Him (Him #1)(64)

“Coach Canning, Coach Wesley!” Davies calls when Wes and I arrive outside the rink. “Come meet my dad.”

The front steps are littered with teenagers and their folks, all of whom are eager to meet the coaches who are grooming their kids into champions. Shen is in the middle of an animated conversation with his parents, grinning wildly as he talks about his progress. A few feet away, Killfeather stands alone, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he looks around.

Wes and I have just reached Davies and his father when a flash of silver catches my peripheral vision.

I shift my head, and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach when the Merc from the gas station suddenly speeds up to the curb. I notice Killfeather take a step forward, looking even more agitated now.

The driver’s door opens.

The bigot gets out of the car and addresses Killfeather in an annoyed voice. “Isn’t there a closer parking lot?”

My goalie visibly gulps. “No. Only the one behind the building.”

“I’ll leave the car here then.”

“It’s a fire lane,” Killfeather protests. “Just park in the lot, Dad. Please.”

Oh shit. Dad?

Dread floods my stomach at the same time Killfeather Senior registers my presence. His head turns sharply, those dark eyes landing on me. Then on Wes.

As his lips curl in an angry sneer, only one thought runs through my head.

Fuck.





29





Wes





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

“No f*cking way,” he spits. “No f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking crater for Pat and his business.

Killf*cker 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 Killf*cker 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 f*cked 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.

Killf*cker 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 f*ck 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 Killf*cker. “And don’t hold back, man. Tell him every detail.”

This parry works, because Killf*cker 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.”

Killf*cker 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 Killf*cker’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.