Him

Damn it. I knew that fucker at the gas station had looked familiar. I hold my breath as my gaze locks with the man at the curb. But Mr. Killfucker doesn’t make me hold it for long.

“No fucking way,” he spits. “No fucking way. Where is Pat?”

“Right here,” says a calm voice. Pat appears in the open doorway, a frown playing on his lips. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there is. This is what’s costing me thousands? I’m paying a couple of perverts to spend hours each day with my kid? That is fucking bullshit.”

Heads are turning faster than on spectators at Wimbledon. And as I watch, Pat’s face pales. His eyes bounce onto me for a fraction of a second, and my heart sinks.

I’m going to be a liability here. A fucking crater for Pat and his business.

Killfucker is also noticing all the other parental attention he’s garnered. That’s when he goes in for the kill. “I will not keep quiet about this.”

Cue his son’s involvement. “Dad!” the kid shouts. “What the hell are you saying?”

Pat’s jaw hardens until it resembles a granite block. “You’ll need to follow me, sir. If you’re going to slander my NHL-bound coaching staff, you can do it in the privacy of my office.” He turns around and disappears into the building.

I wait until Killfucker passes me. On his way up the steps he gives me an evil glare. Then I follow him inside. Right behind me is Jamie, his eyes downcast.

“I’m going to hear what he has to say,” I whisper. “But you don’t have to come.”

Jamie gives me an exasperated glance and follows me anyway.

Fuck me sideways. I’ve just fucked up Jamie’s final summer at Elites. This job he loves so much? Torpedoed by yours truly. He’s going to rue the day he ever met me.

A minute later, the four of us gather in Pat’s tiny office, and I flick the door shut.

Killfucker obviously knows not to hesitate before taking a shot. He lets it fly before Pat can speak first. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t know about these two. How the fuck could you hire them to work with impressionable teenagers?”

Pat takes a deep breath, but his face is red. “I have no idea what’s set you off. Does someone want to fill me in?”

Jamie opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand. I can feel myself shaking with anger, but my voice sounds reasonably steady. “Let’s let Mr. Killfeather tell Coach Pat exactly what he saw.” I turn to Killfucker. “And don’t hold back, man. Tell him every detail.”

This parry works, because Killfucker starts to look uncomfortable. I’ve just managed to use his own homophobia against him. He can’t even get the words out, he’s so disgusted. “They…” He clears his throat and points at me. “He kissed him.”

And now I have to give Pat credit. There’s a flash of surprise on his face, but he shuts it down only a nanosecond later.

I jump in again before Pat has a chance. “That’s not a good enough description, man. What else did you see? I’m waiting to hear the perversion.”

Killfucker shakes his head. “That was plenty, trust me.”

“Really?” I snarl. “Where did I kiss Coach Canning?”

He’s clearly finding my offensive play exasperating, so I know I’m on the right track. “At the gas station!”

“On what part of his body, dude?” Then I almost snicker, because now there’s a throbbing vein in the center of Killfucker’s forehead.

“Uh, here,” he says, pointing at his cheek. “But that’s not the point.”

I keep pushing. “Really? Because I think it is exactly the point. I’ve known Jamie forever, and he’d just told me something important about his career, and I hugged him. With one arm. Don’t skimp on the details, okay? I comforted my friend in all that gory detail—half a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Slap the cuffs on me, why don’t you?” I put my wrists out straight.

Killfucker is about to explode. “But I saw… I think you two clearly…”

Pat jumps in now. “It really doesn’t matter what you think. This is your big problem? A G-rated private moment between friends?”

“Friends who—”

“Not your business!” Pat shouts him down. “Not mine, either. I’ve never seen my coaches do anything inappropriate. They are all business on that rink. And that’s what you’re paying for, sir.”

“No!” counters Killfucker. “I’m paying for good judgment, and I will tell whoever is willing to listen that you don’t screen your employees. You’re just waiting for disaster, anyway. These two cause a stir and—”

Pat cuts him off. “The only stir Coach Canning caused was the day his girlfriend showed up at the rink. And your son made an inappropriate comment about her anatomy.”

Killfucker’s mouth falls open. “Then it’s worse than you know, Coach, because Mr. Canning here obviously gets around. Because I know what I saw. And my son and I are out of here.”

Shit. Poor Killfeather. He’s got this ass for a dad, and he gets yanked from camp?

Pat’s face is a stone. “You’re free to do as you wish. But if you slander my coaches to anyone I will not take it lying down.”

“Not like they do, huh?”

After issuing this parting shot, Killfucker leaves.

The office is left in a deafening silence. The only sound is Pat’s loud sigh, until Jamie tries to say something. “Coach, I…”

Pat holds up a hand. “Just give me a minute to think.”

Chastened, Jamie is silent again. He doesn’t glance at me, though, and I wish he would.

“Okay,” Coach says. “You two can head back to your room, I’ll text you when it’s clear how this jackass is going to play it. And I want to apologize, Jamie, for bringing up that bit about your female friend…”

“Not necessary,” he says quickly.

But Pat is shaking his head. “No. It shouldn’t matter! I don’t give two fucks if you have a girlfriend or not. But I let him get me flustered. The fact that the situation took me by complete surprise only means you’ve both behaved impeccably.”

Now that’s not true. Good thing Coach Pat doesn’t follow us around when we’re skinny-dipping and fucking in the car.

“I’ve run this camp for twenty years,” he adds, looking us each in the eye in turn. “There have been times when I’ve had to ask staff to be more discreet. But that is not the case here.”

And now Jamie is the color of a tomato. He looks like he’d happily activate any trapdoors in Pat’s office floor.

My fists finally unclench. “Pat? I apologize if I’m making your day more complicated, but I’m not going upstairs to wait for your text. We’re supposed to be scrimmaging, right? I don’t run. My private life is my business. Not many people know my secret. But if some asshole decides to confront me, I never duck him. That only looks weak. I have every right to be here. I have every right to coach those kids.”

Pat squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Of course you do. I was just trying to shield you from any more ignorant bullshit. Get your skates on, then. Fuck ’im.”