Page 31 of Built To Perform

“One word at a time, Eoin, okay?”

I swallowed, staring at the dusty floor.

“He knows. I mean, he found out.”

“Knows... what?” I could hear the frown in Jefferson’s tone; didn’t need to look at him to understand the expression I’d find.

“About... about the dancing.”

He hummed under his breath. It was the noise I associated with Jefferson thinking, the way he paused to consider things.

“How did he find out?”

I sighed. I already knew I wasn’t going to share all the details of what’d happened the previous night. If I was keeping Brayden’s secret about the job, then I also had to keep Coach’s secret, that he was at the club. Never mind speculating about who he’d been there with.

“It... it doesn’t matter. He knows, and he wasn’t happy.”

Jefferson rubbed my back, slowly. “And when you say ‘dancing,’ do you mean...”

“Everything!” The word surged out of me, cresting on a wave of panic. “He knows everything. That I was... you know. In front of all those people.”

He exhaled. “Look, I think he’s probably more concerned that you might be getting distracted from the team, not so much the fact that... well, the fact it was guys watching you.”

I looked at him with wet eyes. “Oh, great. So it’s just that I’m half-ass’ing the most important thing in my life. That’s fine, then.”

“Eoin. That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

A sternness there, and I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help myself. Felt the first shake of my shoulders as the sob wracked me, and knew Jefferson would feel it too. Probably add “crybaby” to the list of shortcomings he was seeing in me this morning.

His arm slipped around me. No more hope of avoiding being pulled into his side than of staying standing in a category ten earthquake.

“He’s mad now,” Jefferson said, softly, “but you know what he’s like. In a day or two he’ll have moved onto something else.”

I wanted, so much, to believe him. But my brain couldn’t let go of how Coach had looked at me, minutes before, in his office. And then, from there, no effort at all to picture the shock - and worse - on his face, when we’d made eye-contact at the club.

Even if Coach moved on - and that possibility I still strongly doubted - I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to forget that expression.

I knuckled my eyes, trying to sit up - to look normal, or whatever normal was any more - as I heard footsteps approaching. Almost felt halfway composed when Brayden appeared around the corner.

“Hey guys.” He stopped, staring at me. “What happened to lil bro?”

I cut my eyes away, ashamed at being so transparent.

“Coach found out about the club,” Jefferson supplied.

“Fuck.” Brayden sat down heavily, booted foot outstretched. “What did he say?”

“I didn’t tell him about you,” I pointed out, quickly. Needing to see his face, even if eye contact felt fraught still. Desperate to be sure he believed me, that I’d kept his secret and my word.

“Don’t be silly, dude. I meant, what did he say to you? Was he pissed?” Brayden leaned in closer, concern clear.

“He said I have to choose,” I admitted.

The senior sat back. “Okay, well, that’s easy, then. No more dancing.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide. Trying to process what I was hearing; no, trying to process the whole damn morning. Brain sluggish as molasses.

“B-but... but, your job.” I managed to stutter out, finally.