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“Wait outside my office so I can make some calls,” he grumbles. “I don’t know if I hope that you’re right or you’re wrong. Either Paul is a vile human or my star player is a lunatic.”
“I’m surprised you even doubt that Paul’s vile. Aren’t you the one who decided to relieve him of his duties because you couldn’t stand him?”
Mr. Talman levels me with a glare that screamsget the fuck out of here.
I leave the office, and with nothing to do, I pace the halls.
It’s a long, long hour of pacing and stewing. I wish I could call Rowan and have her talk me down, because I want to go to Coach Hartley’s office and kick holes in the wall. Hell, I wish I could call Rowan for any reason at all.
But she doesn’t want me anymore.
The thought of a future without her feels so fucking wrong. Who will make me laugh until I snort soda out of my nose? Who will keep my ego in check? Who will ever feel the way she did in bed—connecting on a level so deep that it changes everything I know about sex, making it feel so intimate that our souls melted together?
What the fuck… souls melted together?
I’m losing my damn mind and it’s all Rowan’s fault. She hypnotized me. Ensnared. Freaking owned — owns — me.
I mean, when your soul has fused with another person’s, how can you carry on without them?
Do you hear yourself?
“Ugh,” I groan, pulling at my hair.
Rowan has me twisted up in knots, questioning my entire life. The truth is, I’ll carry her with me always. Right along with the knowledge that I failed her.
Mr. Talman’s door opens. His face looks like thunder.
I walk down the hallway slowly, like a condemned man headed to the execution chamber. I don’t know what this means. Is he angry at me, or at the coach? My future hangs in the balance and it’s not a position I care to be in. This all fucking sucks.
I enter his office to find magazines scattered across the floor. His chair has been kicked over. There’s an overturned plant lying on the floor, dirt spilling everywhere.
“Don’t tell my wife,” Mr. Talman says.
I shut the door behind me. “Well?” I say.
“Well…” he says, tapping on his leg, looking two seconds from blowing smoke from his ears. “Coach Paul fucking traitor Benedict Arnold Hartley is a dead man.” His face flushes red. “That little shit-weasel. That asshole piece of garbage. He is dogshit on the heel of life.” He’s pacing his office floor as he says this, his arms waving. “You know how stupid he is, by the way?”
Relief soars through me, giving me wings. He believes me. “How stupid is he?”
“After I talked to your father and a few other sources, I checked his work telephone. There were some numbers on there that I didn’t recognize, so I called them. One of them, I’m sorry to say, was your mother. When she answered, she screamed ‘Where the hell is my final payment? I did everything you asked, it’s not my fault my son is a selfish bastard.’”
That should hurt, but I think I’m finally becoming numb to my mother’s treachery and her cold, cruel indifference to me. Kick me enough times and scar tissue’s going to build up.
He shakes his head, glowering. “I called another number and Amanda answered. I sort of disguised my voice and mumbled hello, and she said, ‘Mr. Hartley, I think that Mason’s starting to catch on. Lexi was too obvious. I told you she wouldn’t be able to pull it off.’ And then I hung up.”
He looks at me in exasperation. “Dumb fuck didn’t even use a burner phone. He was screwing me over using the company phone. I’m also spotting some irregularities in his expense reports, and I’ve just started looking. I’m going to hand all of this over to our forensic accountant, but I actually think that he was bribing everybody using team funds. If that’s the case, I will press charges.”
“Aren’t you afraid that it will go public and maybe come back to haunt us?” I frown in thought.
He shakes his head. “No. It’s going to make him look like crap, not us. It will ruin his career, as it should. I didn’t sign a thing yet giving him permission to speak to other teams. That’s officially revoked. He thinks other teams are going to get glowing recommendations from me. Ha. He’ll never coach again. If he wants to be petty, that’s his prerogative, but to screw everyone over like this, and to embezzle company funds, and do what he did to you ... no team deserves a coach like that.”
“Agreed.” I fold my arms across my chest. “It’s so fucking stupid. He’s a talented coach.”
“He used to be. He’s gotten lazier as the years have gone by. But he still could’ve had a chance to turn things around. He threw his career away for nothing. His ambition got too much for him.” Mr. Talman walks behind his desk, bends over, and picks his chair up. I walk over to the plant and set it upright, scooping the dirt back into the pot with my hands.
“Thanks.” He takes a deep breath and I fear what’s coming next. “Listen, Mason… I’m sorry I doubted you. I just didn’t want to believe it.” He scowls.
An apology from Ralph Talman is a rarity. An apology to me? It’s almost laughable considering my history. I’ll take it, and make this solemn vow to earn the man’s respect moving forward.
