Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen
Danny POV
I sat frozen in my chair, watching as Vanessa disappeared through the cafeteria doors like she was running from a fire. The irrational part of my brain told me to go after her, but my body wouldn't move.
I'd known she might say no.
Hell, I'd expected it.
After everything I'd put her through—I had no right to expect anything different. But knowing it and experiencing it were two completely different things.
The rejection still hurts like a punch to the gut.
I dragged a hand through my hair, staring at the table where she'd been sitting just moments ago. Her coffee cup was still there, half-full and probably cold by now.
She'd left in such a hurry that she hadn't even taken it with her. I grabbed my cup of coffee and made to leave when I spotted the edge of a book.
I leaned forward, it was tucked in the sides of her chair. A small notebook with a worn leather cover, the kind that looked like it had been carried everywhere and handled a thousand times. I picked it up carefully, running my thumb over the smooth surface.
It was definitely hers, I recognized it from the library earlier, when she'd been pulling out her research materials. She must have shoved everything into her bag so quickly that she'd missed it.
I should probably have run after her and given it back before she got too far. She'd likely need it for her dissertation, and knowing Vanessa, she'd panic the second she realized it was missing. I stood, tucking the notebook under my arm, and started toward the exit. I hardly made more than three steps, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out, frowning at the screen.
Coach Morrison, he never called unless it was important. Or unless someone had screwed up and given the tension with Marco lately, I had a sinking feeling I was hoping I knew which category this fell into.
I answered on the third ring.
"Coach?"
"Glover." His voice was gruff, no-nonsense as always.
"I need you at the rink. Now."
"Now?" I glanced at the cafeteria doors, then down at the notebook in my hand.
"Coach, I'm kind of in the middle of—"
"I don't care what you're in the middle of," he interrupted.
"We've got a situation, and I need my captain here to deal with it. How fast can you get here?"
A situation– that could mean anything from equipment issues to a full-blown team crisis. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Twenty minutes."
"Make it fifteen." The line went dead.
I stood there for a moment, torn between chasing after Vanessa and doing what Coach needed.
I looked down at the notebook again and sighed I could drop it off at Vanessa's apartment later, after I dealt with whatever disaster was waiting for me at the rink.
I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat, tossing the notebook onto the passenger side. It landed face-up, and I couldn't help but notice how worn the edges were, how the leather had creased from being opened and closed so many times. This definitely wasn't just any notebook, it was important to her. But first, Coach.
I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward the rink. The drive should have been mindless—I'd made this trip hundreds of times—but my brain refused to cooperate and kept circling back to Vanessa.
She had been stunned when I'd remembered her coffee order, it was like she couldn't believe I'd paid attention.
Did she really think I'd forgotten about her so easily and just moved on, like everything about us had never happened?
Vanessa had seen me, the real me before I'd blown it and I had seen the real her.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I turned into the rink parking lot, parked the car and sat there for a moment, staring at the rink entrance.
The notebook sat on the passenger seat like a silent accusation.
Later.
I'd deal with it later. Right now, I had a team to captain and a coach to face. I grabbed my gym bag from the trunk and headed inside, the familiar smell of ice and sweat hitting me the second I walked through the doors.
The rink was quieter than usual—practice wasn't scheduled for today since we had our match tomorrow. If anything, all team mates were supposed to be resting or at the very least doing a little warm up—but I could hear voices coming from the locker room.
Loud voices.
Which was not a good sign. I pushed open the locker room door and immediately understood why Coach had called me.
Marco was there, standing in the center of the room with his arms crossed and his jaw set in that stubborn way that meant he was about to make everyone's life difficult.
He looked tipsy.
Ethan and Henry flanked him on either side, looking uncomfortable. The Booker twins stood near their lockers, watching the scene unfold with matching expressions of concern.
Coach Morrison stood in front of Marco, his face red and his voice raised in a way I'd only heard a handful of times in my four years on the team.
"—don't care what your problem is," Coach was saying.
"You're part of this team, which means you show up when you're supposed to show up and you play when I tell you to play. Is that clear?"
