Page 153 of Offside Devil

“Gone,” she says with finality. “He’s gone. Has been for a long time.”

So then why do you still look over your shoulder?

I want to ask her who is still after her. I want to know who called, what he wants, how he knows her.

But today has been hard enough on her.

For now, I’ll keep it all to myself. I’ll carry the burden for her so she can feel safe for a little longer.

I know what it’s like when your past haunts you. And I don’t want that for her.

She starts to sit up, but I catch her chin. Her eyes are red-rimmed and exhausted. I brush a stray tear off of her cheek. “You don’t have to take care of yourself anymore, Mira. Let me do that instead.”

61

MIRA

Walking through the halls of the arena we paraded through a little over forty-eight hours ago, I’m not sure if I’m clinging to Zane or he’s clinging to me.

It might be both.

“Coach just wants to talk to us,” Zane tells me for the tenth time. “All you have to do is tell the truth.”

Truth.

Pesky word, that.

It keeps coming up lately. Every time, I react the way I assume demons do to holy water.

I told Zane about my dad. It might not be the entire truth, but I should get points for half-steps in the right direction. It might buy me some time before he wants to know more.

He deserves to know more.

He deserves so many things I can’t give him, but that isn’t helpful right now, Brain. Please shut up.

“Is this kind of meeting normal?” I ask, trying to stay focused on the task ahead. “Does Coach call people and their…” My voice trails off. I have no idea how to finish that. Nanny? Partner? Part-time lover?

“Girlfriend,” Zane finishes, squeezing my hand.

My heart stops, restarts, and rattles in my chest like an old box fan. “So, does he do this often? Call people and their girlfriends in to ‘talk’?”

“No. Never.” Zane’s freshly-shaved jaw flexes. It would be unbearably hot if I wasn’t on the verge of throwing up from nerves right now.

There’s an entrance to Coach Popov’s office through the locker room, but the risk of non-consensual weiner exposure is high enough that Zane walks me around to the public-facing door.

Where we find Owen leaning against the wall.

“You’re late,” he grumbles. He moves his mouth like he’s about to spit on the floor, then thinks better of it and swallows it down.

I haven’t seen him since he barged into Zane’s bedroom, which is fine by me. Zane told me over and over again that Owen was just doing his job, but I can’t stop myself from stiffening when I see him.

Zane rubs his thumb over my knuckles and pulls me close. “We had to drop Aiden off at school first.”

Before Owen can say anything, Coach Popov throws open his door. “Come in.”

We all take a step forward, but the gruff Russian man shakes his head. “Just her.”

I snap my eyes to Zane, silently begging him not to let me go. I’ve never met his coach. I don’t even know why I’m here.

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