I had spent the last week ignoring every single attempt Ridge Cross made to contact me. So, my thumb hovered over the red decline button out of pure habit. But blowing off the head coach felt like a line I could not cross, even if it was a surprise to me that he was even calling.
I swiped the screen and brought the speaker to my ear.
“Zotov,” I answered, keeping my tone flat.
“So the kiddoesremember how to answer a call,” Corby grumbled. His voice carried a rough, exhausted edge over thetiny speaker. “I was starting to think you threw the damn thing in a river.”
“Only for you, Coach. What do you need? I have a car transmission waiting on me.”
“Then take a break. We need to talk.”
I leaned my aching shoulders back against the steel post of the car lift. “There’s nothing left to say. I’m already in Detroit.”
“Trenton Wright’s suspension just went public,” Corby stated, entirely bypassing what I’d just said. “The athletic director is officially reinstating your scholarship. Your roster spot is open.”
My lungs seized up. The dirty rag slipped from my grip and hit the floor. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to hang up. They had thrown me out the second a legacy player pointed a finger, and going back meant placing my neck right back on the same chopping block.
“I’ve moved on,” I lied, forcing a harsh laugh to cover the sudden tremor in my hand. “I do not need your charity. You guys tossed me out fast enough the first time.”
“Stop being a stubborn ass,” Corby shot back. “This is not charity. The Karter kid got him.”
I froze, my grip tightening on the plastic casing of my phone. “What do you mean?”
“Karter and Elliot marched straight up to Hastings last night. They twisted the AD’s arm.”
My shoes suddenly felt glued to the concrete. “They went to the front office?”
“Karter had a recording on his phone,” Corby explained. He sounded almost amused beneath the grit. “Trenton apparently bragged about making up the harassment claim just to get you kicked off the ice. The idiot confessed to the whole thing.”
My eyebrows rose high on my forehead. “Karter got it on audio?”
“He got every word. Then he and Elliot demanded your return.”
The screeching pneumatic wrench in the next bay dropped to a dull drone. Pulling in a full breath took real effort.
Karter actually fought back. After all the garbage lies I told him in that attic, he still refused to just keep his head down.
Standing there on the oily concrete and listening to the quiet static over the line, I struggled to get my head around it. Guys with trust funds did not stick their necks out for guys like me.
“Is he really out?”
“Trenton is done on the team,” Corby confirmed. “His old man is throwing a massive fit to get him back on the ice. But the Wrights just do not have the Johnston-level donor pull to override this. Elliot and Karter backed the administration into a corner.”
Static hissed through the receiver once again. And then Corby cleared his throat loud enough to crackle the speaker, followed by an exhale.
“Listen,” Corby said. His usual locker-room bark vanished. He clipped his words into the stiff, guarded rhythm I’d heard him save for reporters and admin. “Karter went to the mat for you. Whatever situation you two have going on, he did not back down. And the whole team knows Trenton is out.”
Pressing my spine against the cold steel of the car lift, the silence stretched out. The head coach of Ridge Cross had just casually acknowledged the exact secret that drove me out of his locker room.
Standing around waiting for the inevitable punishment felt useless. Pushing off the metal post, I confronted the issue head-on.
“Am I getting benched over this, Coach?”
Corby let out a rough grunt over the line. “I do not care what you two do in your private time, so long as you clear the creaseand produce on my ice. We are heading to the Cold Quartet in two weeks.” Dropping the awkward topic, he slipped right back into his demanding locker-room bark. “We have scouts attending our upcoming practice. So you have exactly forty-eight hours to get your gear back into my facility and lock in your roster spot.”
“Coach, I am in Detroit. I do not even have a bus ticket back, and...”
“Then buy one,” Corby interrupted. He dropped the drill-sergeant volume, shifting into a quieter tone. “You read the play before it develops, Zotov. And you clear out the zone better than any guy on my roster. Hell, you have a real shot at going pro. Do not throw that talent in the dumpster because you are too proud to take this win.”
