Page 186 of There's No Us Without You
I’m not usually short with my teammates, especially Carter, but right now all I can think about is not fucking up and going in search of the nearest hit.
Most people don’t get what it’s like to be a professional athlete. It’s fine sitting on the sidelines, and pointing out where we stuff up, but do they understand how much pressure we get put under to perform?
My guess is: they don’t have a damn clue.
I’m like a trained circus monkey doing tricks for the spectators just so they get what they paid for.
With a crack of my neck, I get started on the usual drills and thankfully, I make it through training without throwing up or passing out. Now I just have to make it through whatever pep talk Coach has in store for me.
When I reach his office, he nods to the chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
The tension in the air sits heavy on my chest, and even after my shower, I’m still sweating through my clean shirt.
Coach finally looks at me. “Do you know why I wanted to see you, Emerson?”
Shit. He used my first name—this can’t be good. My legs bounce as I shake my head.
Coach slams a newspaper on his desk in front of me. “What the fuck is this, de Silva?”
I don’t have to look at the paper to know what he’s referring to. And we’re back to de Silva, so that’s progress, although the heat in his cheeks tells me not to push him.
The fact I thought this wouldn’t get out just reminds me how much of a dumb-arse I am. Nothing happened—at least I don’tthink it did—but I guess the pictures aren’t going to convince anyone of that, considering the woman on my lap is practically orgasming on my thigh.
And the fact it was in Will’s bar... and the woman in question was his ex.
Yeah, probably not my finest of hours.
I’m fucked from all angles, no matter how you look at it.
I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. “It’s nothing. Just a stupid mistake.”
Coach scoffs. “A mistake? You got that right, son. Do you know what this does for your reputation? Christ, for our reputation as a club?” He throws his hands up before putting them on his hips. “What happened to what’s-her-name?”
“Eden?” I raise an eyebrow, my jaw working overtime as I attempt to calm the bile rising up my oesophagus.
“Have you fucked that up already?”
Sweat dampens my forehead, and I shift in my seat, averting my eyes from my coach’s face to the table in front of him.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” One hand up, he uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Don’t answer that question.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not that it’s going to do anything.
I’m surprised I haven’t been suspended yet, but I know that’s on the cards right now.
Coach sighs and walks round to lean against his desk in front of me, crossing his ankles. “You should have come to me, son. Whatever is going on, you shouldn’t have to deal with it on your own.”
I nod, tears brimming in my eyes. “I know. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I understand if you need me to step down as Captain.”
He shakes his head while scrubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Unnecessary, but you better have a good excuse for the investors and our sponsors. They’re going to want to knowthat this isn’t going to happen again. Finals are only three weeks away.”
“I know, Coach. I’m sorry,” I say again. “I promise I’ve got it together now.”
Promises.
Promises.
How many more am I going to break?
