Page 121 of Blindside Me
I sit, posture rigid, shoulders tight with guilt I’ve dragged around like extra weight in my gear bag. For the first time since Barton’s, I’m ready to take whatever he’s about to throw at me. Or at least, I’m pretending I am.
Coach studies me like he’s deciding whether to coach or cut me loose. The silence stretches until I have to fight the urge to fill it.
“The NCAA made their ruling,” he finally says.
My breath catches. This is it. The moment I learn that my career is over before it really started.
“Two-game suspension. No permanent mark on your record.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by the sting of guilt. I don’t deserve this leniency. Don’t deserve a second chance after what I did. My head drops forward slightly as I process.
“That’s … good.” The words taste hollow.
Coach doesn’t let them settle. “Is it? Because you look like you lost more than a game.”
My fists clench on my knees without my permission. “I lost control, Coach. Could’ve hurt him worse. Could’ve hurt the team.”
“But you didn’t. And now you get to move forward.” His eyes narrow slightly. “If that’s what you want.”
The question lands hard. Is that what I want? To move forward, to pretend nothing happened? To act like I didn’t reveal what lurked beneath all that careful control?
Coach leans forward, elbows on his desk. “You want to talk about why you lost it out there? Or are we going to pretend it was just about trash talk?”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The practiced excuses wither before I can voice them. I figured he’d say something about Jade, but I never suspected he’d guess there’s something more going on.
“It wasn’t just about what he said.” The confession scrapes up my throat like broken glass. “It was … something else. Something in me.”
“Go on.”
I stare at my hands. The split knuckles are healing, but they’ll leave scars just like Jake’s did. And what Dad’s does after every bender.
“My dad has a temper.” The words come stilted. “It’s the kind that breaks furniture and walls.” I shift my gaze to the ground as shame coats my cheeks. “And sometimes people.”
Coach doesn’t react, but his attention sharpens. He knows part of this, but it bears repeating.
“Jake was the same. My brother. Quick to fight. Quicker to drink after.” I force myself to look up, to meet his eyes. “I always told myself I wouldn’t be like them. That I could control it.”
“But?”
“But I liked it.” The admission hangs between us, ugly and raw. “When I hit Roman, when I felt his jaw crack under my fist … I liked it. Wanted more. Same rush my dad gets. Same high Jake chased right into that tree.”
Coach’s jaw tightens slightly. “You think I didn’t know?”
My breath stalls.
“I coached Jake. Watched him self-destruct. I know about your dad’s DUIs. Everything.”
“I promised myself I’d never be like them. Never lose control like that. And then I did. On center ice. In front of everyone.” My voice drops. “In front of Jade.”
The name falls between us like a grenade with the pin pulled. Coach’s jaw tightens slightly at the mention of his niece.
“I didn’t mean for things with your niece to get this far,” I continue, the words tumbling out now that the dam has broken. “I thought I could handle it. Keep myself in check. But I messed up, and if you think I should stay away from her—” I swallow hard, shoulders hunched forward. “I will. She deserves better than someone like me anyway.”
It guts me to say it, but I mean it. Because it’s true. Because Jade deserves someone whole, not someone held together with tape, discipline, and fear.
Coach Howell is quiet for so long that I think he didn’t hear me. Then he sighs, a heavy sound coming from somewhere deep.
“I don’t have a lot of rules in life, Drew. But ‘don’t date my niece’ seemed like a pretty straightforward one.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t forbid it because I didn’t like you.”
