Bound Together (Torn and Bound Duet 2)

“May I help you?”

“Is, uh, Coach Thompson in there?”

“He is,” she says. “He’s in an unscheduled meeting with Dean Carter, but I don’t anticipate it being much longer.”

I pace the locker room for twenty minutes, ignoring more texts from friends and teammates about the video that was seemingly sent to everyfuckingone. Eventually, the office door opens and Drew steps out.

Crushed.

Heartbroken.

Shamed.

This is bad.

This is so fucking bad.I step out of the office with Curtis trailing behind me and come face to face with an ashen-looking Brayden. Our eyes meet and I can see the myriad of emotions flashing through his features. Anger. Hurt. Pity. He’s seen the video. I imagine everyone on campus has at this point. It was the reason for Curtis’s and my emergency meeting. The reason I’ve made the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.

“Drew,” Curtis says, extending his hand. “I’m truly sorry it’s come to this. If you ever need anything…”

I nod, shaking his hand back. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry too.” I can hear the wateriness in my voice, so I take a deep breath. I can’t let Brayden see me upset. I can’t let him know how badly my heart is breaking. If he does, he’ll use it against me.

Curtis nods toward Brayden then disappears, I’m sure to give us some privacy. Not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation, I motion for him to enter my office. I swallow thickly. Correction: Old office.

Fuck, I’m going to miss this office.

This team.

This school.

It was my last link to hockey.

But more than anything, I’m going to miss the three people who quickly dug beneath the surface of my chest and buried themselves into my heart.

“I’ll tell everyone it’s my fault,” Bray blurts out the second I close the door behind me. “I asked you to the party and then I kissed—”

“Stop.” I hold up my hand, unable to listen to his pleas. I need to end this quick. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. Otherwise, I’ll lose my resolve. And I can’t do that. Not if I want to protect the three most important people in my life. “It’s over with. I already handled it.”

Brayden sighs, misunderstanding my words. “Okay, good. So Ashton’s dad said he’d take care of it? That’s good. Yeah…”

“No.” I shake my head. “His hands were tied. I’m the coach, and the video not only showed you kissing me, but I was dancing with Mia, another student here. Even Ashton was in the video.”

Brayden’s jaw clenches. “What do you mean his hands were tied?”

“I had three options,” I tell him robotically. “Deny it and let them investigate, admit guilt and let them decide my fate, or… quit.” I scrub my palm down my scruff, remembering the disappointment that bled from Curtis when I admitted to him that I was intimate with all three of them. I could’ve lied, but I’m not ashamed of the love I found, and I wasn’t about to lie to the man who took a chance on me and gave me this job. He deserved to know the truth. At first he tried to blame Ashton, but I made it clear his son was not to blame. I also told him Ashton is one of the best people I’ve ever met and if he’s smart he’ll try to get to know the man his son is instead of trying to mold him into something he’ll never be.

“What did you decide?” Brayden asks slowly.

“I chose to quit.”

“The fuck?” Bray hisses. “We can fight this. Explain we were friends before any of this happened…”

“And drag you through the mud? Fuck that. This is a small school, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and most likely, that video won’t leave here, but if I fight this, there’s a chance it can spread, and I will not let it fuck up your career before it even begins.”

“My career?” Brayden spits. “Fuck my career! If you’re not coaching, I’m not playing!”

“Yes, you are.” I step toward him, needing to be close to him one last time. “You worked too damn hard to let a scandal ruin your shot at playing in the NHL. I already had my opportunity and…” I choke up, the tears in my eyes burning behind my lids. “I will not let this shit follow you. Owners don’t like drama, and we both know if you keep playing the way you are, you’re a shoe-in as a first round draft pick.”

“Fuck this!” he barks, swiping his hand across the papers on my desk. They go flying in the air and scatter everywhere. I want to pull him in for a hug and kiss him, tell him we’ll figure this out. But I can’t do that because there’s nothing to figure out. I’m the coach and I’ve had sex with three students, one of which is my player. The public won’t care that I’m their same age, or that I’m in love with them. They’ll see it as a scandal and come after all of us.