08

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐭

"You guys were reckless and irresponsible."

I said it to the whole group, standing there in the station lobby at two in the morning in my pajamas, looking like every single one of them had personally ruined my entire week in one night.

Which they kind of had.

Nobody said anything.

"Do you understand how this looks? Half my team, arrested, in a bar fight, less than twelve hours after I told you I was here to build something serious, something worth actually caring about." I crossed my arms, mostly to keep my hands from shaking, because I was somewhere between furious and completely exhausted and my body didn't know which one to commit to.

"Does anyone want to explain what happened?"

Ronan opened his mouth.

"Don't," I said. "I don't actually want the play-by-play right now."

"It wasn't really our fault," someone mumbled from the back.

"I didn't ask." I looked at him until he shut up. "Not tonight. Not at two in the morning, standing in a police station."

Silence again.

"Go home. All of you. I expect everyone at practice tomorrow, on time, and if any of you show up hungover I will personally run you into the ground." I glanced around at the group, most of them staring at their shoes like this was a locker room scolding instead of an actual police station.

"Go."

"Coach, seriously, thank you for—"

"Go home, Brian."

They filed out one by one, mumbling apologies, avoiding eye contact, until it was just me and him standing in the middle of an empty lobby that smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

"Not you," I said quickly and firmly, before Malakai, not Micah or Michael, could even think about slipping past me toward the door.

Yup, I remembered his name but it's too annoying to say.

He stopped.

"Sit."

He sat.

I waited until the last of the boys' voices faded outside before I let myself actually look at him. Split knuckles, a bruise already blooming along his jaw, a rip in his hoodie that hadn't been there earlier tonight when he was standing in front of me telling me he understood perfectly.

"Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"No."

"Because it feels like a joke." My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, but I didn't pull it back.

"I told you a few hours ago that we needed to keep things professional. That we're coach and student. And somehow, less than three hours later, I'm standing in a police station at two in the morning bailing you out."

"It's not connected."

"Isn't it?"

He didn't answer right away, which told me everything I actually needed to know.

"Is this your way of punishing me? Because I said what I said earlier?" I asked it straight, not dressing it up, because I needed the actual answer, not whatever charming deflection he usually had loaded and ready. "Because if this is some kind of statement—"

"It's not."

"Then what is it, Malakai?"

"I don't know." He rubbed a hand over his face, wincing when it caught the bruise. "Ronan called, I went, things got out of hand. It wasn't about you."

"A rival team captain shows up, and suddenly you're throwing punches, and it's not about anything?"

He looked away.

"I'm not stupid," I said. "I know exactly who bad hair Marcus Webb is. I know exactly what happened with him and Hailey, I did my research. Don't sit there and tell me that it has nothing to do with tonight."

"Fine. Maybe it had something to do with it."

"Something."

"A lot," he admitted, jaw tight. "It had a lot to do with it. Happy?"

"Not remotely."

"What do you want from me, Beckett?" His voice came out edgy, and raw.

"I want you to use my actual title." I kept my voice level, even though I wanted to snap right back at him. "Coach. That's what I am right now, to you, in this building, on that ice, everywhere that matters."

"Fine, Coach. What do you want from me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second he actually looked like what he was—twenty-one years old, tired, a little embarrassed, not the confident guy who'd been smirking at me from across the ice a few hours ago. "I'm sorry."

"An apology doesn't cut it."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to understand what you actually did tonight." I stepped closer, close enough that he had to look up at me instead of past me. "You're the captain. Do you understand what that means? It means every single one of those kids in that lobby looks at you and decides how to act based on what you do. On and off the ice. You're supposed to be the example, Malakai. The one who keeps everyone else in line, not the one starting the fight."

"I didn't start it."

"You didn't stop it either."

He had nothing for that.

"Marcus says something dumb, and instead of walking away, you swing?" I shook my head. "You're better than that. Or you're supposed to be."

"You don't know what he said."

"So tell me."

He hesitated.

"Tell me, Malakai."

"He brought up my ex. Said some stuff about her, about me, tried to make it sound like a joke." His jaw tightened again just talking about it. "I wasn't gonna stand there and let him do that."

"So you hit him instead."

"Yeah."

"Great strategy."

"I'm aware it wasn't my best moment."

"I was hired to bring a championship to this school. Do you know how hard that gets when my captain is out getting arrested at a bar the night before our first real practice?" I shook my head, more disappointed than angry now, which somehow felt worse. "You're supposed to be better than this. Better than throwing punches over a girl like you're back in high school."

"That's not what this is."

"Then explain it to me. Actually explain it, because right now all I've got is a captain with bloody knuckles and a story that adds up to nothing."

"I already told you what happened."

"Tell me why it matters that it was him specifically. Tell me why some guy running his mouth at a bar was enough to get you arrested."

"Because he's been rubbing it in my face for two weeks straight." His voice rose slightly before he caught himself and brought it back down. "Every practice, every game, every time our teams cross paths, he brings her up. I thought I was over it. Turns out I'm not as over it as I thought."

"That's honest, at least."

"You wanted honest." He was quiet for a long moment.

"I said I'm sorry." His voice dropped, quieter now, less defensive. "I'll work on it. It won't happen again, I promise."

"You promised me a lot of things tonight already."

"I mean it this time."

"You said that the last time, too."

"There wasn't a last time until tonight."

"Exactly my point."

"You need to do more than mean it." I held his gaze, making sure every word landed exactly where I needed it to. "I don't want another apology, Malakai. I want it to actually stop."

"It'll stop."

"It better."

"It will." I stared at him a second longer, wanting to believe it, half believing it, and half not sure I could afford to believe anything he said right now.

"Because if I hear one more story like this, one more fight, one more arrest, I don't care who you are or how good you are on the ice. I will bench you for the rest of the season, and I will revoke your captaincy myself, and I won't feel a single ounce of guilt about it.”