Page 25 of Play Dirty

The door swung open, and Mercer stomped inside. He didn’t ease into it. He didn’t give us even a second to settle.

“What the hell was that?” the coach snapped, his bushy eyebrows all but connected. His voice cut through the room like a blade.

Nobody answered.

Wise move.

“You’ve got the talent to win that game by three or four points!” he went on. “Maybe five! And yet somehow, you still find a way to lose it, because you refuse to play like a team.”

I lifted the towel a little. If I didn’t, he was going to yank it off me anyway.

“You don’t trust each other!” he yelled. “You don’t listen!”

Ares was looking away. Dorian was staring at the floor. The rest of the team shifted just enough to show they were listening.

“And you sure as hell don’t know how to execute, when it matters most.”

That part hit hard. We’d always been good at staying in the game, even when we were the heavy underdog. But finishing up… that was our Achilles heel. Staying in it until the end, keeping cool under pressure; those were the last few pieces of our fucked up puzzle.

And those pieces seemed to be lost, entirely.

“She told you exactly what they were going to do,” Mercer growled. “Before they even did it.”

I knew she was there without looking. She’d be standing just behind him, hair pulled tight. Leaning against the wall, holding that goddamn computer — or whatever the fuck it was — against her chest.

“She told you,” Mercer repeated, pointedly. “And you still ignored it.”

The ensuing silence was thick. Even the smallest noises disappeared, as everyone shrank back, trying to make themselves invisible.

Everyone but me.

I picked up the towel and turned to face him. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I had to say something.

“Coach…”

“Lucky call.”

The voice came from somewhere behind me. Another one picked up, right after.

“Yeah. Beginner’s luck.”

The words were easy and convenient. I let them sit there for a second, to settle in.

They never took hold, though. And that’s because I’d seen it with my own eyes.

Patterns.

She knew them. She hadn’t been on the ice, but she somehow knew.

Ares, overcommitting. Caleb, hesitating. The weak side, opening up. Exactly when and where she said it would.

Patterns lead to results.

None of this was blind or beginner’s luck. Not entirely, anyway. The truth was stubborn however, and it pissed me the fuck off. Especially considering who she was, and what she’d done.

She’d seen it. She’d called it. And we’d ignored it.

No matter how many towels I draped over my head, I couldn’t escape the annoying fact that she’d been right.