Page 56 of Unsteady

“I don’t— I’m not—”

“Do it again, you’re back on probation,” he says, snapping his fingers at me. As if this conversation is done.

“You’re not being fair.”

I’m not arguing about Rhys, but one day being a little off center isn’t going to destroy years of skating ability, years of complete dedication.

“Not fair?” He slams his fist down on the metal desk between us, standing and hovering over me. “Victoria lands her axel better than you every single time. Want to talk about fair?” His voice raises with every word, anxiety rushes down my spine. “I’ve putyearsof money and time and effort intoyouand you’re so ungrateful I can’t keep your attention for an hour.”

“Kelley—”

“You’re back on probation.”

I open my mouth, feeling my entire body shaking with the effort to hold back a scream, maybe even a full-blown tantrum.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’tthank youorI’m sorry,then I don’t fucking want to hear it.”

I hold it all back for a minute, souring my stomach as I do, like swallowing bile.

It’s quiet for a moment, and angry tears start to burn the backs of my eyes, until one traitor escapes.

Kelley sighs, standing and crossing his arms as he comes around his desk and stands in front of me. “My terror, come here.”

His arms open and he tucks me into a tight hug. More tears escape, my arms stationary at my sides as I absorb the comfort I don’t even know if I want.

“Now,” he says, angling me back and petting my hair. “Go home. Sleep. And then be back here tomorrow morning. Early.”

My stomach cramps from holding in everything I want to say, to scream. But as usual, somehow I hold it in.

He is the only one who cares. Who knows everything about my fucked up life. He loves me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words burning like acid as they fall from my lips.

SEVENTEEN

RHYS

It isn’t unusual for Coach Harris to ask to meet with me on an off day; as captain, it is more or less part of my responsibilities.

Whatisunusual is the presence of my father seated to my right, stuffed into a chair now angled into the wall from the incessant tapping of his foot. I wasn’t anxious driving in, but now with nothing to distract my mind, I feed off his restlessness.

The door opens and Coach Harris comes in and circles the desk with a quick handshake to my father, the two of them familiar.

“Max.” Harris nods, sitting and resting his elbows heavily across the dark oak. “Rhys. Thanks for coming.”

Something is wrong.

An unsettled feeling begins to slither in my stomach, swirling like unease in the rapidly shrinking room.

Why is it so hot in here?

“I wanted to talk with you both privately about this before his first official practice.” Harris pauses and holds a calloused palm up, as if stopping me. “I know you're aware Davidson left, so we are down a defenseman on the first line with Doherty.”

While the information isn’t news, no one discusses Davidson’s sudden drop. Most only leave the team early if they’re drafted—he wasn’t. Now, Holden is without his usual line match. I’d assumed an underclassman would replace him.

Coach Harris clears his throat, before setting his face firm in a way that only further pricks the hairs on the back of my neck.

“So, we picked up a transfer from Michigan. Toren Kane.”

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