Chapter 28

Mo

The team feels off without Nico.

You can always count on morning practices being subdued energy-wise, but usually by the time the team hits the sports performance room for afternoon weight training, most of the guys have perked up. And yet, without one of the co-captains, even the lift sessions seem to be lacking the Tigers usual spunk.

Wes has done a remarkable job of stepping up to fulfill the entirety of the captain role with Nico missing, but without the wise-cracking goalie, the team dynamic just feels off.

"Two more." I lift my brow, watching Preston slowly push the barbell above his chest. A hint of a tremor goes through his arms, but I ignore it.

"One more."

The rookie grunts, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he raises the bar again. I watch him reach the top, his arms trembling in earnest when I finally let him re-stack it.

"Shit, Coach. That was brutal." Preston pants the words and lets his arms flop over the sides of the bench. I smirk, glancing at the weight stacked on either end of the barbell.

"The only way to hit a personal best is to push yourself. Well done, rookie."

The freshman"s mouth drops open as he stares up at me, "Are you feeling okay, Mo?"

Grabbing the plates off the end, I can't help but glance around for the arrogant smirk that has been grating my nerves since day one. Nico's inability to stay quiet irritates the hell out of me, but now that his incessant flirting is gone, the performance room feels much too quiet.

"I'm fine, why?"

I catch a couple of the other players glancing around the room as well. Wes is in the far corner spotting Millard on the squat rack while the rest of the players murmur quietly amongst themselves. It feels like everyone is waiting for Nico to walk through the door with his smug grin and swagger to bring the energy back.

Preston sits up on the bench, rubbing his neck sheepishly, "Ah, it's nothing really…"

"But?" Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I return my attention to the tomato-faced freshman.

"It's just that you've been handing out praise, Coach." He clears his throat, nervously meeting my gaze, "And until this week, that was something we all dreamed about."

"Excuse me?" I tilt my head, studying the rookie closely. He flinches, a red flush creeping up the side of his neck.

"Well, maybe it was less of a we thing and more of a me thing. It"s just… you left a legacy at Taber and we just want to make you proud." Preston gulps, dropping his eyes, "That probably sounds dumb, but most of us didn't think we'd make it onto the varsity team. Especially once we found out Mighty Mo was going to be the assistant coach."

Guilt needles my stomach as I stare at the blushing rookie, his beetroot face only adding to the regret taking over me. I've never had a problem getting results but somewhere along the way my method of attaining those goals became cold and impersonal.

Until Nico, I only ever thought about strategies and maximizing efficiency.

But now I'm starting to care.

Clearing my throat, I cast a glance around the room and note the quiet determination of the players around me. All of the boys this season have shown nothing but commitment and dedication at each and every practice. Based on skillset alone, most of them wouldn't make it onto the field to play, but when individual effort is taken into consideration, they all deserve to wear a Taber Tigers jersey.

"Go get the rest of the team." Gritting my teeth, I give Preston a nod, "I would like to say a few words to everyone."

He jumps to his feet and rushes off. Within minutes, the team has clustered around the centre of the performance room, sweat-soaked bodies and weary faces looking at me curiously. Wes breaks through the wall of lacrosse players, approaching me with his usual dimpled smile.

"Should I be concerned you called for a team meeting?" He lowers his voice, coming to a stop beside me, "If this is about the other day…"

"It's not." I roll my eyes, "But thank you for the reminder."

"Hey, anytime." Wes grins and claps his hands together, "Alright everyone, listen up! Coach Mo would like to say a few words so unless you want to run sprints for the last ten minutes of practice, I recommend giving him your utmost attention."

I shoot a glance at the co-captain, "Didn't have you pegged for a sprint hater, Wes."

He throws me a wink, "I'm not. But they are."

Shaking my head, I tamp down a laugh and step forward. The quiet chatter immediately falls silent, Wes' threat and my presence intimidating enough for the players to press pause on their conversations. I clear my throat, wishing I didn"t suddenly feel uncomfortable. Most people would rather crawl out of their skin than make a public speech, but for me, it"s the words I'm about to say that have me uncharacteristically nervous.

Making eye contact with Preston, who looks significantly less red than he did five minutes ago, I feel my resolve solidify when he gives me a weak smile.

"It has come to my attention that my constructive criticism is often just that. Criticism." I pause, moving my gaze from one player to another, "I helped the Tigers become provincial champions five years ago and we continued that winning streak until we achieved the label of undefeated."

Cheers go round the group but they quickly fade when they see my frown, "Until this year, the only thing I cared about was bringing home the championship banner. I didn't care how many bridges I had to burn, how much criticism I had to deliver, I did what needed to be done to achieve the results."

The performance room falls deathly quiet, anxious faces staring back at me. My eyes rake through the crowd, fruitlessly searching for the one person who isn't in attendance.

"But thanks to your co-captains, I've come to realize that you can achieve results and have fun. You can hand out praise and not impair a player's ability to achieve their personal best."

I turn to Wes, who is watching me with wide eyes, "Consider this my official apology, Captain. I have knocked you and your partner since day one but now I see that it was my perspective that was skewed, not your leadership techniques."

