Page 25 of Dirty Pucking Player

That’s the most frustrating part of it all. He’s clearly intelligent and understands why I feel the way I do, yet he just can’t break the cycle—even in a new city with a new team.

My conversation with Dad has been running through my head since I watched Bash decimate Berglund on the ice in a blind rage only hours ago.

“Trust your gut.”

“What if I don’t know what my gut is telling me?”

“Then, you wait ‘til you do know.”

I know now. After seeing that, it’s clear this man is completely out of control. It’s not safe for anyone for him to be out on the ice, and he will only drag the team down.

Despite the distress on his face, I have to answer him honestly. “You’ve done absolutely nothing to prove otherwise, Bash. In fact, what happened tonight just proves my point. You’re out of control, and out of control is dangerous in this game.”

He clenches his teeth—probably to keep from retorting with something he shouldn’t say to his coach—and a muscle tics along his perfectly chiseled jaw. His chest heaves as he sucks in deep breaths, the fabric of his t-shirt tightening against his pecs and abs.

My words seem to have genuinely upset him.

Why the hell does he care what I think?

He certainly doesn’t act like he cares what anyone thinks when he’s out on the ice.

“Bash, you really hurt him tonight. He has a severe concussion. He lost four teeth, and you busted one of his orbital sockets.”

Bash scrubs his hands over his face. “Shit.”

“You did all that today for no reason. You don’t have any control. You’re going to get suspended for what happened—again. When your suspension is up, there’s no room on the Scorpions for a player like you.”

That muscle in his jaw jumps, and the air between us thickens. His fists open and close at his sides. He’s fuming mad. It’s the same look he got on the ice—like a bull ready to charge.

I shouldn’t say anything more other than “get out,” but I can’t keep myself from pushing more. “I thought…” I suck in a sharp breath, crossing my arms over my chest. “I really thought tonight that things had changed. That maybe you had somehow taken my concerns to heart and wanted to try to make your time here work.” Shaking my head, I stare up at the white, textured ceiling, trying to blink away the threat of tears I absolutely shouldn’t be crying over this situation. I return my gaze to him. “I thought there might be a chance. But you shattered that in one fucking second with your damn temper.”

He flinches as if I’ve struck him and takes a half step toward me, opening his mouth to reply, but he bites back whatever it is he was going to say in favor of storming past me and jerking open the door.

Just like when he left my office, he pauses for a split second, as if he wants to turn back and say something, but then he shakes his head and it slams shut behind him, sending a deep vibration through my chest.

I drop onto the bed with my hands over my face and my entire body shaking. Every confrontation I have with Bash leaves me more and more dazed, and it’s not just because of how angry I am at him.

It’s the tension between us that’s far more than professional.

Every argument feels like foreplay. Like we’re building up to something that I know can never happen between us and never will. Even if I weren’t his coach, even if he weren’t a player, I can’t be with somebody who shows such utter disregard for other people.

It just can’t happen.

And Bash can’t stay a Scorpion.

8

GREER

We finally pull into the gate, and the engines on the plane wind down. Everyone starts gathering their belongings and preparing to deplane now that we’re home.

Bash hasn’t even looked my direction the entire flight. I can’t say I blame him. He knows how angry I am and that any conversation we would be having wouldn’t be one that should occur in front of the rest of the team, or in a confined space with no means of escape for either of us.

He’s kept to himself somewhere behind me, toward the rear of the plane, the entire flight, and that’s for the best. The tension hanging in the air seems to have affected everyone, only low murmurs of conversation reaching me the entire time here.

I reach down to grab my bag from under the seat in front of me and toss it onto the empty one next to me. My lower back protests the move after tossing and turning in a hotel bed all night.

God, I can’t wait for a long, hot bath.

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