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He doesn't so much as glance up from his screen. He does stop typing, though, instead using his mouse to scroll throughsomething. But his eyes don't move. He stares straight ahead like he doesn't see what's in front of him.
And he still won't acknowledge me.
I start to count off the seconds in my head. Five. Ten. The silence stretches on and on until I wonder how long it will be before one of us blinks. It's like playing chicken with another car, driving toward it, seeing which driver will swerve first before disaster strikes. The stakes feel just as high.
For lack of anything to say, I clear my throat. His gaze snaps my way. We might as well be strangers—no, scratch that, it's worse. If he were looking at a stranger, there wouldn't be that cold, steely look in his eyes. And still he doesn't speak. Neither do I, because I don't know where to start.
He is not about to make it any easier on me. Not that I deserve it. But in his kinder moments, he might open up the dialogue, offer a comment, maybe ask me to sit down. He is not feeling kind now.
Here goes nothing. “I know I owe you an explanation.” My voice is so raspy and weak. I clear my throat again and take a deep breath. “I really don't have one to give you right now.”
He makes the softest, most derisive noise imaginable. I can practically hear his thoughts.What a surprise. She can't be bothered to defend herself.Even imagining such things makes my skin crawl, and the pressure behind my eyes is almost too much to fight. It would seem cheesy and lazy if I burst into tears on the spot. I won't do it. I won't have him thinking I'm trying to manipulate him somehow.
I open my mouth, scrambling around in my head for something to say, when an idea hits me. How does he know? Does he haveproof? I can't imagine how he would. We've taken chances, for sure, but we've been discreet for the most part. Especially lately. The only time we were together since Ash's accident was after his party. There's no flirting at work. No sneaky looks or double entendres. And as far as I know, the guys have been on their best behavior. No more fighting, no bragging in the locker room.
So how does he know? I'm practically itching to ask him if only to satisfy my curiosity. But that would look like I'm guilty, and I have to be careful. I don't want to admit anything yet.
Think, think. It's amazing how much can go through a person's head in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden, I'm back in the public relations course that I took when I was an undergrad. Any public relations professional worth their fee would offer just two words of advice in a situation like this, deny everything. They would tell me to keep my mouth shut and not offer any information that hasn't already been presented.
As far as I know, he's going purely on instinct here. Instinct told him the guys were fighting over a girl. Maybe he caught a look at me getting emotional when Ash stepped out on the ice earlier. Maybe he remembers how distraught I was at the hospital, how I was the first person there. Maybe he's been mulling it over and finally came to that conclusion.
But it's not the same as having proof.
If I deny everything, the responsibility falls on him. He would need to provide proof if he wants to accuse me publicly and come out victorious. And I know in the bottom of my heart if I ask them to, Ryder, Soren, and Ash would lie until their faces turned blue to protect me. There's not a question in my mind.
And for roughly the time it takes my heart to beat, it seems like a good idea. This is the way to go. Deny, deflect, demand he provide proof of these terrible allegations. I can see it all, and at a moment like this when I'm being driven by desperation, it looks pretty darn good.
But I can't do it. I can't tell any more lies. I'm so tired of it. And I'm not going to ask the three of them to compromise their principles and jeopardize their relationship with their coach for me. I couldn't live with myself. I can barely live with myself now as it is.
That's why I take another deep breath and brace myself. “I'm sorry. I know it sounds hollow and meaningless, but I need you to know more than anything how sorry I am. What happened is unacceptable. I let you down, and I can't forgive myself for that. I have really come to look up to you and admire you.”
He scoffs softly, and I would swear my heart is breaking. “I mean that. You have to know I mean that. Up until today, there's never been anything but mutual respect between us. I admire your dedication to the team. I admire how hard you work. And the way you care about them... they're so, so lucky to have you. I'm not saying these things so you'll stop being mad at me. I just wanted you to know how I feel in case this is the last time I ever get the chance to speak to you.”
I really wish he would say something. Anything, so long as I know he cares enough to say it. That might be the most difficult thing to deal with, come to think of it. It's not being screamed at. It's being ignored. Knowing somebody doesn't care enough to come up with a response. Is that what's happening here? Have I shocked him beyond the point of anger?
“I really am so sorry,” I whisper. It's a shaky sound, choked with emotion. I still don't want to cry. I don't want him to think I'm using that as a weapon. “And I do love the team. I've loved watching their progress. I'm proud of how far they've come. And if this is the end, I know you'll let them use the tools they’ve developed to play up to their potential. They would do anything to make you proud. They just need the chance to do it.”
His only response is a deep breath which he releases slowly. The few times I've gotten up the courage to let my gaze brush his face, there hasn't been a change. Not so much as a muscle twitch. Almost like he's fighting as hard as I am to shove all of his emotions deep down inside. Do I hang around until he can't control them any longer? Or do I get out while there's still time to escape unscathed?
It seems like this might be a situation where one of us has to have the grace to make the next move, and I guess that will be me. There's nothing more to say, anyway. “I'm not sure where to go from here,” I confess, “but I guess I'll get my things together and leave.”
This is his chance. This is where he could tell me it won't be necessary for me to leave. That is, if that's what he wants. If he wanted me to stay, now would be the time for us to sit together and work it out.
Any time now, Coach. My throat's closing up again as a sense of desperation begins seeping into my awareness like a drop of ink in a glass of water. It's starting to spread, and it's threatening to color everything I do. I'm holding on by a thread here, struggling to maintain my dignity. If I have any dignity left.
His silence is enough of a response for me to know where I stand. I really did it. I destroyed everything. “Thank youso much for this opportunity.” The words come out rushed, breathless, and I turn away just before the first teardrop overflows.
Something tells me it's the first of many to come.
3
HARLOW
Shell shock. It's the term medical professionals once used to describe soldiers who returned from war deeply affected by what they'd witnessed. Nobody who goes to war comes home the same person, but in some cases, the returning soldiers were nothing like they used to be. They had retreated deep into their minds to protect themselves. Some never recovered.
I'm not deluded. I know my experience is nothing like theirs. But somehow, as I force my body to move down the hall and away from Coach Kozak's office, I can't shake the comparison bouncing around in the part of my brain that's still functional. I'm in shock. I'm moving, I'm breathing, but there's still part of me that can't catch up. This is all too much, too big, too heavy.
Isn’t it funny how you can know something is possible, how you can even spend hours of your life imagining it in almost painful detail, yet it's still a shock when it finally happens? This was always a possibility. I knew the risks. I went ahead with this crazy relationship anyway. It’s time to pay the piper.
