“You don’t get to blow up my locker room because you feel guilty,” he said. “That’s not leadership.”
“I broke your trust,” I countered.
“Yes, you did.” His voice was low and rough. “But you’re a good captain. You’ve been good for this team. I’m not accepting your resignation today.”
My throat tightened. “I went behind your back.”
“With my daughter,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry.”
Cole picked up the folder from the desk, his grip too tight. “I’m still pissed. I’m not ready to forgive you. But I’m not letting you punish yourself and call it accountability.”
He walked to the door, then stopped with his hand on the handle. “If you hurt her, captain will be the least of what you lose.”
I flinched even though he had every right to threaten me. He walked away, and I felt like I had my heart in my stomach. I stayed standing in Tatum’s office for a full minute after he was gone. I was still captain, Cole was still pissed at me, and Catherine had still not responded to my message.
That night, I met my dad for a beer because I was drowning and I needed his fatherly advice. He chose a place far enough from the arena that no one would bother us. When I slid into the booth across from him, he took one look at my face and pushed the second beer toward me.
“You look like hell.”
“Good to see you too,” I chuckled.
He stood up and gave me a half hug. “What’s going on, son?”
I took a long draw on my beer because I needed something to do with my hands. Dad waited me out. Eventually, I said, “Catherine won’t answer my texts.”
He nodded like he had expected that. “And?”
“I tried to resign as captain today.”
His brows lifted. “Busy day.”
“Cole walked in and stopped me.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
Dad held my gaze. “You were trying to punish yourself.”
“I was trying to do the right thing. Catherine is really fitting in with the team, and she’s been doing great. I want to be with her, but I don’t want to mess with her future. And how can I be captain when my coach wants to wring my neck?”
“Look, Hunt. There’s no point in sugarcoating this. You got yourself into a fucking pickle,” he said.
I winced.
“I would ask if you loved her, but I don’t need to. I can see it on you,” he said.
I lowered my head until it hung between my shoulders. I felt completely and utterly defeated. Then I looked up. “I’m in love with her.”
It was the first time I had said it out loud without panic chasing it. I was in love with Catherine Celia Davis. With her sharp mouth and soft heart. Her stubbornness. Her laugh. The way she talked to Isla like she mattered. The way she fit into my life.
Dad leaned forward. “Then stop making decisions for her and calling it protection.”
“I don’t want to damage her life,” I argued.
“Then don’t. But don’t decide the only options are losing everything you’ve built or losing everything she’s built,” Dad said.