Coach's Daughter
“This was about Greta, wasn’t it?” Rick sneers. “Bought yourself a little insurance with my daughter?”
Eric’s heavy silence confirms my theory.
Ice encases my chest and I back away from the door, struggling to fill my lungs with air. “No…”
“Bring me the contract,” Eric says stiffly. “I can fix what I did.”
“You bet your ass you’ll fix—”
“Watch how you talk to me, Rick,” interrupts the point guard, his voice deadly quiet. “You’ve thrown your fit. Now don’t throw away your best shot at a title.”
Even though the door is closed, I can picture my father backing down, palms out, his anger shrinking in the face of winning. “I’ll go get the contract. We’ll get this taken care of and put it all behind us.”
My father’s footsteps carry him down the hallway. Once they fade, several seconds of silence tick by before the door to the supply room opens and Eric is standing there, watching me silently, from beneath hooded eyelids. His energy is charged and wary—and it should be. I’m crumbling inside. He lied to me. Told me I was making the decision to be with him, when all along he was maneuvering his options behind the scenes. Just like every athlete I’ve ever met. Just like my father.
I can’t quite prevent my lower lip from trembling when I whisper, “You’re the same as the rest of them.”
Eric
She says the words that rip the heart straight out of my chest.
Because she’s right. I knew the reckoning was coming as soon as I heard Rick shouting my name angrily. They say hindsight is twenty-twenty and this is proof. I could have won her without being deceitful, but now I’ve fucked up the best thing I’ve ever had or will ever have again, haven’t I? I’ve lost her trust, that’s what kills me the most of all. I only had it, truly had it, for a matter of moments before my mistake tore it away.
You’re the same as the rest of them.
No. I want to shout the denial. But how can I? When she was a child, her father paid off her mother for custody in the divorce. I know how much that gutted her. And I forced her father into doing it again, hurting her worse. When that wasn’t enough, I left myself a way to manipulate the situation. How can I deny being exactly like the men she’s avoided all her life? Men who maneuver women like toys.
“Don’t say I’m like them,” I choke out. “Please.”
The tears in her eyes reflect my agony and regret back at me. “Were you going to corner me if I decided not to stay with you?”
Emotion presses against the sides of my throat. “I’d do anything to have you. To keep you. I won’t lie about that.”
“You’d do anything except for the right thing.”
I can see that I’m about to lose her and it incites madness inside of me. There is no fucking way. No way I could go on without her now that I know she exists. Life would be a colorless charade. Forget playing basketball, I wouldn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. “Scream at me. Claw me bloody.” I close the distance between us in two giant strides, cradling her beautiful face in my hands. “Get it out of your system, but don’t leave me, Greta.”
Moisture forms in my eyes and the sight of her sadness, disappointment in me, almost drops me to the floor. “Sign the contract with the right name,” she says haltingly. “Without conditions. Let me go.”
My heart lurches painfully. “Impossible.”
“I don’t care what deal you arrange with my father, I won’t stay with you.”
“Yes. You will.” I pick her up and crush her to my chest, inhaling the scent of her hair, doing my damnedest to absorb her into my body, but she just stays limp, eyes closed. She won’t react, won’t put her arms around me and it’s the worst punishment she could have devised. Refusing to show emotion, to touch me. “Angel, I know I fucked up. But this thing between us isn’t going away. I’ll never give up.” I kiss her neck, raking my mouth into her hair, relieved when she gasps at the pleasure. “I’ll show up at your door every goddamn day until you forgive me. You’ll choose me again.”
She shows a burst of spirit, twisting free of my arms and pushing me away. “Don’t hold your breath.”
If her voice didn’t crack at the end of that order, chin wobbling, I would have reached for her again. I don’t, though. I can see I’ve really hurt her. She’s betrayed. And there are no right words, no right touches to make it better. Misery hollows me out and I fall back against the wall, unable to stay upright when faced with the reality of losing her. “I’m sorry, Greta. I’m so sorry.”