Page 80 of Crossing Lines

Sure. How about six?

Janet

That works.

As a smile crept over my lips, I looked up.

Finley strode toward me, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “Hey, need to talk to you.” He grabbed my elbow and led me into his office, next to the one I shared with the head coach.

“What’s up?” I scanned the room, it was smaller than the one I was in but held the same furniture. He had a fewolder trophies on a shelf behind his desk, maybe from when he played in high school?

He poked his head around the door jamb, looking each way, then shut the door and locked it.

Why the hell was he locking us in? My pulse quickened and a queasy knot formed in my gut. Something was up.

“This was in my mailbox today.” He pulled a folded letter off his desk and handed it to me. “Know anything about it?” His gaze hardened.

I held the letter in front of my face and read it. Who the hell sent people written letters these days?

Coach Finley:

There’s a situation on your team you need to know about. One of your forwards is having an affair with Coach Gibson. I’ve seen them together on multiple occasions. If you need proof, here’s a photo of them at the gay bar on Mill Avenue.

Fucking hell. My heart jolted and my mouth went dry. I struggled to keep the paper steady in my trembling hands. I dropped my gaze to a blurry photo of my first kiss with Jonah the night Owen attacked me. The fucker took a photo of us? And held on to it all this time?

I dropped the paper to my side and rubbed my chin. I could deny it. The photo was blurry, but it sure as hell did resemble the two of us. I?—

“I saw Boehm leaving your hotel room in the middle of the night.” He paced across the small room, the stark light from the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling painting the air in vivid hues. He stopped at his desk. “I haven’t said anything to Patterson.”

My gaze snapped to his. He knew but hadn’t said anything? I swallowed thickly.

“The organization doesn’t need a scandal right now. We’re headed into the Frozen Four and bullshit like this could throw the whole team off.” His gaze pierced mine. “I want a win this year, Gibson.”

“S-so, what do you want to do about this?” As my breath grew shallow and my peripheral vision spotted, I grabbed the back of a chair and sat down. Fuck, I might pass out. Nausea coiled in my gut. I had to hold it together.

“Tell me what’s going on. All of it. Do you have any idea who the guy is that wrote the letter?” He slapped his palm on his desk and leaned over me, his face close to mine, his brows lowered.

I gaped. “O-Owen. The person who wrote the letter is Owen.” I scrubbed my face. Fuck, he’d done it. The son of a bitch.

“Who the hell is Owen?” He hiked a hip onto his desk and held his hands together over his lap. “I don’t know of an Owen on the team.”

“He’s not on the team. He’s a student I met when I first got here. He…” Oh fuck, how was I supposed to explain my stupidity of hooking up with the guy? I inhaled a calming breath, then glanced at the paper again.Who the fuck writes letters like this anymore?I shook my head, then threw my gaze at Finley. “Owen was a man I hooked up with. Things didn’t work out and he started stalking me.”

“A stalker? This guy is a stalker.” He cocked a brow. “You queer people stalk each other?” He gave me a smirk.

Was he trying to make me feel better? “Not usually, no.” I took a few more deep breaths, my chest relaxing and trembling hands slowing. “So, the whole story? Owen attacked me at the gay bar the night of the photo, and Jonah, um, Boehm, and his friends happened to be there. Boehm punched the guy?—”

“Fuck, the players are not supposed to be getting into bar fights, but I’ll let that one slide.” He huffed a soft chuckle.

“And we sort of…” I shrugged. “We had a moment. In the commotion, I twisted my injured knee and Boehm took me home and took care of me. It started a…we started a relationship.” I gauged Finley’s reaction. He knew about my history with my knee, all the coaches did. “He’s not my player. He’s your player.” Good God, was I really using that excuse?

He freed a quick snort. “Uh-huh. It would still cause a scandal. Five years ago, a male coach had sexual relations with a player on the women’s team, and it sparked all sorts of hell for the organization. Now this?” He stood and walked in a circle. “Not only is it grounds for a reprimand, it’s…well, it’s gay.”

“Gay?” I stared at him. “Technically, I’m gay, but Jonah is?—”

“I don’t care what color of the rainbow flag Jonah flies under. If we reprimand you for pulling the same shit the hetero coach pulled, are we going to have problems with some queer civil rights organization?” He threw his hands up and dropped them. “Fuck, I don’t know.” He paced to the other side of the room. “And we’re so close to the end of the damn season, and your boy, Boehm, just got invited to the Maple Leafs’ camp.”

“He did?” My eyes widened. So, that’s what his text was about. My stomach fluttered. I couldn’t wait to see him. I should pick up some champagne.

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