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to face the crowd, "Delivering praise does not come easily to me, but you have my word that moving forward, I will do my best to provide positive feedback in addition to constructive criticism."

I pause, meeting Preston's gaze with a slight smile, "Well, only when it's deserved of course."

Wes lets out a hoot, "That last shot was meant for you, Hunter."

I laugh with the rest of the team, the energy and camaraderie seeping back into the room as tired teammates laugh and jostle with one another. Any sense of discomfort dissipates as I cast my eyes over their smiling faces.

"It has been a privilege coaching this team. Keep up the good work and we may bring home another championship banner this year."

The team breaks into cheers and a few of the players whistle their approval. My chest feels lighter as I step back and let Wes have the spotlight, my father's ever-present disappointment lifting from my shoulders as I watch my players disperse among the performance room.

My players. My team.

My lips pull into a smile as a newfound sense of freedom descends. For the first time in a long time, I know what path the future holds.

I know what path I want the future to hold.

All that's left to do is lean forward and take it.

"If I"d known you were that good at public speaking, I would have offered up my captain title after the first practice." Wes shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners, "That was incredible."

I grin, "It's all about preparation, Williams. You should try it sometime."

The co-captain's smile widens as his eyes drift over my shoulder.

"That's the beauty of life, Mo." Wes winks at me before throwing a wave to someone over my shoulder, "There are some things in life you can't prepare for."

I don't get a second to think about his comment before someone else speaks up.

"And here I thought your corporate persona was all suit and no talk." Dark eyes and days' worth of scruff steps into view as Nico flashes me his signature smirk.

"Hey babe. Long time no see."

Nico

He's fucking pissed.

My confidence starts to falter as Maurice glowers at me, his clenched jaw and stiff posture making me think that wasn't my best entrance.

Risking life and limb, I take a step closer, "Did you miss me?"

Maurice raises a brow, the unimpressed look on his face identical to the one he gave me on that first day.

"That's how you want to play this?"

Wes coughs, interrupting our moment, "And that's my cue to leave. Glad to have you back, Nico."

He gives me a quick pat on the back before turning and following the rest of the team out of the performance room.

And leaving me to face an angry O'Brien alone.

I swallow, gathering my courage as I take another step closer. Maurice narrows his eyes but remains silent as I close the distance between us. A hopeful part of me thinks this is him offering an olive branch, but the other, more realistic part is screaming at me to run before the predator makes his move.

He crosses his arms and the physical barrier does not go unnoticed.

"I thought you weren't coming back until next week."

I give him a tight smile, "So did I."

Maurice falls silent and I use the opportunity to study him. Looking sexier than ever, it's not an exaggeration to say he looks like he belongs in a sportswear commercial. Maurice looks exactly the way I left him: arrogant, handsome, and completely unwrinkled.

It's a little annoying to be honest.

"Aren't you going to ask why I came back early?" I breathe out the words, my nerves suddenly jumping into overdrive.

"No." Maurice stares back at me, unblinking, "You didn't tell me you were leaving so why would I care that you came back?"

Ouch.

I clear my throat, "It's been established that I'm a chicken shit-

"I prefer the term coward."

-but the reason I left ended up being the same reason I came back early." I pause, searching his gaze for some sort of emotion, "You."

There.

The tiniest flicker of emotion crosses Maurice's face before the neutral mask slides back in place. I was expecting to see surprise, maybe even disappointment in those gorgeous blue eyes, but it ended up being the worst one of all. Hurt.

A wave of sorrow hits me, regret filling my veins for my stupid decision to run away, for not sending that text, and most importantly, for hurting the man I love.

Swallowing the fear of rejection, I ditch the rehearsal speech I practiced the entire drive back and speak from the heart.

"You're too fucking perfect." I blurt out the words, adding another regret to the growing list, "At least that's what I used to think."

Maurice scowls, "You ran away because I'm put together?"

"Yes. No. Kind of." I grimace, silently vowing to never free verse again, "You're an idol, Maurice. A legend who has more threesomes under his belt than most B-list celebrities."

His lips twitch, "Are you calling me the B team?"

"Hell no, and that's my point. You are the hottest, most confident, put together person I've ever known and that's intimidating as fuck, do you know why?"

I'm on a roll now, so I don't give him a chance to answer, "Because it makes you seem untouchable. Inhuman. Too sexy to be anything but on the cover of a magazine."

I blow out a breath, "But then I got to know you. I saw the cracks beneath the armour, the motion sickness behind every offer to drive. You aren't the emotionless robot people paint you out to be, you're just a regular guy with ridiculously good genetics and a defence mechanism that keeps people at a distance."

Maurice frowns, and without thinking, I bridge the space between us to smooth out the crease. His body stiffens against my touch.

Throwing my heart on the line, I take one last breath and lay out the barren truth.

"I ran away because I was scared you wouldn't fight for me. That one day you would wake up and realize the inconvenience of having a gay partner wouldn't be worth the effort."

