Page 122 of Burn Bright
“Yeah, about that.” I rest an arm on my bent knee, my limbs cramped in the closet. “I decided to give it a go. Coach Haddock has been nice…really nice.”
“You seem surprised.”
My brows furrow. “He told me I was faster than most players he’s ever seen at MVU. That I’m even good enough to make it to the NHL, like third-round draft pick good enough. So I’m just wondering if he’s blowing smoke up my ass.”
“Why would you think that?”
I laugh and run another hand through my hair. Memories torpedo through me in a crushing onslaught. “My old coach said the opposite. Said I would never amount to that. It’s just confusing. Who to believe.” I grind my jaw and try to roll out the tensed muscles in my shoulders.
A short stretch of silence bleeds over the phone before he replies. “Of what you’ve told me about your old coach and your interactions with him, there is a chance he was singling you outbecause he thought you had an ego. So it’s possible he never told you that you were good because he thought you already knew you were.”
I try to process this as he adds, “He could’ve been bringing you down to humble you.”
I squint in contemplation. “To humble me?” Because of my last name. As if being a Cobalt somehow brands me with an overinflated, oxygen-sucking ego.
“It’s a theory,” Dr. Wheeler says. “Because there’s no real reason your new coach would lie to you.”
“If he wants me on the team this badly, he could just be telling me what I want to hear so I’ll join.”
“Why would he want you on the team if he didn’t think you were good?”
I circle around to the idea he’s using me for ticket sales, but he’s still shown no interest in publicity. Just shown interest in me…in my abilities on the ice.
Dr. Wheeler fills the silence. “If he thinks you’re good enough, then you’re good enough, Ben. It’s okay to believe that.”
My jaw aches. Muscles won’t relax. I’m not sure I’ll get there. Not tonight. Not talking to Dr. Wheeler. All I really want to do is hear Harriet’s voice.
“Yeah, okay,” I say hurriedly. “Anything else?”
Dr. Wheeler laughs. “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”
“All good in the neighborhood,” I tell him. “Classes great. Friends great. Brothers great. Sisters great. Nothing new to speak of.”
“Next semester, are you still planning to major in Ecology?”
“Yep,” I say, keeping up the lie I fed him last month.
“Good, good. It’s great to have goals.” Dr. Wheeler chats a little longer, and I give him some perfunctory answers before we end the call.
I’m about to stand and shake out my limbs when the closet door swings open. Fuck.Fuuuck.
Of course, it has to be Charlie on the other side.
His hair sticks up in five different directions. With his white button-down wrinkled and untucked in a pair of black slacks, he could have just finished fucking someone or had a meeting with a Fortune 500 company. When it comes to Charlie, you never know.
He leans a hand on the door, appraising me slowly. “What the fuck?” he asks in a causal, unbothered tone.
“What the fuck,what?” I shoot back, my adrenaline suddenly surging even though he hasn’t really come at me.
He rolls his eyes. “You really need me to spell this out?”
I rise to my feet. “No, I don’t.” I’m waiting for him to move away because he’s blocking my exit.
He grips harder onto the door. “Why are you in the coat closet?”
“You’re the smart one,” I snap. “You tell me.”
He blinks. “Not a mind reader, but I see how you can get those two confused.”
