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He grins. “Well, good. I tried to talk to my headstrong, bitter, sore-losing daughter, and she told me to get out of her face. Her words. So I did, but maybe you can talk to her.” I swallow loudly and he laughs. “Scared, eh?”
I laugh with him. “Nothing scares me, Coach.”
He holds my gaze as he nods. He is a very intimidating man, almost like my dad. But while my dad is very vicious, I don’t feel that way about Coach. He’s a stand-up guy who wants my team to win but also wants his daughter to succeed. I want the same thing.
“I’ll admit I’m scared of her, Sinclair. She’s bullheaded as hell.”
I nod. “I don’t disagree with you, sir, but I know how to handle her.”
Leaning on the desk, he grins at me. “I don’t even think she knows how to handle herself.”
Ain’t that the damn truth.
“But on with you. She’s on the rink.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say before standing and heading out of his office. Jace is waiting for me when I enter the locker room like I had asked him to. “Give me a few,” I say, and he makes a face.
“Why?”
“Need to take care of something.”
“Ugh!” he complains like the child he is. Then he says, “Fine, I’m gonna go with Markus to the coffee shop.”
“Okay,” I say before pushing through the door and heading to the rink. I find her sitting on the bench as the Zamboni runs along the ice. She has her legs pulled up into her chest, her arms hanging loosely around them as she watches the Zamboni go back and forth on the ice. I know she sees me, but she won’t even recognize that. I have no reason for why that bothers me. Maybe it’s my pride, I don’t know, but soon I’m closing the distance between us. I sit on the bench beside her, but she doesn’t move or say anything. Minutes pass and it’s almost like she’s a statue. But when I look at her, she swallows hard as I say, “Good job out there, Moore.”
Drawing a breath in through her nose, she lets her knees drop before running her hands down her legs. She’s wearing shorts and tee, her hair still wet from the shower, and I worry that she’ll get sick from sitting in the cold, but I doubt this is the first time she’s done this.
Or will be the last.
“Yeah, good job to you also.”
“Thank you.”
“Guess the real winner won, eh?”
“You outlasted forty-three dudes, Baylor. That’s nothing to turn your nose up at. You’re a winner just as much as I am.”
Looking at me, she glares as she shakes her head. “I had one goal and that was to beat you, and I didn’t. So I’m not a winner.”
“No, you didn’t beat me,” I say. And I understand her an
ger, I understand the way she feels. It’s the same thing I felt when Jude went into the draft. I was bitter and jealous, but still I knew my chance was coming, I knew that I’d get there. She’s acting like it’s over. “You are still amazing, Baylor. You are still going to go far.”
“But I didn’t beat you. You were public enemy number one, and I failed.”
She then gets up and rushes by me. Rolling my eyes, I stand up, and of course, I chase after her.
“Baylor, stop. I’m talking to you.”
“Go away.”
“No, I’m talking to you.”
“Fuck off, Sinclair!” she yells back at me with tears threatening to fall.
Reaching out, I take ahold of her wrist and whip her around to look at me. Her nostrils are flaring, her eyes are dark with anger, and her breathing is labored, but I don’t care. She’s acting like a baby, and I won’t deal with it. She pulls her arm free and we lock gazes, my breathing matching hers. She makes me so fucking mad.
“No, listen to me. So you didn’t get the position, it’s not that big of a deal. Stop acting like a fucking crybaby and man up!”
