Page 62 of Rinkmates

Before I can second-guess myself, I charge out of the medical room, ignoring everyone’s surprised looks as I head to the locker room, and lucky me, I spot Derek lingering in the hallway. His eyes widen when he sees me storming toward him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand and push him with both of my hands. Just like he did with Riley, but he doesn’t move an inch. It’s as if a fly collided with him.

Derek holds up his hands defensively. “Woah. Watch out there. You know I’m a giant compared to you, huh?” His mouth is twisted into a sneer as he looks down at me.

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Coach asked me to provoke him. I took it too far.”

“Damn right you did,” I snap. “Hold on. Your coach did what?” Riley’scoachwould mess with his mental health like that?

Derek rakes a hand through his short black hair, his eyes shifting back and forth. “He wanted me to check if Riley’s able to control his shit or not.”

“That is stupid,” I say. “Provoking each other won’t help. All that got you is him having a black eye and you risking your game next week. I can’t believe you said yes.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, but Coach—”

“You have your own mind! Do you even understand what you just did? You deliberately provoked another teammate into hurting you. Whatever your coach said. That’s not coaching, that’s abuse.”

He just stares at me, his mouth agape.

I nod to the locker room at the end of the corridor. “Everyone in there is pissed at you. You better start thinking of one hell of an apology.”

Leaving him sputtering in the hallway, I march toward Mercer’s office. I know abusive coaches when I hear about them and this needs to be stopped before it gets worse. Fear claws at my throat but I swallow it down. I’m done being timid.

I burst into John Mercer’s office without knocking. He looks up from his desk, startled. I’m a little taken aback since I had imagined him dark haired with a suspicious mustache but, well, I guess my imagination just ran away with me. He looks more like Santa Claus. His beard is shorter but still. Riley’s coach is Santa during summer vacation.

“Miss James, how can I help you?”

“What kind of messed-up coaching tactic is having one player assault another?” I say, my voice shaking with fury.

To my utter disbelief, Mercer actually has the nerve to laugh. “Well, well,” he says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Looks like our resident hothead has found himself a little spitfire.”

“This isn’t funny,” I say. “What you did today was cruel and unnecessary. You know he just started therapy. He was about to knock the shit out of your player and then what? What if he got hurt? You just risked your own game.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I’ve been coaching longer than you’ve been alive. I think I know how to handle my players.”

“I’m not your sweetheart, and if this is how you handle them,” I grind out through clenched teeth, “then you don’t deserve to be called a coach.”

Something flickers in his expression—a hint of surprise, maybe even a grudging respect. But I won’t back down. I’m none of his players, I’m not even Riley’s girlfriend, and since he knowsof our truce, there’s no way he can punish Riley so I just say what’s on my mind.

“If I were you, I’d let him heal instead. Mental wounds are just as real and serious as physical ones. He’s already going to therapy once a week, so let the professional handle it. Instead of pushing him to face his fears, be a source of stability in his life.” I’m so proud of Riley for facing his fears. Mercer is not going to ruin it for him.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” Mercer acknowledges, tilting his head to the side. “I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t want your praise,” I say, straightening up to my full height, which is not much, but I think I’m making my point. “I want your word that you’ll never put Riley—or any other player—in that position again. He’s healing. Let him.”

Mercer regards me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face as if trying to gauge my sincerity. Finally, he nods. “Fair enough, I won’t do it again,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “But let me ask you this: How far are you willing to go to protect him?”

“What do you mean?”

A slow, calculating smile spreads across his face. “I have a proposition for you,” he says, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Come to our high-stakes games. Like the one against the Bears. Be there to keep Riley calm when he meets Houston again. I’ll even pay you for your time.”

I stare at him in disbelief, my mind reeling. “You want me to be his…what? His emotional support cheerleader?”

Mercer shrugs. “Call it what you want. But I think we both know that you have a unique ability to get through to him. And if that means the difference between winning and losing…” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.

The nerve this man has. “I’m not interested in your money,” I say, almost spitting the words out. “But let me make one thingperfectly clear. If you ever pull a stunt like this again—if you ever put Riley’s well-being at risk for the sake of your own ego—you’ll have a lot more than a ‘little spitfire’ to deal with. I can be one hell of a pain in the ass when I want to be.”

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