Marco's jaw tightened.
"Crystal."
"Then why were you drunk at conditioning this morning?" The coach demanded.
So that's what this was about.
Marco had come to the conditioning drunk.
Again.
This was the third time in two months, which meant Coach was well past his limit.
"I had a rough night, " Marco said, and even I could tell it was a lie.
"Rough night," Coach repeated flatly.
"I'm not sure you could have one of those considering you're flunking class”
Marco didn't answer.
The coach turned to me as I stepped into the room, and the relief on his face was brief but visible.
"Glover. Good. Maybe you can talk some sense into your teammate here, because I'm about five seconds away from benching him for the games tomorrow."
The room went dead silent.
Benching Marco for tomorrow's game would be bad for the team. He was our best offensive player after me, the one who could read the ice like he'd been born on it.
Without him, our chances of winning became harder.
But I also knew Coach well enough to know he wasn't bluffing and if Marco kept pushing, Coach would bench him. And he wouldn't lose a second of sleep over it.
I looked at Marco, trying to read his expression. There was anger there, sure. But underneath it, there was something else. Something that looked almost like desperation.
"Marco," I said carefully.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing," he bit out.
"I'm handling it."
"You're clearly not handling it if you're skipping mandatory conditioning," I pointed out.
"So either tell us what's wrong, or—"
"Or what?" Marco snapped, taking a step toward me.
"You'll kick me off the team? You aren't the coach” he huffed and I sighed
“ I'm not the coach, but he is ready to kick you off himself”
“Yeah stop pretending to care for me,you've already made it pretty clear where your priorities are, Captain."
The venom in that last word made everyone in the room flinch.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my own temper starting to flare.
"It means you've been so busy playing house with your girlfriend that you've forgotten you have a team to lead," Marco shot back. Ethan stepped between us before I could respond.
"Okay, that's enough. Marco, you're out of line."
"Am I?" Marco looked around the room, addressing everyone now.
“ Yes you are actually” Henry muttered
“ You're being a bratty asshole and I have no idea what the reason is but you have to stop it” he hissed and the room erupted into commotion.
Coach blew his whistle, sharp and loud, cutting through the chaos.
“Everyone out. Except Glover and Island. Now."
The room cleared quickly, leaving just me, Marco, and Coach.
Coach looked between us, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know what's going on between you two, and frankly, I don't care. But this stops now. We have a game to win, and I will not let personal drama derail this team. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Coach," I said immediately.
Marco hesitated, then nodded.
"Yes, Coach."
"Good." Coach pointed at Marco.
"You'll make up for the conditioning you missed. Double sessions for the next week. And if you skip again, you're benched for the actual championship. I don't care if we lose every game for the rest of the season. Understood?"
"Understood," Marco muttered.
Coach turned to me.
"And you. I don't care what's happening in your personal life, but if it starts affecting your performance or your leadership, we're going to have a problem. Got it?"
"Got it," I said.
Coach nodded once, then left the locker room, leaving Marco and me alone.
The silence was deafening.
"Marco—" I started.
"Save it," he cut me off, grabbed his bag and headed for the door, but I caught his arm before he could leave.
"What is your problem?" I demanded.
"This isn't just about me being distracted. So what is it really?"
Marco yanked his arm free, his eyes blazing.
"You want to know my problem? My problem is that you get everything handed to you. The captaincy. The scouts. The perfect girlfriend. And you don't even appreciate it."
"I never said I didn't appreciate— and don't you already have a girlfriend" I asked furiously.
"You broke her heart once already," Marco continued, his voice low and dangerous.
" Just like you're bound to break her friend's heart if you keep doing whatever it is you're doing. By then do you think she'd still want you” I hissed and he huffed and grabbed his bag leaving me standing alone in the empty locker room.
I sank onto the bench, my head in my hands.
This was supposed to be simple. Fake date Vanessa to get my teammates off my back. Work on the project together. Keep things casual.
But nothing about this was simple anymore.
And I had no idea how to fix it.