Page 88 of Dirty Pucking Player

I get the old saying now. My history with him makes these decisions even harder—for him and for me. But it’s time to step up and be a coach, regardless of my personal feelings for Bash or how it may look to him. And hopefully, Bob will understand if I explain.

I elbow Marty and nod toward Bash on the ice. “Keep a close eye on Bash tonight. If it looks like he isn’t a hundred percent in the game, pull him.”

His eyes widen, and he glances across the ice at Bash. “Are you sure?”

Am I?

I close my eyes and let the sounds of the arena fill my head. Pulling Bash will have major repercussions—with the fans, with Bob, and with the other players. But if whatever is going on in his head can interfere with his ability to play, I need to do what’s best for the team, not what’s best for Bash. And my assistant coach needs to know I’m one hundred percent sure.

“I’m sure.”

Marty shrugs and nods. “You got it.”

If I end up having to pull him, he’ll never forgive me.

But at this point…what does it matter?

Things between us are nothing but dust in the wind. Any lingering feelings we have for each other will dissipate over time. Maybe it would even be a good thing, like a final nail being hammered into the coffin. A sign that we need to keep walking away from each other instead of running right back, which is definitely a possibility, at least for me.

Who the hell knows what he’s thinking?

For a while, I thought I did.

I thought I understood him. I truly believed we had come to a point where we knew each other, but apparently, it was just lust fogging over the reality of the situation.

That no one will ever really know Bash Fury because he doesn’t want anyone to.

Only one thing is clear—this game is the most important of my career as a coach, and I won’t let anything, or anyone, impede the team’s success. Not even Bash Fury.

23

GREER

The message from Bob was very clear: come to my office immediately.

Shit.

As if losing at home and being one game away from being eliminated isn’t bad enough, I also had to pull Bash, and now I have to explain it to all to Bob.

I don’t know if it’s worse because I know him so well or if he would be even harder on me if we didn’t have such a long history. Either way, this will not be pleasant. Bob’s temper simmers just below the surface, and when it rises, you don’t want to be in the same room. I’ve always done my best not to be the focus of his explosions, but tonight, it will be unavoidable.

He’s put a lot of faith in me to lead this team, and we’re crumbling.

I knock on his door gently, as if doing so will somehow lessen what’s about to rain down on me.

“Come in.” His voice vibrates through the door, anger hardening his tone.

He isn’t happy, and I can’t say I blame him.

Neither am I.

I push it open and step inside. Bob glares at me from behind his desk, and I turn to close the door behind me.

“Don’t bother. We’re waiting for—”

Bash appears in the open door, his wet hair slicked back, and the cool scent of his shampoo and soap filling the air between us.

God, I miss that smell.

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