Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I gasp. “He said that?”
Bellamy nods. “He said you’re not qualified to be anything but his glorified babysitter and that the rest of the squad should ‘pity’ him for getting stuck with you, basically, as his punishment for his stunt on the uprights.”
He elaborates briefly, and with each word spoken, I feel more and more enraged.
“I’m sorry, Chelsea,” Bellamy says. “I thought for sure Luca would have told you these opinions to your face.”
“He did. But at our one-on-one this morning, he totally changed his tune.”
“Huh.”
The conversation has been soul-crushing for me. So much so, every ounce of lust, swoon, and genuine affection I felt for Luca mere minutes ago during his singing performance is now gone, replaced by nothing but deep-seated humiliation, stomach-churning embarrassment, and murderous, white-hot rage.
CHAPTER 14
Chelsea
AFTER BELLAMY LEAVES the auditorium to head to the cafeteria for dinner, I stand frozen in place for a moment, trying not to scream, sob, or throw up. Maybe all three at once. And when I’ve finally got a hold of my emotions enough to speak coherently, I shove my face into the hallway and bark out, “Get your ass in here, Ninety-Five!”
Luca’s dark eyes saucer at my unexpectedly furious tone, but I don’t pause for a reply or even to hold the door open for him. Instead, feeling like my head’s on the brink of physically exploding from fury, I let the heavy door slam behind me, march several angry paces into the now-empty auditorium, cross my arms tightly over my heaving chest, and tap my toe furiously while awaiting the entry of my prey.
As Luca steps into the room, he looks wary. “W-what happened with Bellamy?”
“Do you have something to tell me?”
He furrows his brow. “I … don’t think so.”
I get the feeling Luca’s answered this same question that exact same way more than once in his lifetime. In fact, he currently looks very much like a teenager who’s rapidly cataloging his many recent rule infractions while trying to figure out which one has done him in.
“A few hours ago, you told every single linebacker I’m nothing but a ‘glorified babysitter’ who’s ‘chasing a pie-in-the-sky pipe dream’?” I shriek. “You said I’m ‘in over my head,’ and a ‘nepo baby’ who doesn’t actually ‘know shit’ about coaching!”
Luca’s face falls. He opens his mouth to defend himself but winds up puffing out his cheeks instead.
My tear ducts suddenly feel activated, like they’re burning to release their watery load, but I force my emotions down and grit out, “I thought I’d earned at least some basic respect from you during our one-one-one this morning. But I guess not.”
“No, you did, Chelsea.”
“I know you’re not ready to go all-in with me as your personal coach. I know you still have your doubts. But I stupidly, naïvely thought you’d at least come to view me as more than a glorified babysitter!”
“Chelsea, please listen to me.”
“To my face this morning, you said, and I quote, ‘That was a damned good session.’ But then, mere hours later, you talked the worst kind of shit about me to every fucking player whose respect means the most to me!”
“Chelsea, please, let me explain.”
“I get why you thought of me as your babysitter yesterday, since that’s what my father called me. But finding out you badmouthed me today to every player I’m going to be working closely with during camp feels like the worst kind of betrayal and disrespect.”
“Bellamy told you all this? Because whoever he heard it from misrepresented what I said. Why would I call you a nepo baby when people always accuse me of being one, too?”
He’s got a point there. But it’s an inconsequential one, all things considered. I put my hands on my hips. “Do you deny the rest? Like the part about you calling me a glorified babysitter and delusional?”
“Well, no, but let me explain my motivation for saying that stuff.”
“What could possibly excuse that kind of trash talk, when you’re the only player here I’ve coached? Luca, you’re the only player in a position to know if I’ve got what it takes to coach, which means you’re literally the only player whose opinion of me matters.” Moisture springs into my eyes, unbidden, at that last bit. “And yet,” I choke out, trying to maintain my composure, “you used all that unique credibility and juice to make me a laughingstock with the other LBs.” My last words break me. As tears well up in my traitorous eyes, I wipe them furiously while Luca physically grips his hair in distress.
“I’m so sorry. I blew it, Chelsea. I was trying keep the other guys from sniffing out what a great coach you are and then demanding private sessions with you, too. That’s the God’s truth. I was just trying to keep my new secret weapon all to myself, but I should have realized by doing that, I was screwing you and your reputation over in the worst possible way. I was an idiot, Chelsea. A total and complete asshole. I’m so, so sorry.”