The Brick Wall

Chapter 52

Curtis POV

My ass was handed to me.

Although Coach Anson's reasoning came across a bit unclear. I couldn't figure out if it was my performance during practice or the fact that his sister blatantly put our relationship on full display in front of him.

I mean, when our captain or another guy screws up they get a small reaming of 'Get your head in the game," and life carries on. But I'm not being treated like any of my teammates right now. No, I'm getting a "Wanna be benched?"

The urge to question whether or not he wants to make the playoffs is sitting on the tip of my tongue. I've never believed that a team wins by one person alone, all 'No I in team' mantra that is shoveled into our brains as kids. I do know, however, that between myself and the back up goalie, I'm the one that can get us to a championship.

Instead, I tilt my chin up, my arms crossing against my chest. Even though I spent a lot of the day thinking about Collins and myself, I know my ability to tune out the noise of my personal life when push comes to shove and I'm under the right type of pressure. Practice is not the right type of pressure.

"Got something to say?"

Oddly enough, those are the words that surprise me more. Maybe it's because we both know that if he benched me for the next game we'd lose by nearly ten or more points. We're getting ready to face off against the team that I had my career record shut out with. He doesn't want to put anyone else in the net. 

I could call him on that bluff. Or, much worse would be the old Curtis mentioning the fact that I attempted to score with his sister last night. But I don't, answering instead with a "No, sir."

"You still want Dallas?"

Does a bear shit in the woods?  "Yes, sir."

I notice a frame on his desk that wasn't there the last time I stepped foot in his office. I hadn't had reason to since I came to the team, and even then it was just to be introduced to him face to face. In a simple black frame is a photo of Collins wearing an Aerosmith t-shirt. Coach is on one side of her, and the other is occupied by the guy I seem to recall hanging around them on Christmas Eve. I think he was referred to as a brother in law.

Coach must notice my gaze falling away from the hardness of his as he slaps his desk with an open palm, pulling me back to his fiery eyes. "Get it together," he says slowly, with a demand that isn't just about the ice. No, his request is much deeper than where my job is concerned.

If I ever questioned how he'd feel with his player dating his little sister, I just got my answer.

Collins could tell something was bothering me, it genuinely felt like we were walking on egg shells around each other when I got home that evening. She was in the back of the apartment, bathing Lennox.

"Green beans?" I asked, leaning against the doorway while taking note of the green spattering in my baby's blonde hair.

Collins' laugh is light and airy. "Yep," she answers, scooping water over the girl's head. "You missed the squash that was up her nose." She angles her body, turning away to face me. Her white shirt looks more like an abstract painting. "One good sneeze and your daughter is an artist."

I give her my own tired smile, stepping into the room completely. "If it doesn't wash out let me know and I'll get you a new one."

"No worries. It was Mark's," she shrugs carelessly.

A name I don't care to hear at the moment has made the air in the bathroom thicken. I want to step away, fears rising too quickly for me, something I'm not use to.