophagus, I pray to whoever’s listening that Coach Lawson won’t shiv me in his office for suggesting something that his own daughter couldn’t even sell to him.
I know I acted like I was top dog and ran things around here, but Coach has the final say.
“Listen, Coach. Um…” I place my hand down on his desk so I can lean on it, but the accumulation of sweat has me sliding.
“It was brought to my attention that MU is focusing their efforts on raising money for inner-city schools to have access to hockey programs—which I think is a great idea—and I just thought that maybe the Mustangs could help out. You know, give back to the community and all.”
That sounded…convincing. I think. I mean, if he rejects the pr oposal at this point, maybe he doesn’t have the kids’ best interests at heart.
I know what it’s like to be one of those kids—to have a passion for something that isn’t affordable.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without hockey.
It’s an outlet for me to process negative emotions without having to scribble on an intake form.
And you can bet your ass that there are millions of children in the world looking for that kind of escape—most of whom are constrained by their finances.
Coach sighs, removing his glasses as a tangible sadness slashes across his face. “You’re not the first person to bring this up.”
Yikes. Keep calm, Crew. It doesn’t mean he’s onto you.
Awkward silence smothers the distilled air, and my nerves triple in the sweet time it takes for him to ponder my proposition. My telltale heart is practically yelling, “THIS GUY IS A FILTHY LIAR! HE’S IN CAHOOTS WITH YOUR DAUGHTER!”
I worry my bottom lip until I tear some of the dried skin, the taste of iron flowering over my tongue. I don’t want to let Merit down. I know this is really important to her.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Coach clasps his hands together in front of him, staring me down with a seriousness that trembles the very legs I’m standing on.
I’m still holding my breath for some unknown reason, caught in a hailstorm of doubt that only reinforces the power dynamic between us.
“You know this would be a huge responsibility, correct?” Coach says, observing me carefully, his tone almost indifferent.
“Yes, sir,” I respond, immediately straightening my spine.
“Whatever the fundraiser committee asks you to do, don’t forget that you and the boys are committed to hockey first. You need to remember where your priorities lie.”
“Yes, sir. ”
Coach rubs the heel of his palm into his temple, and when he speaks, he chews the words like they’re as tough as gristle and twice as hard to digest. “Do you really think you can balance an extracurricular on top of school and hockey, Mr. Calloway?”
Oh, no. I’ve been demoted. We’re back to last names. Come on, Crew. You’re the only one who can convince him. Put a little emotion into it, yeah? Show him that this is more important than winning your dream girl’s heart…even though that’s also very important.
Here it goes.
“The truth is the whole fundraiser is close to my heart, Coach. I used to be one of those poor kids who couldn’t afford hockey lessons or equipment, and I remember how isolating it was to watch all my friends play a game that shouldn’t be exclusive to those less fortunate.
If it wasn’t for my mom scrimping to pay for lessons, I wouldn’t have known how much hockey meant to me.
I’m in a privileged spot where I feel a responsibility to give back.
I know it’s going to be hard work, and I know it’s going to be a challenge to juggle everything, but to me, it’s worth it.
And I think the rest of the guys would feel the same. ”
I was only eight when my father left and took everything. And now my mother lives in a one-bedroom apartment, barely keeping her head above water with back-to-back shifts at the hospital. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he got to destroy our lives just so he could rebuild his own.
When I got older, my mother forbade me from ever contacting him, but I didn’t want to accept that I’d have to live the rest of my life without a dad. So, I went behind her back and tracked him down.
I pulled up to this behemoth, three-story mansion that spanned across a hundred acres and had a giant pool out front. And to make matters worse, my dad was outside playing baseball with some kid…who I later found out was my stepbrother. I didn’t stick around to confront my useless sperm donor .
How was it that my father wanted to be in my stepbrother’s life but not mine? What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t I good enough for him?
That was years ago. To this day, I don’t think he even knows if I’m alive or not. To be frank, I don’t think he cares.
I’m not sure if my magic speech worked on Coach or not, but the softening of his shoulders looks promising. The tension that was previously carved into his face has melted, and that voice of his—the one roughened like the hissing of hot coals—has waned to embers.
“Are you sure about this, son?”
For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m finally doing something right.
Hockey gives me a purpose, but helping others fulfills something else inside of me—something that’s been relegated to the darkness to exist only in shame.
A bitterness that I refuse to acknowledge, and one that my father planted there in the wake of his absence.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to carve it from my body. And now that I’ve been blessed with this opportunity to forge a new future for myself—untainted by his betrayal—I rejoice in knowing that I’ll never be anything like my dad.
“I’m positive.”
Coach nods. “I’ll let the team know that after next practice, we’ll be working with the fundraiser committee.”
“Thank you so much, Coach. You won’t regret this. This will be a fantastic way for us to hype up the season.”
I’m about to make myself scarce when Coach clears his throat gruffly, stopping me from slipping out the door.
“And, Crew, I heard about what happened in the locker room the other day,” he divulges, making the hairs on my neck stand up. I swear that my stomach free-falls to the soles of my goddamn shoes.
Crap. The locker room. Aka, my huge blowup that I really hope wasn’t caught on camera. I don’t know why I thought I could just…omit that little detail.
Fear squeezes my throat and restricts any words from taking shape. My pulse is going eighty in a forty. “You did?”
“I did. Volesky will be benched for the rest of the season. Sexual harassment is unacceptable at MU, and especially in my locker room. I’m going to have a word with the dean about his behavior.”
“That’s…good,” I murmur.
At least I don’t have to see that shit stain ever again.
Since I stupidly think Coach is done talking to me, I start to shuffle as conspicuously as I can toward the exit, all while wearing a tight-lipped grimace.
“And I…I wanted to thank you,” he finishes.
Pardon me?
“For looking out for my daughter.”
No, no, no. He shouldn’t be thanking me. I’m the miscreant who banged his daughter. I’m the miscreant who wants to continue banging his daughter.
I halt in my tracks. All the anxiety pressure-cooking inside of me since Merit’s and my sexscapade comes close to boiling over. “Oh, uh, it’s no problem,” I mumble, scratching the back of my nape, then deciding to tack on for good measure, “I would’ve done it for anyone.”
Yes, Crew! Nice save.
Glasses reequipped, Coach chuckles like he doesn’t believe me. “Well, Merit’s on campus if you want to give her the good news. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
Fuck. I think I just dug my own grave.
MERI T