Page 44 of 4th Degree

“I’m sorry,” he continues, sounding truly remorseful. “I’m the older authority figure, I should’ve never—I never should’ve—” Now he’s the one swallowing, trying to work up the courage and find the right words.

My chest aches from watching him distancing himself. But I also can’t really blame him for drawing this kind of boundary in his place of work, with someone so questionable. Part of me knew it was a pipe dream to have him want me back, anyway.

“It’s okay,” I tell him in a tight voice. “I’m the one who initiated. I read into your kindness and got the wrong idea, and I’m sorry?—”

“No, Skylar, that’s not?—”

“I won’t let it happen again.”

Expression pained, his voice is soft when he says, “You didn’t get the wrong idea. And I’m the only one to blame. But Skylar… it just… It can’t happen.”

After that, there’s not much to say. I give him a miserable nod of affirmation and pause just long enough for him to say anything else, but when he doesn’t, I walk past him to gather my things.

I’m out the door without another word.

16

COACH

The second Skylar leaves the gym, my head starts spinning.

What the fuck did I just do?

I haven’t been blind to the attraction between us. In a way, I’m not surprised that I kissed her—or that she kissed me. She’s so fearless, so sure of herself, that I knew, if given the opening, she’d go for what she wanted. A dazed part of me feels honored that I’m the one she wants.

But next to that amazement, there’s a cocktail of other emotions: confusion, shame, hunger. My entire night is me just lying in bed with those emotions spiraling on repeat.

Confusion because I don’t know how to end this.

Shame because I don’t want to end it.

Hunger when I think of what happens when I don’t end it.

This can’t happen. This can’t happen. I’ve been telling myself I need to keep distance between us because she’s my student and there’s a professional boundary, but that doesn’t even touch the reasons why a relationship—or whatever the hell this is—couldn’t work between us.

I’m almost twice her age. She’s literally a teenager, for fuck’s sake. She probably doesn’t even want me; she’s just innocent and enamored by an older, successful authority figure, enticed by the forbidden nature of what could be. She would get looks even if she dated one of the guys in their mid-twenties, let alone her coach in his mid-thirties.

People wouldn’t understand. They’d look at us and they’d assume I’m her father, or at the very least, a creepy older guy trying to fuck a naïve nineteen-year-old. No one would understand a relationship between us.

And if Skylar’s intention was just to start a casual, physical relationship, in the end, the same things would happen. There’s no way we wouldn’t eventually get found out, and then I really would look like a creepy older guy just looking for ass.

Everyone would judge me. My name as a coach, my name as a gym owner—there’s a good chance even my fighters would distance themselves from me. Nothing about a relationship between me and Skylar is understandable. It can’t happen.

It can’t happen.

I don’t sleep a wink. By the time I walk into the gym the next day, I’ve got dark circles under my eyes and look about as run-down as I feel. My stomach swirls with nerves about seeing Skylar, and guilt that I essentially have to reject her all over again when I put her back in the category of any other student.

And yet…she doesn’t seem bothered by it. I shouldn’t be surprised that she acts completely normal the rest of the week but, for some reason, I am.

I watch her all week, but I don’t find any hurt in her eyes. She goes right back to acting like nothing happened, showing up for classes and putting in the work on the mat. She doesn’t avoid my gaze or stop herself from asking her usual questions. She’s just…Skylar.

The only thing I catch is a very subtle kind of knowing sadness. She’s covering her hurt with a level of patience and understanding that some grown adults aren’t even capable of. She knows why I made the decision I did.

She knows. She knows and she gets it.

That guilt over expecting to tell Skylar no again becomes guilt over hurting the kindest, sweetest person I know.

That feeling only grows when I walk into the gym and find her helping Lucy. They’re standing in the corner of the gym, going through some of the concussion exercises that Skylar had outlined for her. Lucy’s seemed way more chipper lately, so I’m assuming the physical therapy has worked.

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