Page 88 of The Charlie Method

Speaking of interviews, I have one today after practice. The writer fromCapitol Magazinefinally managed to pin me down with a date.

“My daughters are off-limits, you hear me?” Hollis’s stern eyes conduct a sweep of the locker room. “The twins and Anika are too young for you, so don’t even fucking look at them. But RJ is age appropriate—especiallydon’t look at her. This is nonnegotiable. My wife will murder you without hesitation. She is a scary woman. Now what’s the rule?”

There’s a murmur of confusion. The rule? What is this man babbling about? Nobody cares about his daughters.

“Let’s all repeat the rule,” he says, gesturing for us to speak. When everyone continues to stare at him, he grumbles in irritation. “Say after me: your daughters are off-limits.”

After a beat, a chorus of voices rings through the room.

“Your daughters are off-limits.”

“…off-limits,” finishes Patrick, who came into the chant late.

“You’re good boys,” Hollis says, nodding firmly. “All right, gear up.”

Chatter fills the room again, everyone turning toward their lockers to get ready. In the stall next to me, Ryder peels his sweatshirt off. His head pops free at the same time as our new assistant coach ambles over.

“Hey! Luke! You remember me from your wedding, right?”

Ryder dons a blank face. I don’t blame him. There were about five hundred people at his wedding. Against his will, of course. Gigi’s dad was in charge of the guest list.

“My pants ripped on the dance floor when I did the splits?” Coach Hollis prompts. “Tore right at the crotch?”

“Oh yeah!” Shane exclaims from the other end of the bench. “I remember that! Those were some killer splits, bro.”

Shane sounds like he means that. Shit, I guess Diana really did turn him into a dancer. I’m both impressed and afraid.

Hollis takes another step, officially encroaching on Ryder’s space cushion.

Ryder’s expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s on the alert, wondering what this overly enthusiastic man wants from him.

“Listen,” Hollis says, his tone grave enough to raise my concern. “I need you to talk to Garrett for me.”

“What about?” Ryder asks, his forehead creased.

“I want access to Dad Chat.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry, Coach, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dad Chat!” Hollis sputters. I can’t tell if he’s outraged or upset. Maybe both. “It’s by invite only, and those assholes won’t let me join. Fitzy got in because of the Di Laurentis connection. Connelly’s in because he’s basically trying to fight Logan for G’s number-one best friend slot, but Logan ain’t gonna take it standing up.”

“Lying down,” I correct.

Hollis blinks in confusion. “Huh?”

“The phrase is ‘won’t take it lying down.’”

“Why the fuck would anyone be lying down for a fight?”

I’m about to explain, but Hollis makes another impatient noise and continues.

“So I said, fine, I’ll be the bigger man. I don’t need to be in the chat. Me and Conor can start our own chat. We’re not close but we can be. Nobody says we can’t be.”

“Who is Conor?” I hear someone whisper.

I have no idea.

“And then I find out Conor got into the chat last year! Jake added him because they’re married to sisters.” Hollis growls. “How is it my fault I’m not related to any of these assholes? What? I should have nailed Dean’s sister instead of marrying my wife? Is that it? Do they want me to divorce my wife?”

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