Page 10

I step into Coach’s office, per his request. “Take a seat, and tell me how things are going with my daughter’s team,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

I groan. “I don't think they like me.” Not that I've given them any reason to. I should try harder. I want to try harder, but the way my heart seizes every time I see that damn ball and I’m reminded of the dream I stole from my brother, I can't muster anything more than a grimace and the occasional nod of approval.

I don't say any of that though. “They play well. Hell, they’re fantastic, but they can’t stand me, and I'm not sure what the best way to navigate that situation is.”

“Oh, I'm aware.” He smirks at me. “Elise may have mentioned something about you being the biggest wanker of the century.” He chuckles.

My eyes snap up to meet his, and I realise for the first time that they’re the same blue as Elise’s.

You don’t exactly spend a whole lot of time gazing into Coach’s eyes, dickhead.

Of course, you wouldn’t have noticed. And I certainly shouldn’t be doing it with his daughter either.

He’s goading me because unless Elise really hammered into me over the last week and a half, all she’d told him the night at the club was that I’m an asshole, which isn’t wrong.

Judging by her apparent inability to open up, even to her father, I’m betting she hasn’t broached the subject further.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me, dropping his legs from the lip of his desk and leaning forward onto his elbows. “I have a plan.”

“Great, I’d love to hear it,” I grumble, hoping anything he says will make my life easier somehow. Knowing him, it'll be a cluster fuck instead. He is the reason I'm in this situation in the first place.

“We'll have a team-building day. You and Elise can combine practices and pair up. One rugger to one footballer. Hopefully, by the end of it, everyone will be a bit more relaxed and get to see you’ve removed that stick you’ve got wedged up your arse.”

Prick. Like father, like daughter. “I see where your daughter gets her charming personality,” I tell him, and his brow quirks.

“Elise is many things, and frankly, charming isn’t one of them.

But I never taught her to be charming. I taught her to be kind and compassionate in her personal life yet ruthless and unyielding on the field.

If you have a problem with that, well, I don’t know what to tell you because nothing’s going to change her, nor would I want it to.

” Kind and compassionate? I think he may have missed the mark with that goal, but I wouldn’t dare tell him that.

“How exactly is this team-building assignment going to work?” I ask, confused and frustrated.

“You and Elise, since you’re both team captains, will be paired together, and maybe after my daughter kicks your ass in a match, you’ll be humbled and she’ll be happy enough to tell the team to stop giving you such a hard time,” he says, smiling smugly.

They haven’t even made this transition all that difficult.

If I’m being honest with myself, the hardest part has been keeping my eyes where they’re meant to be and not all over Elise.

That and the emotions it's dredging up and at the worst time of year for it. The upcoming fundraiser for people living with spinal cord injuries is both a blessing and a never-ending curse that always acts as an unnecessary reminder of how much I’ve fucked up.

“Sounds lovely,” I say, sarcasm tinging the words, as I stand, dragging my ass out of his office.