Against All Odds (Holt Hockey Book 2)
Against All Odds: Chapter 32

“Where the hell were you?” Hunter asks.

I got down to the lobby about five minutes ago, and that’s the twentieth time he’s asked me that. I’m busy digging through my bag, trying to clear my head enough to make sure I have everything I need. At least the essentials. Granola bar, stick tape, blue Gatorade…

“Where the hell were you?”

Twenty-one times.

“Don’t worry about it,” I answer, trying to concentrate.

I packed in a mad rush after a white-faced Rylan shook me awake to tell me her dad had the whole team and most of the hotel looking for me. Setting an alarm didn’t occur to me, which was just dumb. Hunter’s an early riser, and he apparently freaked the fuck out when he woke up and found my bed empty.

“I am worried about it, Phillips. I woke up, all your stuff was there, and you were gone. I must have texted you fifty times!”

He’s not exaggerating. My phone shows six hundred unread messages.

“I’m here now, so it seems irrelevant.”

“Hey, Phillips. Is it true?”

I glance at Brennan, who’s approached with Collins and Sampson. The rest of the guys are already on the new bus that just arrived.

“What?”

“That Coach found you in his daughter’s room?” Jake’s voice is a mixture of disbelief and awe.

Hunter looks at me so fast I hear his neck crack.

“We’re playing in the fucking championship today,” I say. “Worry less about where I spent last night.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re worried about the championship game,” Brennan tells me. “Just concerned with getting your dick wet.”

My jaw clenches so tight a muscle might snap.

Sampson’s eyebrows are almost up to his hairline. “Coach’s daughter, Phillips? How the fuck did you manage that?”

I’m seconds from losing my shit.

“And how the fuck are you still on the team?” Collins asks. “Coach didn’t string you up by your balls?”

“How was she?” Brennan asks eagerly.

I turn so fast he takes a hasty step back. “Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you, Brennan.”

He rolls his eyes, not taking me seriously. “C’mon, Phillips. You fucked Coach’s daughter the night before the championship and you’re not going to share details? Guess I’ll have to see for myself—”

I lunge.

Hunter grabs the back of my jacket just in time, pulling me back a few feet and then yanking the fabric again for good measure. “Phillips! Are you fucking kidding me?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” I growl at Jake. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Brennan looks shocked, and Collins and Sampson appear just as taken aback.

Then they all straighten in unison, looking behind me.

And I know, without turning around, who’s standing there.

“Get. On. The. Bus,” Coach Keller barks.

Hunter lets go of my coat, following Brennan, Collins, and Sampson as they all speed walk toward the automatic doors that lead outside.

I hoist my bag on my shoulder to follow them.

“Not you, Phillips.”

Hunter glances back, an annoyed, concerned expression on his face. The rest of the guys keep walking. Jake is gloating, I’m sure.

I spin around slowly.

Coach’s expression is stony. I’m guessing he heard the girlfriend comment. Even if he didn’t, he knows I spent the night in his daughter’s bed.

“If it wouldn’t make winning today harder for every player on this team—guys who’ve worked hard all season and who deserve this trophy and who bothered to obey the room assignments last night—you’d be warming the bench today.”

I swallow. I wasn’t the only one who switched rooms, but I was the only one who got caught.

And there’s the where I got caught, which I know is what Coach is really bothered by. If Sampson and I had switched, I doubt Coach would care I bunked with Hart.

“I’m disappointed in you, Phillips.” That’s all he says, and it’s all he has to.

I’ve heard that a hundred times from my father, and it stings every time. And not only is this coming from my coach, it’s my girlfriend’s dad saying this to me.

An anvil of guilt lands in my gut. “It’s not what you think,” I manage to say.

“I think you spent the night before the biggest hockey game of your life somewhere you shouldn’t have been. In a room I paid for with my daughter, who didn’t use to lie to me.”

Okay, so it’s what he thinks.

“It’s not just fuc—fooling around. I care about her.”

I love her.

But I haven’t told Rylan that. Not while she’s been conscious, anyway. I’m not saying it to her dad first, even if it means he thinks I snuck into her room just to get laid last night.

Nothing in Coach’s expression softens. “Get on the damn bus, Phillips.”

As soon as I step on board, all the chatter dies down. No one will make direct eye contact with me.

Not Hunter, sitting in the second row.

Not Willis, whose knee starts bouncing faster when I pass.

The only one who meets my gaze is Hart, and I wish he hadn’t.

He’s sitting halfway back, his flinty glare more painful than a puck to the face.

Deliberately, Conor turns his head away to look out the window right before I pass. Giving me the cold shoulder.

I flinch, then keep walking toward a seat in the back of the bus.

I get why they’re all pissed. It doesn’t matter that I slept better next to Rylan than I would’ve listening to Hunter’s snoring all night. That I’m well-rested and raring to go. That I’m ready to play—to win.

Most of them don’t know Rylan’s my girlfriend. Many of them won’t care. Hart didn’t bring Harlow along. We’re supposed to be focused, not flirting.

Last night, I snuck out like a high schooler disobeying curfew to fool around with our coach’s daughter. And then they all got pulled out of bed early to look for me.

I’d think I’m selfish and stupid too.

Coach is visibly incensed when he climbs on board and starts calling out names. I feel the ripple of anxiety through the whole team, hearing the steel in his tone. He’s clear-headed and even-tempered most of the time. I’ve seen him in a better mood after bad losses than he looks right now.

I take a seat and pull on my headphones.

I can’t do a damn thing about last night. All I can do is play the best hockey game of my life.