Page 187 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“I don’t think I want the coaching job anymore,” I say.

Daisy goes still.

“Before the dinner?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Because of the dinner?”

“No.” I look at the table again. “Because I thought I needed them to let me coach, so I could prove I wasn’t the worst things they’d heard about me.”

Her face changes.

It’s not pity. Daisy doesn’t do pity well. She turns it into action before it can make anyone uncomfortable.

This is worse.

She waits.

And because she waits, I have to keep going.

“The public version is easy,” I say. “I was aggressive. Bad temper. Bad reputation. League loved the bad-boy shit until it got expensive. Then they needed someone to point at.”

Daisy doesn’t move.

“I did plenty,” I add. “I’m not pretending I didn’t. I fought. I mouthed off. I made it easy for people to believe the worst version. But the video everyone talks about? The tunnel one?”

Her hand lowers slowly from the stack of cards.

“I didn’t snap over a game,” I say. “Or a cheap shot. Or pride.”

Daisy’s voice is softer now. “What happened?”

I look toward the registration table where Puck sleeps, safe and stupid and unaware that people can ruin each other with a phone in ten seconds.

“One of the assistant coaches had a daughter,” I say. “She worked around the team. Media stuff. She was young. Smart. Kind to everyone, even the guys who didn’t deserve it.”

Daisy’s face goes still in a way I don’t like.

I keep my voice even because if I don’t, I won’t get through it.

“After a road game, I heard two guys talking in the tunnel. One was a teammate. One was on staff. They were bragging about her. What they’d done. What they’d recorded. They thought it was funny.”

Daisy’s breath catches.

Barely.

Enough.

“They said she’d tried to report it. Said no one would believe her if the video got out first. Said her father would make it disappear because it would embarrass the team.”

I feel my hand curl at my side.

I force it open.

“I told them to shut the fuck up.”

Daisy whispers my name.