My voice cracks right at the end, so I snap my mouth shut and try not to fall over from the emotional purge I just went through.

Maurice tilts his head, his expression carefully blank as he mulls over my words. I drop my thumb from his forehead, searching his face for anything that might give me a glimpse of what's going through his head right now.

Nothing. He's giving me nothing.

I scuff the toe of my sneaker on the ground, jamming my hands into the pockets of my jeans to stop the nervous fidgeting. I'm dying to break the tension with an inappropriate comment but I hold back, giving him space to think.

So, I wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Truthfully, it's only been two minutes since I cut off the emotional onslaught, but every second feels like eternity as I wait for Maurice's response.

He clears his throat and I swear my heart stops on the spot.

"Which magazine would you feature me on?"

Maurice grins, a wide, heart-stopping smile that reaches his eyes and that's all it takes for me to burst out laughing. My knees buckle with relief and if it weren't for his strong arms reaching out to stabilize me, I would be a puddle on the floor.

"Babe, I would put you on them all."

He chuckles, "Well said, Montez."

I sigh, soaking up the rare moment of him looking carefree and happy. Most people would snap a picture to frame this shot, but I prefer knowing this moment will only ever exist between us.

Right here, right now.

Maurice shakes his head and just like that, the moment vanishes with his smile.

"Why would you think I wouldn't fight for you?" He gives me a pointed look, "I've never once shown discomfort at the thought or reality of being with a man."

I flap a hand, "You get too focused on the data, Maurice. Of course you haven't given me any red flags, if you had I would have dipped a long time ago."

He glares at me but I shrug it off, "I don't run on logic like you do-

"No shit."

-so, at the end of the day my insecurities came from a place in here." I tap my chest, "When I ran away, I wasn't thinking. I was feeling."

Maurice closes his eyes with a sigh, "Wes told me you were searching for validation and reassurance from me."

My best friend is a dead man.

"And he was right. I haven't been open and although I haven't done anything to be of concern, I haven't confirmed anything either."

My mouth drops open, the sincerity in his tone making me want to pinch myself.

He opens his eyes, "My mother died in a car accident five years ago. Stella was in the car and they were driven off the road by a drunk driver."

He swallows, "The morning after my sister got discharged from the hospital, my father woke us up at 4:30AM and took us to the gym. Stella wasn't cleared to do anything beyond her physio exercises but that didn't matter. Jonathan kept us there for hours, telling us that the only way to change yourself is to challenge yourself."

I stare at him in shock, horrified that anyone would put their children through that, never mind after losing a loved one.

"That routine went on for two weeks until I had to come back to school and finish the semester. By then, my priorities and perspective of the world had flipped upside down with only one thing staying the same. My father's expectations."

He lets out an empty laugh, "You said I was too perfect? Let me reassure you, Nico, perfection was always the one thing I could never attain."

Blinking back tears, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. His strong frame melds against mine, the hard edges of his muscles cutting into me as the barriers between us start to fall.

"Perfection is an illusion, mi amor. Keep chasing it and nothing will ever be enough."

He smiles against my neck, "Losing me with the Spanish there, Montez."

"You'll get used to it."

Maurice sighs against me, his broad shoulders collapsing against mine.

"You remind me a lot of her, you know."

I let my hand trail down his back, offering the comfort he should have received a long time ago.

"Who?"

"My mother."

My hand stills and I pull back to look at him, "I can't tell if that's a compliment or not."

He smirks, "Well you certainly don't have her class. Butyou have her uncanny tendency to make me throw logic out the window and do stupid shit like sleep on a makeshift bed on the ground."

I burst out laughing, "You had so much fun that night, admit it."

"My back still hasn't recovered."

"Old man."

He rolls his eyes, "The point is, I heard what you said the other night and this is me trying to make it right."

"By comparing me to your dead mother?"

He glares but I catch his lips twitching, "I forgot how infuriating you are. I'm starting to think asking you to be my boyfriend was a bad idea."

My brain screeches to a halt.

"You want me to be your boyfriend?!" I shriek the last word as adrenalin, excitement, and a little bit of fear pumps through my body.

He shrugs, "Unless you'd prefer to be called something else."

I hold up a hand, trying to stop reality from crashing down, "Pause. Rewind. Do you understand what you're saying?"

A brow goes up, "I'm saying what I should have said the last time you felt insecure in our relationship."

Somebody call an ambulance because this boy needs a heart doctor.

I gnaw my lip, the lingering doubt rearing its ugly head, "You realize the implications of dating a man, right? Especially in a conservative small town, people are going to talk and they won't have nice things to say."

I pause with an aching heart, "And if this works out, we will never be able to have kids."

Maurice tilts his head, "There's a lot of ways to have kids. And if I remember correctly, we were going to be dog co-parents after you move-in."

Any trace of fear slips away as my face breaks into a grin.

"You want me to move-in?"

He chuckles, "Eventually. If our next few dates make it past the parking lot."

Before he has the chance to say anything else, I grab the front of his shirt and haul him against me, finally planting my lips back where they belong.

On his.