Follow the River

Fighting fire with fire, I lean forward, bringing my lips a millimeter from his. The grip he has around my throat becomes more constricting as I bite out my response.

“Do it.”

The words, less than a whisper, float off my lips and onto his, making him shudder at the contact.

A snarl works its way out of his throat and it's the most animalistic sound I’ve ever heard come from a human. But it’s quickly cut off when we’re interrupted by a door being slammed open followed by both of our names being shouted.

Coach.

“In my office, right now!” he shouts, snapping us out of the stand-off we were in the midst of.

Rain releases his hold on me, stepping away and heading back to the locker room to get dressed while I stare after him. The rage still bubbling under the surface is begging me to go after him and giving him a taste of his own medicine, but I tamp it down. Just barely.

Instead, I head down the hallway to Coach Scott’s office, stepping inside only a minute before Ciaráin does, now dressed similarly to me.

“Shut the door and have a seat,” Coach bites out, barely sparing us as glance after we enter. And I know immediately, this is going to be fucking bad.

I’ve seen Graham Scott mad once in all the years I’ve known him. Which is since I was born.

And this…I can tell it’s about to be time number two.

Ciaráin and I both take a seat, not looking at each other while we wait for Coach to ream us a new asshole.

But he doesn’t. He simply takes a seat behind his desk, resting his elbows on the wood with his chin on his joined knuckles.

And he stares at us for an uncomfortable amount of time. So long I’m ready to start squirming in my seat under his penetrating gaze.

“In the game of football,” he starts with a sigh, rubbing his temple with an index finger, “we win as a team and we lose as a team. That is something I’ve ground into the minds of every player I’ve ever coached because it’s what was instilled in me since I learned how to play the game. Everyone is held accountable, regardless if you set foot on the field during the game or not. We are in it together.”

I know this. I’ve seen it and experienced it. Even as a kid, it was something he always taught the twins, Taylor and me. And it’s a motto I’ve played this game with from the time I was able to throw my first completed pass.

“But tonight? The loss we just suffered?” he continues, his gaze drifting between us before he shakes his head. “I can’t let those guys out there be held accountable for that. How can I when it’s the two of you who gave the other team the win the moment you decided whatever bullshit is happening between you is more important than the team.”

Coach rolls his teeth over his lip, clearly trying to keep a more cool and collected tone with us because how can he lecture the two of us about keeping our heads when he can’t practice what he preaches?

His gaze lands on Ciaráin for a moment, pi

His eyes leave Ciaráin and land on me, causing my heart to stop in my chest.

Because in those eyes, I see it. The one word I fear most coming from the man I’ve idolized for most of my life.

Disappointment.

“And you,” he sighs, pi

And there it fucking is. Goddamnit.

My heart seizes in my chest and if I’m being honest, I’d rather him be screaming at us and telling me I’m doing suicides for an hour every day for the rest of the time I play for him at CU.

I’d rather have him do anything other than say that one word. Kick me off the team, even.

“First that stunt in practice and now this?” he grumbles, tossing his hat on the desk. “I have no idea what to do when it comes to the two of you. Not a damn clue. It’s not like I can leave you trapped on an island or ship you off to couple’s therapy to work out your crap.”

Oh, Coach, don’t make me laugh at the irony behind that last statement.

Coach is silent again, his eyes slipping back and forth between the two of us as he works out our punishment in his mind. From what I’ve gathered, we lost the game which means our season is officially over in a game playing capacity. He could carry a suspension over into the next season, maybe.

I honestly don’t know.

He taps his hand on the desk after what must be an eternity, finally coming to a decision he’s comfortable with.

“You know, maybe you two do need to…get away. Figure out a way to work your shit out in a more…therapeutic environment.” His hard glare dances between us as he speaks the words that damn near stop my fucking heart. “Lucky for the both of you, I know just the place.”