Nine hours earlier…
The leather couch wasn’t much softer than a bench, but exhaustion had knocked me out cold the moment I crashed in Coach Donovan’s room last night and so I had not really felt it.
For a fleeting moment, I thought the sunlight spilling through the half-closed blinds meant I had woken into some kind of peace. But then some moments later, I heard the uneven rhythm of Coach’s breathing. It was not the steady, deliberate pattern of a man in control, but short, frustrated huffs, the kind someone makes when pacing inside their own head. And I knew that I was in no kind of peace at all.
I blinked my eyes open and sat up, scrubbing my face. Coach Donovan was already dressed in a pressed shirt and slacks, but his tie hung loose around his neck. His hands were on his waist, hi
