Read Online Empty Net by Avon Gale - Free Book Online Page B

words and got right to the point. No chit-chat with Coach Samarin, not like Coach Ashford. “We play the Ravens on Saturday in Asheville,” Coach Samarin said, and even though he knew that, Laurent wished he could forget.
    “Yes, sir,” Laurent said, and there was a flash of surprise on Coach Samarin’s face. Laurent flushed as he realized he’d called him sir.
    “You need to start a few more games,” Coach said, but he gave no hint of what he thought about that or if he thought it should happen in front of Laurent’s old team. “Is it going to be a problem if I start you in goal on Saturday?”
    “Does it matter?” Laurent closed his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean to have an attitude problem with Samarin, but his default reaction to male authority figures was jackass. He slowly breathed out and rubbed his palms down his thighs. “I’ll play if you want me to, Coach.”
    “Yes,” Coach Samarin said. “You will. But that is not what I’m asking you.”
    Laurent felt like he had earlier when he gave those comics to Huxley—like he was a glass figurine trapped beneath a shower of stones. “Do you care?”
    Coach Samarin had a remarkable ability to not blink when he stared at you. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
    Laurent finally lowered his gaze. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Coach. I’m a problem. So it will be, probably. Yeah.”
    Laurent heard a soft noise that might have been a laugh, and he scowled at the idea of Coach laughing at him. “You don’t have—”
    “St. Savoy, whatever it is you’re going to say, don’t,” Coach Samarin interrupted. “Do you want to be in goal for this game or not?”
    It took Laurent a moment to realize he was being asked, not told. He was utterly thrown by the question. “What?”
    “The game against the Ravens,” Samarin said, his voice perfectly even. “I am asking you if you want to start in goal.”
    “Why?” Laurent knew how that sounded, like a challenge he didn’t necessarily mean, but he couldn’t help it.
    It seemed as if Coach Samarin understood Laurent’s instinctive reaction, because some of his cold formality seemed to melt a little. “You are making an effort. I am doing the same. All right?”
    Laurent stared warily at him. He hated everything about being subjected to Coach Samarin’s unexpected kindness.
    “If you don’t want to play, you’ll start the next game in Orlando,” Coach Samarin continued. “Whether or not you are in Asheville, this is your choice. So make it. Now.” Despite the harshness of that, Coach Samarin didn’t sound mean. Only resolute.
    It made Laurent relax in much the same way Isaac’s calling him Saintand telling him not to talk did. “I don’t—I don’t know,” he said, hating that he was showing any vulnerability at all. He looked at Samarin and breathed a little faster. “I don’t know .” Laurent’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his hands. They were clenched into fists.
    “Would you like my advice?”
    The urge to tell the coach to fuck himself was overwhelming. But Laurent thought about Isaac, waiting for him outside the office, and the promise he made. He pulled his fingers apart and smoothed them over his thighs again. “Yes.”
    “I think you should play,” Samarin said. “I think you should do your best in front of your net—our net—and treat it like any other game.” He paused. “He’s not your coach anymore. I am.”
    Laurent’s head snapped up, and he couldn’t breathe. Had Isaac told him anything? Laurent knew he shouldn’t have trusted him. He knew it. “Whatever Isaac told you—”
    “He didn’t tell me anything,” Samarin interrupted. “He doesn’t need to. I hated my father too.”
    Shame made Laurent’s eyes fill up with hot, angry tears. He couldn’t do that. He was going to lose it right there in the coach’s office, and the only thing he could think to do was say something awful enough for Samarin to kick him