Page 70 of Knotted Laces

I’m fine. It’ll all be fine.

And I’ve even talked with someone about it.

See? Growth. Ready to move forward.

But I don’t get a chance to have my fake conversation with Rome to avoid King’s conversation.

Because Coach comes out of his office.

He gets one glimpse of me, scowls, and bellows, “Jackson. Your ass in my office.Now.”

Things were going good.

But now I’m sitting in a familiar chair, listening to a familiar rant, and trying to remember why I’m here, putting in extra time in the off-season, only to get shit on for my “lack of seriousness” on the ice.

Never mind that the guys and I paid for the ice time. Never mind that we wereallfree and loose and this was far from an organized team practice. Never mind that I wasn’t the only one pausing to chat and fuck around and laugh and just generally enjoy the thing that’s been our lives from pretty much the moment we started walking.

“…fucking hell, Jackson. You need to?—”

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up just in time to see the door swing open, to see Chrissy pop her head in. There’s something in her eyes that I don’t love—that I fucking hate, that tells me she heard enough of Coach’s rant.

Damn.

“Are we still having that meeting, Barry?” she asks, tone completely neutral but somehow still displaying complete disapproval.

Chrissy doesn’t strictly work for the team—her full-time gig is her animal charity—but she does contract work on the player development side, mostly because she’s really gifted at it, but also because Jean-Michel likes to play overprotective dad and keep her close so he can protect her.

Oroverprotect as she likes to complain.

But when our eyes connect, I know that the overprotective gene didn’t skip a generation.

“I can come back,” she says when Coach doesn’t immediately reply, starting to turn, her tablet and papers in hand.

That snaps him out of his stupor, and he narrows his eyes for a second before he glares at me again. “Dismissed.”

Not liking that look and what it might mean for Chrissy, I flick my eyes toward her as I stand up, wanting to make sure she knows I won’t leave her unless she’s comfortable.

Her half-smile and the amusement creeping into her expression tells me enough.

Christina Dubois may have a soft heart for stray animals and people, but she’s her father’s daughter.

And if she needs to kick some ass, that trait didn’t skip a generation either.

I nod, slip from the room, and make short work of getting changed and heading out to my parking lot.

But my run-ins with the Dubois doublet doesn’t end with Chrissy intervening in Coach’s office.

The moment I step out into the California sunshine, I spot someone by my car.

No.Someones.

The owner of the team, Jean-Michel Dubois, is talking to…

Athena.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Athena

---