Page 71 of Sexting the Coach
For the first time since this whole thing started, I don’t give a fuck about the age gap. About the circumstances of the relationship. About what we decide to do in the future.
The only thing that matters is making sure I don’t lose her.
I just have to find the right words.
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Wolfe.”
I’m sitting at a table that’s far too big, in a conference room that’s overlooking the city. Up on the board, the PR and HR people have conveniently have a still image from the video up on the screen.
It shows me sitting next to Elsie, no idea that the next thing out of my mouth was going to set her off, scare her away from me. Even looking at it makes me feel like I could choke on the air in this room.
Across from me is a tall blond woman with pin-straight hair, her smile fixed in place like it’s been stitched there. The atmosphere in this room is stiff, the other professionals looking uneasy with one another.
It reminds me of the period of time right after the interns starting coming out against Morton. The feeling that everything was uncertain, and that a lot of people in the organization weredoing their best to bail things out while the rest of us waited for things to calm down.
There were meetings every day. We did our best to focus on practice, to assure the guys that everything was going to be fine. But now I’m not on the outside of the situation, waiting for everyone else to figure things out. I’m head coach now, more responsible for stuff like this. Involved in the meetings.
Especially considering the fact that this meeting is aboutme.
“Of course,” I sit back in my seat, glancing around the table again, waiting for the moment I see her. She’s not here yet.
“We might as well get started. As you know?—”
“Elsie isn’t here yet,” I interrupt, shaking my head and glancing at the door. It’s probably best if I don’t mention her, but I can’t help it. “Shouldn’t we wait for her to arrive before we talk about the situation?”
Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up, and she glances at Tamra, who’s looking at me. The tension in the room grows to a point that I’m considering letting out a loud noise just to break it when Quinn clears her throat and turns to me.
“I’m sure you understand the gravity of this situation, Mr. Wolfe. It’s my job to protect this organization from legal action, to ensure the employees here are happy and healthy, and that’s what I’m doing right now.”
“It’s also important that we consider not just the implications now,” Tamra says, lifting a finger, still smiling stupidly wide, even considering the circumstances. “But also, the ongoing reputation of the team. Ideally, we would be avoiding any additional…poor looks. For the team.”
“What are yousaying?” I growl, because the truth is that neither of them is really saying anything. But I can sense, beneath all the avoidance, what the truth is.
My chest gets tight before they say it.
“Well,” Quinn says, swallowing, then crossing her eyes and staring me down. “I’m sure you understand that we had to mitigate the damage here, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Mitigate the damage,” I repeat, deadpan.
“Yes,” Quinn confirms, looking away from me at the last second. The coward. “We are doing what’s best for the team, not just right now, but moving forward. And that means Ms. Montgomery has been terminated.”
Chapter 31
Elsie
The last time I cried this hard was the day that Drew was injured.
Or, actually, notrightafter finding out. When Dad came through the door, finding me alone in the living room, he informed me like we were business colleagues that Drew would be staying overnight in the hospital. That he was going to need surgery, and that Mom was still there with him while Dad came home to get a few things.
He couldn’t look me in the eye when he told me, and I knew him well enough to see the anger bubbling just there under the surface of his expression. Anger at me. For ruining Drew’s life.
My entire body had gone numb, still, and I’d nodded, staring unseeing at the TV until Dad eventually stomped away and into Drew’s room, opening and shutting the dresser, clearly getting him some clothes. Then, ten minutes later, with bags packed, Dad walked back out into the living room.
“They’re moving him to the big hospital,” he said, staring at a spot just over my head. “Mom and I are getting a hotel room.”
I’d never been left home alone before. Not overnight—not for a lack of trust, but because I was terrified of it. Anytime I was home when it started to get dark, I’d invent antagonists comingafter me, jump every time the refrigerator released a set of ice into the tray.
“Okay,” I’d said, clearing my throat and looking at him, feeling my heartbeat in my throat. “Drive safe.”
