Page 43 of Mine to Take

There’s comfort in being able to read someone so easily.

One glance and I understood how the play was going to unfold and where I fit into the schematic.

We were like a well-oiled machine.

Everything fell back into place once I graduated and started at Western the next fall. I’d assumed that we’d coast through the next three years before he signed his contract with Chicago.

“McKinnon, see me before you take off,” Coach calls out, meeting my gaze as he crosses the locker room to his office.

“Fuck, you’ve done it now.” Ryder chuckles from beside me.

I shoot him a dark look before glancing at the frosted glass door Coach disappeared through.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Ryder asks as guys joke and strip off their gear around us before hopping in the showers.

“Nope.”

All right, so maybe that’s not altogether true.

I have the sneaking suspicion that this might have something to do with my shitty English grade.

He already ripped me a new one for getting into it with River after the game on Saturday. I can’t imagine he’s going to bring that up again.

Here’s the thing about Coach—once we’ve discussed a topic, he expects you to take care of it and puts the issue to rest. He doesn’t treat us like we’re a bunch of toddlers in need of constant supervision.

It’s one of the things I like about the guy.

When I sit and stare, lost in the whirl of my thoughts, Ryder bumps my shoulder. “You better get a move on. Don’t want to keep Coach waiting.”

A sigh escapes from me.

He’s right about that.

Better to get it over with.

Ryder and our new coach haven’t always seen eye to eye. It took a few months for their relationship to even out, but it’s much better now. Any time a new coach comes in and shakes things up, there’s bound to be growing pains.

Coach Philips had to break down Ryder to build him back up again so he could elevate his game. As much as I’m going to miss playing with him next year, I’m excited to see what he achieves. It wouldn’t surprise me if he takes the league by storm.

He’s that fucking good.

And I’ll be stuck playing here for another year before moving on to the pros.

That is, if I can get this damn English grade up.

If not…

A shudder slides through me before I force the possibility from my head, unwilling to dwell on it.

Once I’m showered and changed, I rap my knuckles against the door and poke my head inside his office.

A flurry of nerves wings its way to life at the bottom of my belly. Getting summoned to the head coach’s office is never good. If he wants to give you kudos, he does it in front of the team.

“You wanted to see me, Coach?”

With the remote in hand, he clicks off the game film he’s watching and waves me in before pointing to the chair parked in front of the metal desk. There are papers scattered everywhere. He pulls off his Western Wildcats ball cap and plows his fingers through his blond hair.

“Take a seat, Maverick.”

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