Page 13 of Beautiful Collide

There’s not even a second to soak in my success.

I made it to the NHL.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted. The only real goal I’ve ever had in life.

Fine. Even super late and in my street clothes, I can’t help but give myself a moment to soak it in and—

“Where the hell have you been?”

The voice slams through the tension like a bulldozer.

Shit.

I might not know him well yet, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize who that voice belongs to and that I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

I pivot slightly to meet the owner of the voice head-on, and just as I suspected, it’s Coach Robert.

“Well, well.” He strides to me, his expression carved from stone. His voice drips with sarcasm as he continues, “Look who decided to bless us with his presence.”

I wince. I’ve been here all of two minutes, and I’ve already managed to piss off the man who controls my ice time. Not great.

He weaves through players, stopping just short of me. “You think you can just waltz in here late?”

My heart begins to race, guilt mixing with panic. “Coach, I—”

“Save it.” He holds up a hand, and I swear the hallway gets colder. “I don’t care if your dog ate your alarm clock or if aliens abducted you. The only thing I care about is the fact that you’re late.”

I stand there, clutching my gear bag like a scolded kid. The weight of every player’s stare burns into my skin.

It takes everything in me not to hop from foot to foot. “But I—”

“This is professional hockey, Wilde.” Coach plants his feet, his eyes hard, the message clear. “No excuse will make this okay.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again—”

“You’re damn right it won’t.” Coach starts to pace, a predator in this confined space. “I don’t care if you were the top player in the minors, the second coming of Gretzky, or the goddamn tooth fairy. When I say show up, you show up. Got it?”

I know what I should say.

That I should keep my head down and muttergot it.Anything to appease him.

But I can’t.

I grew up in a fair household. One with parents who valued honesty and always listened when I had something to say.

Like an idiot, I try to explain.

“I was locked in a closet,” I blurt out.

I can see the disbelief etched on his face. The way he crosses his arms in front of his chest and sneers down at me like I’m some kind of idiot.

Just then, I catch a set of footsteps approaching me from behind.

I turn, relieved to see Molly.

Finally.

Desperation claws at my throat.

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