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“Been there, done that.” Jason offered a bright smile and I was reminded of how I was into him last year. It was no surprise that Ciaran found Jason attractive at Pirate’s Cove. That just made my mood darker. Jason was still talking when we reached my SUV. The sun was sinking into the western sky and my stomach grumbled. “Let off some steam, Matty. Go get laid. Is your shindig still on for tomorrow night?”
“It is if Coach doesn’t kill me between now and then.”
On Friday morning Coach Anderson pulled me into his office and closed the door. Even before he sat down behind the desk, my shoulders slumped.
“Zoey says you haven’t finalized plans for the weekend yet,” Coach said, his fingers steepled. I remained standing. His office was full of pictures of his Olympic glory days. He’d brought three swimmers to the Olympics since he’d started coaching, with all three of them medaling.
Coach Anderson was the real deal. He knew this sport inside and out, and he knew how to get you into the Olympics if you had enough talent. He also wanted to make it worth his while.
After Coach Anderson caught me snorting cocaine, I figured it would be his word against mine, but Coach was savvier than that. He had photographic evidence and was only too happy to show me the video on his phone.
He had enough money, so it wasn’t like he was asking for a payout; but my family had the right social connections into Hollywood. That’s how our deal came about.
And why he was pissed at me.
My potential ability to make Nationals made my compliance a sure bet. Without that—if I couldn’t cut it—then my desire to uphold my end of the bargain was slipping through his fingers.
“Things have been rather chaotic at home, Coach.”
“Bullshit, Vaulteneau. People at your level wave away chaos the way I’d swat away a gnat.” He leaned forward. “In case you think I’m stupid, you’re doing a piss-poor job hiding the shoulder injury. The fact that you haven’t trusted me with the information makes me think I’m not the right Coach for you.”
All the air left the room.
Coach knew how to keep me trapped on his hook. If he yanked the carrot, then I’d fall flat on my face and wouldn’t be able to try out for the Olympic U.S. Swimming Trials again for another four years.
“It started as an overuse injury that has gotten worse,” I admitted since the jig was up.
“Fucking idiot,” Coach Anderson seethed. He chewed on his inner lip, deep in thought. “The photos from last weekend were brilliant.”
His switch of topics gave me mental whiplash. “Coach?”
“Several outlets featured Zoey’s pictures and her soundbite. Even you looked like you’d had a good time. Why don’t you do more of that over the coming weeks?”
“Zoey is great, Coach,” I said carefully. “But for me this is a business deal. We are not really dating.”
“Real, not real, that’s not my concern. I’m benching you for two weeks. The only water I want touching your shoulder is from a shower or a hot tub.”
“But Coach?—”
He stood suddenly and I was aware of his large stature. He filled the office like his collection his ostentatious statues.
“No buts, Vaulteneau. No swimming. No surfing. Wear a sling and jerk off with your other hand.” His face darkened and he pointed a finger in my chest. “If you listen to one thing I say, it’s this: elite athletes know when to rest.” He tapped his temple. “And they know when to trust their coach. It’s time to start thinking like an Olympian and not a rich little shit from Malibu. Do you want your own glory or do you want scraps from your daddy’s table?”
He dismissed me before I could get in another word.
The thing was, Coach wasn’t wrong. I wanted my own glory and not something handed to me from my father. Except I was fucking it up with no solution it sight.
I could, however, remedy one thing pretty quickly. On the way home I called Zoey to invite her over tonight.
27
CIARAN
When I next saw Matty, it was Friday afternoon and he was soaking in the hot tub in the veranda of the main house. When I approached, he was staring into the distance like a man contemplating the rest of his life.
When he saw me, he startled. Shirtless, he’d been massaging his shoulder.
“Is the chip on your shoulder getting heavier?” I asked by way of greeting.
