Page 99 of The No Try Zone
“Well aware,” I shoot back. We reach the bottom floor and I turn to him, ready to face the music.
“You deserve a hell of a lot more than the punch I gave you,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
I rub my jaw. If it weren’t for the beard, there would have been a lot of questions from the staff and team. It’s still tender. “Probably,” I acknowledge. “I’ve apologized to Sam. Multiple times. But I owe you an apology, too.”
He rears back, almost as if I’m the one throwing a punch.
“The way I treated your sister was terrible. I know. But I let you down, too. And I’m sorry.”
He stares at me for a long, quiet moment, his chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”
I hold my hands up. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Fuck you,” he repeats, his voice growing louder.
I move closer to him on instinct. “Ollie.”
“No!” he yells, his entire body shaking. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done this before a game,” he mutters.
I’d like to tell himI told you so, but figure that’ll get me another punch.
When he opens his eyes, they’re bright with unshed tears. “I trusted you. The moment we met, I trusted you. Which is apparently something we Nash siblings have in common,” he scoffs.
The comment hits true, and I wince.
“You took my trust for granted. You took everything about me for granted – it’s a miracle you even put me out on the pitch, but I know you only did that because you were analyzing everyone on the team. Otherwise? I saw how you looked at me. Like I was the eager kid, the baby of the team who had more energy than brains. But I’m more than that. Ansel saw it. Coach Ryan saw it.”
“It’s my job to take everyone’s talent into consideration,” I begin.
“We’re not talking about the team!” he roars. “We’re talking about the way you trampled all over my sister. The way you behaved then, and apparently the way you continue to behave.”
A throat clears, and we both whirl to see Frank stepping into the stairwell, with Kari right on his heels as she murmurs to someone on the other side of the door before closing it.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Frank asks.
My lip curls. “None of your goddamn business.”
He puffs up, the industrial lights shining on his bald head. “A coach and a player are arguing in the stairwell before a game –”
“Match,” the rest of us say simultaneously.
He sneers and waves his hand. “Before agame, so yes, it is my business.”
Kari clutches an iPad to her chest. “Mr. Adams is right outside this door,” she clips, leveling a look at me and Ollie as she speaks. “Are you ready?”
“Not until I know what you two were talking about,” Frank interjects.
“Enough.” I raise my voice just high enough so that they know I mean it, then turn to Kari, deliberately putting my back to Frank. “Please lead the way.”
She gives a curt nod, squares her shoulders, then turns and opens the metal door. “Mr. Adams! Sorry for the delay.”
The man puts keen eyes on me, then roams over the rest of our party. Assessing us like a fox, certain the prey he’s hunting is cornered but still hiding. “Not a problem. Coach Thicke, nice to finally get a one-on-one with you.”
I grin and shake his hand, hoping to hell that he buys the act that I’m happy to see him. “Absolutely. You know Ollie Nash?” I nod to Ollie as we all follow Frank, who wasn’t subtle about stepping in front of Kari to lead our little procession. Prick.
“The impressive openside flanker from Australia,” Adams answers, reaching to shake his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Ollie answers, then looks at me. “I’m gonna meet up with the rest of the team.”
