Keane returned his gaze to Charlie. “Try to come at least twice a week.”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod, “I can do that.”
Chapter 14
Practice could have gone better. Coach was in a mood, so she pushed more than usual. And seemed to have no patience for Max being Max or Streep being Streep. And, of course, Mads didn’t understand why they weren’t playing at the highest level . . . at a practice. She was going to be a real pain until the championship was over.
Eventually, though, Tock remembered she still hadn’t discussed her teammates’ talk with Tock’s grandmother—adding to her general stress. After the fight with the lion pride, they’d gone straight to practice and Coach didn’t allow any talk during training because, again, she was in a mood.
Tock was okay with that, though. She didn’t want to talk about her grandmother. She didn’t want to hear about how great her grandmother was or why hadn’t Tock introduced them before or how she had a small job for them, and why was it a big deal to handle it as a tiny favor?
In an effort to delay hearing any of that for a few extra minutes, once practice was over, Tock helped one of the assistants gather up all the basketballs and put them on the rolling stand. Then she went into the hallway and headed toward the locker room for a nice hot shower and maybe some time with one of the PTs. The team had been given temporary accommodations since they’d been in the playoffs. And now, with the finals coming up, they’d keep their lockers until it was—
Tock was used to getting grabbed and dragged into rooms. It had happened enough that she didn’t even bother counting how often anymore. So she wasn’t shocked that it happened again, but that it was her coach who grabbed her was a bit off-putting.
Since she didn’t wear a gun or blade during practice—unlike Max and Nelle—Tock unleashed her claws, slashing them through the air. But Coach grabbed her wrists and pushed Tock into a chair before sitting at the desk across from her, seemingly unfazed by the fact her face had almost been torn off by one of her players.
“Hey,” Coach said once she’d sat down and taken a few seconds to get comfortable.
“Hey.”
“How’s it going?”
Tock was confused. The only time Coach Diane Fitzgerald asked that question was when Tock and the others came to practice or a game with bruises or open wounds. Once they’d all come in to practice with gunshot wounds and all Coach said was, “That shit better not fuck up your layups, ladies.” It hadn’t, so it was never mentioned again.
Frowning, Tock asked, “Am I in trouble?”
“No, of course not.”
“Did Max do something?”
“No.”
“Because if she did something, I know nothing about it. But if I did know about it, I probably wouldn’t tell you anyway.”
“Uh—”
“And if I were you, I wouldn’t ask. It’s best not to ask when it comes to Max. The last thing you want is her oldest sister involved—”
“Tock,” she cut in, “I just need your opinion on something.”
“My opinion? You sure you don’t want Mads for this? I mean, she lives for this shit.”
“No, no. I want to talk to you. Get your opinion.”
“Okay.”
“Now . . . how loyal are you to our team?”
Tock felt a little bolt of anger. “Are you trading me?”
“What?”
“I mean, if that’s what you want, if you think I’m the weak link rather than Janice, Fine.”
“Tock, I’m not trading you.”
“Then why are you asking me about my loyalty?”
Coach took off her baseball cap and removed the tie from her hair, letting the brown-and-gray mass fall to her massive She-wolf shoulders. The female could have easily played football with other wolf shifters, but she said she really loved basketball. Felt it was more graceful and took more skill. She would also say, “I like my brain not binging around my skull after some grizzly hits me from behind.”
Tock had to agree. As much as she loved basketball, she’d never understood the allure of football. Why would anyone sign up for that level of injury? She was even more worried about full-humans playing football than she was about shifters. Their kind was just so . . . brittle. Like empty corn husks easily crushed by rampaging pigs. They intentionally slammed into each other and then were surprised when they turned forty and their bones turned to dust.
Nope. Tock agreed with her coach. Basketball was a much better, safer sport.
“I’ve been made an offer,” Coach suddenly announced.
“To trade me?” she asked.
“I am not trading you,” she snapped. “I’m not trading any of you. Stop asking me that.”
“Well, you brought up my loyalty. Implying I’m not loyal.”
“I’m not implying you’re not loyal, Tock. I’m simply wondering if you think you and the rest of the badgers would follow me to another team. Or if they’re specifically loyal to the Butchers.”
“Why would we be loyal to the Butchers? Wait . . . let me rephrase. Why would we be loyal to the Butchers without you?”
Coach blinked. “I don’t—？”
“You do realize that Max only lasted this long with any team because of you and your innate ability to tolerate her bullshit. With anyone else, Streep would have headed to Broadway or Hollywood by now. Nelle would go wherever Mads went. And if Mads was going to leave while you were still coach, she would have done it when we had that two-year run that we didn’t even get into the playoffs.”
“And you?”
“I do what I want. And I don’t like being ordered around. You’re one of the few people who know how to manage me without pissing me off. That’s a skill very few have. You are literally the only person I take orders from when not trapped in a firefight. Especially if whoever is in charge does not truly understand the concept of time management. It’s not just about being on time, you know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“There is a lot more to it and it really irritates me when people don’t understand that.”
“Yes, Tock. I know.” She moved some papers around on her desk, but Tock got the feeling it was just so she’d have something to do with her hands.
“So,” Coach eventually continued, “if I said there was an opportunity to go to another team—”
“It’s not Alaska, is it? Mads would go, but I’m from a desert people and an island people and Wisconsin is cold enough, thanks. Mads is Viking. She can handle that cold shit. But the rest of us?”
“No, no. Not Alaska. It’d be here. In New York.”
“The New York team wants you?” Tock asked on a laugh. “Doesn’t the owner call you Fido?”
“Not to my face.” She cleared her throat. “And we’ve worked through that.”
“Is she insisting Mads and the rest of us come, too?”
“No, no. Actually,” she admitted after another throat clearing, “I’ll probably have to fight to bring all five of you. The owner does have issues with—”
“The MacKilligans?”