Page 62 of Brutal Obsession

He sighs and drops his arms, bracing them on the desk. “The Brickell oneandyour high school coach,” he clarifies.

Shit.

“And?” I ball my fists, squeezing hard. There’s not much I care about, but hockey is absolutely one of them. Plus, I’ve got no fucking idea what Coach Marzden from Emery-Rose Elite would say. Maybe he’d sing my praises… or he’d throw me under the bus. He’s a fickle guy.

My Brickell coach, though? Asshole material. Especially since there were no charges filed, and I got dumped over a newspaper article. He blamed it on the administration in general, but I know better. He preferred a spotless team. The players were angels with clean records, and here I was with the accusation of drunk driving and reckless endangerment hanging over my head.

With a sudden burst of fear, I realize that this could be headed in that direction, too.

And then where would I be?

Roake sighs. “Let me put you out of your misery.”

“Please do.” I sit back and brace for the worst.

“This is an embarrassment.” He picks up the newspaper and tosses it at me.

I don’t move to catch it. The newspaper hits my chest, sliding into my lap. I ignore the garish distortion of my face. The online article was pulled, and print copies were retracted—but that did nothing for the people who had already had copies delivered.

And clearly, print newspaper isn’t a dying breed.

“You’re kicking me off the team.” I have to say it before he does, and I rise from my seat. “I understand. This sort of publicity—”

“Get your ass back in that fucking chair,” Coach snaps. “I’m not kicking you off the team. But this sort of thing cannot go unchecked. They’re accusing you of a lot. Youronlysaving grace is that article is an opinion piece that the paper decided to fucking put in front of everyone’s faces.”

I shift. “That’s—”

“And that Violet girl. Is she involved?”

“If she says she is, she’s lying.” I shrug. “I don’t know where they found her, to be frank, and they’ve exaggerated our relationship.”

“What is your relationship?” Roake narrows his eyes.

“I slept with her once.” I shake my head, aiming for rueful. “Maybe she talked to the journalist who came sniffing around, or maybe they paid her. I don’t know.”

If I keep saying it, I’m going to believe it. There is a small part of me thatdoesbelieve Violet would do something like this. That she’d go to an extreme to get back at me. Another part knows that she’s just as caught up in this as I am.

But it still doesn’t lessen my anger.

It’s why I let Paris maul me in the dining hall. Because my fucking feelings were hurt, and making her hurt eases some of it. Like pushing on a bruise until she cries out, or insulting her, or reminding her that she’ll never dance again.

“Well, perhaps that’s our solution,” my coach says slowly, chewing over his words.

I straighten. “What is?”

He eyes me. “Your father called me, you know. Said that I’d be blameless to let you go. But to me, that just means you’re guilty. Are you?”

“No.” Another lie.

They’re stacking up, but what the fuck do I care? It’s either lie and stay where I am or tell the truth and reinvent myself at a new school. The truth won’t get me into the NHL. Thetruthhas done nothing for me.

“Okay.” Roake nods. “You’re going to meet with the hockey team’s publicist and put together a statement. I want this handled.”

Relief hits me. He’s not forcing me out. “Done.”

“And we’ll need a statement from Violet, too. Just to cover our bases.”

I wonder how I’m going to make that happen. Can she lie to a publicist? Would she even? That’s not part of the NDA. That’s not part of anything exceptmaybeher good nature.

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