Page 134 of Kulti


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“Debatable.” He blinked at me. “And don’t forget about the tibias you’ve broken.”

With that comment he just kept an even glare on me that had me smiling pretty smugly, even if it was at my brother’s expense.

“You win,” I stated. “All I give are bruises,” and then I added, “and an occasional bloody lip or two and a concussion once.”

The German leaned over, putting my notebook down and scooting closer to me, yanked my foot once more before setting it back on the couch next to him. His hand was wrapped around my ankle. “I’m positive you’ve thought about doing worse and in the end, that’s what matters.”

He had a point, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.

Instead I just sat on my end of the couch and gave him a flat look of irritation, until he smiled just the slightest bit wider and finally looked back down at the notebook. I went back to the sticky notes on the poster board and reviewed what I had jotted down already.

In the middle of making a few new notes, Kulti tapped the top of the foot I still had right by him. “Tell me how I can help with this.”

If anyone thought for one second that I would ever say no to help from him, they would have been insane. It wasn’t just the endless endorsements he had access to. If he wanted to do any actual work with the kids, it would be like having Mozart give a kid a lesson in musical composition.

I swallowed and felt my entire body brighten. “Any way you can.”

“All you have to do is ask.” Then as if he thought about what he said, his eyelids hooded low. “You aren’t going to ask, I don’t even know why I bother. Let me see what I can do.”

“All right.” I smiled at him. “Thanks, Rey.”

He nodded very solemnly and I found myself just studying him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No,” he said in a pain-in-the-ass tone.

I ignored him. “Why did you take the Pipers position when you hate coaching?”

The notebook he’d been holding was slowly lowered to his lap. The muscle in his jaw flexed, and his expression became very even. “You think I don’t like coaching?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure that you freaking hate it.”

Kulti relaxed a whole millimeter. He just kept looking at me for so long I thought for sure he was trying to intimidate me into changing the subject or hoping I’d forget. Maybe.

The hell I was.

I blinked at him. “So?”

The German’s lips peeled back into something that was a mix between an incredulous smile and an amazed one. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me.” I shrugged my shoulders at him. “You look ready to strangle someone at least five times each practice, and that’s when you don’t even say anything. When things actually come out of your mouth, I’m pretty sure you would light us all on fire if you could get away with it.”

When he didn’t agree or deny anything, I blinked.

“Am I right or am I right?”

He mumbled something that could have been “you’re right” but it was said so low I couldn’t be sure. The fact he was avoiding my eyes said enough. It had me grinning.

“So why are you doing it? I’m sure they’re not paying you a quarter of as much as any of the European men’s teams would. I’m definitely sure the MPL would have paid you a lot more, too. But you’re here instead. What’s up with that?”

Nothing.

It felt like a few hours had passed without him saying anything.

Honestly it was really kind of insulting. The longer he took to not answer, the more it hurt my feelings. I wasn’t asking him for his bank account number or for a freaking kidney. I had taken him home with me, brought him into my house, told him about my grandfather and he couldn’t even answer one single personal question? I’d understood from the beginning he had trust issues, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. My brother got all cagey around people he didn’t know. At some point, you never knew who was your friend for the right reasons and who wasn’t.

But… I guess I had thought we were past that.

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