Jackson
MY MIND STARTS to wander to my dinner with Claire the other night as I stand on the practice field watching the guys run through their defensive skills. She has made herself scarce over the past week, I don’t blame her, I’d hide from Brad too if I could. But I don’t think that that is the entire reason she is hiding. I’ve scared her with my declaration of love and courting her. That was my mistake. I should have just pulled her to me and kissed the woman like I have been wanting to for years—thoroughly and without remorse.
Claire texted me early the next morning, asking that I just put Legs in the backyard when I drop her off. It’s frustrating as hell, but I just don’t have the time to call her on her bullshit right now. And unfortunately, the bastard, Brad, has put himself directly in my path this past week. Talk about a practice in patience. Sasha, from what I can tell, is infatuated with him. I need that like I need another hole in my head. Which is another reason for concern, because I still want to pound the jackass into the ground. He is smug and arrogant and doesn’t deserve Sasha’s adoration, which just pisses me off! That is what I want from the girl.
Claire doesn’t want Sasha knowing who her father is or how she was conceived. I understand her thinking on this, I do. However, I don’t always find it easy to not want to kill the man for being so fucking blasé about what he did to her. What truly gets my gourd is that when I called him on the rape he denied doing it. Hell, he even denied having a relationship with her. Instead he put it all on Claire. Said that she was infatuated with him and that all he had ever felt for her was brotherly feelings. Even said that he wasn’t letting some fucking skirt, even a McEvoy skirt, ruin his career. He had worked too hard to get to where he was, and that if I knew what was best for me, I would corroborate his story or he’d blame me. What the fuck! But because Claire kept her mouth shut, so did I. Knowing that Mac traded him the following season, and that his career just petered out over the preceding years, was a bennie. And although I get great satisfaction out of that, it doesn’t bring Claire the justice that she deserves. And him strutting back into our lives just as we have gotten to the point where I have my chance with her is un-fucking-believable. At this point I think that God doesn’t like me.
Coming back to the here and now, I shout, “What are you fuckers thinking?! Run it again! We are going to get killed on the field if we play like this!” My anger grows as I pace up and down the field. I’m pissed. I haven’t seen Claire in four days, despite her watching Legs, and my entire body feels as though it’s about to jump out of its skin.
“Jesus-A-Christ, Muldoon! What the fuck are you doing?” Muldoon is a third-year veteran and should know better. His blatant off sides only ratchets my frustration level even more. “We are not paying your ass fifteen million dollars a year to get us ten yards in penalties because you are off sides. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Pacing the sideline, I don’t even realize that anyone is around me, so when a hand hits my shoulder, I jerk.
Turning, I find Claire standing there with her hands raised in the air as though the police have yelled freeze. “Sorry, Jackson. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
What the fuck is wrong with you, man, I chastise myself. I just pushed the woman I am trying to get into bed even further away. Taking a deep breath, I say, “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Claire. I didn’t even know you were onsite today.”
She lowers her arms and runs them up and down her too tight skirt, I think they call it a pencil skirt, and stands there for a minute looking lost.
“Did you need something, Claire?”
She seems to come back to herself and damn it, I put that look of fear on her face. “Oh umm, yes, I was hoping to be able to get a minute with you before you headed out for the day,” she says.
I soften my tone and step a little closer to her. “How long are you here for today, Claire?” My approach makes her take a step back. God, how I hate that. She never used to do that with me until Brad took her innocence away. Claire used to be warm and welcoming, more like Zoey but with less of the edge.
Fidgeting with her hands and straightening her spine, she says, “I’m here until about six. So, if you have the time, please stop by my office.” This is said so coldly, so detached, that I know the walls are back up and it is going to take ice pikes and crampons to climb the wall of ice that she has erected.
“I’ll stop by after my workout,” is all I say, because Claire is looking for an escape and I just don’t have the heart to prolong it.
“Oh, um, great. See you then.” And then she takes that fantastic ass and legs of hers and walks away.
Not realizing that my entire defense has been privy of this encounter, I turn to find Muldoon watching me with wide yet wary eyes. “You got a thing for the Ice Queen, Coach?”
“I want two miles out of all of you fat fucks and then two hours in the weight room working on core and legs.” When Muldoon mumbles something under his breath, I follow up with, “You want to make it three and three?”
The “No Coach” are quick and abundant.