Page 171 of Forever Relentless

“If?”

“Accidents happen.” He shrugged. “Seen it all the years I’ve been coaching. Lady Fate steps in and bam,” his hand smacked off the desk. “A career gone.”

I watched him carefully. Was he openly threatening Dante?

“Let’s hope fate has other plans for Dante.”

He made a sound, and I had no clue if it was agreement. “Spence also has an attitude. You—” he pointed at me— “have an attitude, but only on the field. You bunk up with Spence, and suddenly you have an attitude.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m still talking, Matthews.”

“Coach.”

“I lost five guys, five guys who were loyal to this team. Who’d bled for this team, and they got expelled the night you and Dante got bored.”

“Not bored, they started—”

“I’m still talking.”

“Yes, Coach.” I clenched my hands into tight fists.

“You showed today what a versatile player you are. Don’t be surprised if you get to the combine and they draft you as a tight end.”

“I’m a linebacker, Coach. And what do you mean by ‘if’?”

“Lady Fate,” he murmured, looking out the glass partition to the main floor. “Have you seen the posts on social media?”

There was no point lying. “Hard to miss, Coach.”

His eyebrows rose at that. He snorted in derision. “No team is perfect. Every team has its favorites. Some teams there’s a mix, some teams only a handful of players are the focus, and in some teams, only the stars shine.”

I had absolutely no idea where this was going.

“Stars like Spence, Moore, Slater, and even you, they get attention. You notice that some people get all the attention without even trying. Like you.”

“I’m not really very—”

“But you are. And you see it’s a game, and it’s a game you’ve started to play.”

“Coach? I’m not sure why I’m having this conversation with you. It’s not easy to follow.”

He smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. Coach Sutherland sat forward, his fingers steepled in front of him.

“I really, really, fucking hate people who play coy with me.”

I opened my mouth to speak and closed it again as I saw the anger in his eyes.

“You like trouble. Your history shows it. Your fight in the bar shows it. You walking out of the dean’s house on a Sunday afternoon shows it.”

Shit.

“The dean’s house, Coach? I can explain—”

“You fucking the social media staff member shows it.” He sat back. “You’re young, full of fire,” his gaze was almost pitying. “But I’ve coached football for thirty years, and I’ve seen every variation of you there is come through my locker room. You’re young, good-looking, got a chip on that shoulder, demons inside waiting to get out, and like every young guy with too much aggression, you need to either fuck it out or fight it out. Sometimes it’s both.”

“Coach I—”