Empty Net by Avon Gale Read Free Book Online Page B

affectionate and warm, but it cooled considerably when he saw Laurent. “Here.” Coach Ashford thrust a bag at Isaac, his eyes still on Laurent.
    “Oh, Saint came over for dinner,” Isaac said casually, as if that were normal.
    Coach Samarin must have been in the house, because he suddenly appeared in the doorway—tall and looming ominously, like a gatekeeper in front of a castle. “I don’t remember inviting him,” he said, his English slightly accented. Laurent knew from practices that when Coach Samarin sounded more Russian, you were probably in trouble.
    Isaac was stupid to think it would work. Laurent tried to think of what to do and had something awful on the tip of his tongue, and then Isaac stepped neatly in front of him, looked at their coach, and said, “I did.”
    Laurent’s words all fell away, and he had no name for the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed him.
    “Look, me and Saint here had a nice chat. Okay? We cleared up some stuff. So it’s cool.”
    Coach Samarin and Coach Ashford didn’t look convinced. But they did look right at Laurent, as if they wanted confirmation.
    All right. Laurent could do that. “I’m sorry.” That’s all he could manage, and it didn’t sound… well, it didn’t sound genuine, but it didn’t sound hateful. He wanted to put his face in his hands and scream. He’d learned how to be hateful, mean and withdrawn, but he’d never learned how to be nice. To anyone. Ever.
    “Saint here decided he was going to stop acting like such an asshole. Right, Saint?”
    Isaac had to be using the name on purpose. Laurent nodded and stared down at his shoes. “Yeah. Yes.”
    “Then he can look me in the eyes and apologize for how he’s treated his teammates, his captain, and his coaches,” said Coach Samarin, his voice as unyielding as steel. “And he can promise me that my boyfriend and my friend won’t be subjected to that in their home.”
    Laurent’s heart stopped for a second, because his father made him do shit like that all the time and always demanded Laurent say things or make promises or atone for things. Usually at the end of a belt, or while kneeling on grains of rice. But Coach Samarin was just asking for something that he had every right to ask for.
    Laurent raised his head, expecting Coach Samarin to be glowering at him. But he wasn’t glaring as much as staring straight into the heart of Laurent’s soul, like he could see every truth hidden behind the hate Laurent wore like armor.
    “I’m sorry for what I’ve said, and what I’ve done,” Laurent said, very carefully. “I’m not proud of it. I’m trying not to be that way anymore.”
    He could have said, “I won’t do it again,”but he knew, even if Isaac didn’t, that it wouldn’t be that easy.
    “I won’t put up with any of that in my house,” Coach Samarin said, but he went back to unloading bags of groceries and handed one to Laurent.
    With nothing else to do, Laurent followed Isaac into the kitchen and put the bag on the counter.
    “Good job, Saint. That wasn’t bad. There’s hope for you yet.” Isaac smiled at him.
    Maybe, but the second he could get away, Laurent excused himself, ran upstairs, turned on the water in Isaac’s bathroom and threw up everything in his stomach.

Chapter Six
     
     
    ISAAC GOT back from dropping Saint off at his apartment, which looked like a boarding house from 1939, and tried his hardest to sneak upstairs to his room.
    “Oh. I don’t think so,” Coach Ashford said as he leaned against the wall. “House meeting. Kitchen. Now.”
    “If I come quietly, do I get vodka?” Isaac asked and followed Coach Ashford through the house.
    “No.”
    “I’m twenty-five, Coach Ashford,” Isaac reminded him.
    “Isaac, you’ve lived here long enough, can you please just call me Max? And yeah. You can drink the bottom-shelf stuff. Not the good kind.”
    “You can’t drink that either,” Isaac said, and sat on his stool next to Coach—Max.
    Misha was doing