Coach Daddy Read online

  Running around like that must be bothering his leg, but if he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

  Tessa moves next to me, crossing her arms. She smiles when I look at her and I make a face: Coach being a dick again.

  She laughs. I love her laugh. She has such straight, white teeth and beautiful milky-dark skin. Her hair’s natural, pulled back into a bun.

  “He’s not that bad,” she says.

  “I know, it’s just funny.”

  “Right, like all football players are so stupid you have to scream in their face to get them to listen.”

  “Right?” I say, laughing.

  “It has to work, though. The last place I worked, the coach did the same thing.”

  Tessa is nearly ten years older than me. She’s been working for NFL teams for a few years now and bounced between a few jobs before landing in Fargo.

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Oh, sure. All the coaches do it. Not all of them are as good at it as Coach Wood, though.”

  I frown a little, watching as Cole pats Sean on the shoulder and the two guys laugh. He comes jogging off the field, blowing his whistle. The other coaches jump into action, setting up the next play while Cole settles himself back into his normal posture, legs spread, back straight, arms crossed, handsome face scowling in the sunlight.

  “I guess I wouldn’t know. I mean, I love sports medicine, I just don’t love football.”

  Tessa laughs and nudges me. “Heck, nobody here loves it. At least the support staff. It’s just a job.”

  “Not for those guys, though?”

  She shakes her head. “For the players and the coaches, it’s their life.”

  I follow her gaze out to the field. The guys run another play, smashing into each other, and this time Sean throws the ball quickly, Felix catching it on a slanting run.

  The whistle blows and they reset. For a second, I marvel at how big these guys are. They’re like freight trains lumbering all around, absolute giants. I don’t know how their knees aren’t constantly popping out under the strain of all that fat and muscle and padding.

  “At least they all seem to like him,” I say, nodding at Cole again.

  “They really do,” Tessa says, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Wasn’t like that at my last job.”

  “Really? I figured everyone always sucked up to the coach.”

  “Not at all. Some coaches just command more respect than others… and I think Coach Wood is one of those guys, you know?”

  “There is definitely something about him.”

  She grins at me, a twinkle in her eyes. “Yeah, definitely. Maybe it’s those pretty blue eyes.”

  “Uhm, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Uh huh, right. Like I don’t see you looking at him.”

  I blush a little. If only she knew exactly how closely I was inspecting him. “He’s my boss.”

  “Not really. Jamie is your boss.”

  “He’s the boss of the team.”

  She waves that away. “He’s hot. You can admit it.”

  I grin at her. “No way. He’s like forty.”

  “He’s exactly forty, and he looks damn good.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, fine. He’s a handsome man, for forty.”

  She gives me a look. “He’s hot for any age and you know it.”

  “Okay, okay, fine. I admit it.”

  “There you go. No reason to pretend like it’s not true. All the women around here know it.”

  I glance around me. Professional football teams have an enormous staff. There are the coaches, the players themselves, plus the support staff that includes doctors, public relations people, trainers, and more.

  And a big chunk of the people standing on the sideline are women. None of them are players, of course, and none of them are coaches. But the water people, the trainers, a lot of them are female.

  Part of me thinks I can spot them staring at Cole. I mean, I wouldn’t blame them. He looks amazing standing there, staring at his players as they run through another play.

  He’s intense, handsome, gorgeous. Everything about him is perfection, physical perfection. I have this weird urge, like I’m being tugged toward him.

  Maybe I can see it in the other girls. Like they’re all leaning in his direction.

  But no, that’s stupid. I’m just being stupid.

  I don’t know Coach Wood. He just brought me into his world to help relieve some of his pain. Sure, I have a secret with him, but that doesn’t make me special.

  It could’ve been any one of the staff. It could’ve been Tessa or even Jamie. I was just convenient, that’s all.

  That’s what I’m telling myself at least. Otherwise, I’m going to start thinking there’s something more going on.

  Maybe he wants me down on my knees, between his legs, both my hands on his…

  I take a sharp breath as one of the linemen slams into another and goes down. The whistle blows and we move into action. Every member of the training staff jogs out there, including me, but Tessa beats me to him.

  I watch as she checks him, tests his ankle, give a little shake of her head. Poor guy, got freaking hurt at practice. I glance over at Coach, and his eyes are dark.

  “Take him off,” he grumbles, walking away.

  I wander back toward the field. A few of the other trainers have it under control. I make a few notes on my clipboard, offer some guys water, but mostly I watch Coach as he consults with his staff.

  This is what happens in sports. We all know it. You beat a body up enough and over time it breaks down. Football stresses the body like no other sport does, and these guys aren’t perfect machines.

  Sooner or later, they break. It’s our job to put them back together, at least the best we can.

  Practice eventually restarts, but it doesn’t last much longer. I can tell Cole is annoyed about his starting lineman going down and doesn’t want to risk anyone else, especially in this heat. After another couple plays, he blows the whistle and ends things.

  People gather around him almost immediately. I end up talking to one of the linebackers about a shoulder issue, stretching him out a little bit. As I head toward the locker room when we’re done, someone bumps into me from behind.

  I turn, expecting it to be one of the asshole receivers, but instead it’s Cole.

  He smirks at me. “How come you didn’t help my player out there, Leah?”

  I shrug a little bit, unable to stop myself from smiling. “Other trainers beat me to it.”

  “Gotta be fast on the field. Otherwise, you get hit.”

  “My head’s always on a swivel.” I grin stupidly. This football banter isn’t really my thing, but for some reason it’s funny coming from him.

  He gets closer to me as a steady stream of people moves past us, heading into the locker room. “Come to my office,” he says softly. “I need you.”

  I nod once, not surprised. “Ten minutes?”

  “See you then.” He leaves, catching up with one of the special teams guys, saying something to him as he slaps him on the back.

  I hesitate before heading back. I know I have other work to do, other guys to see, but that can all wait. I check on Felix, make sure he’s taken care of, ask about the injured player, and head back toward Cole’s office.

  He’s tucked into the back of the building, probably on purpose. It’s not the biggest or the nicest, but it’s relatively private. The stadium is always full of people, reporters, fans, whatever. There are always people wandering around the halls.

  In this part of the locker room, though, it’s quiet. There are mostly offices back here for administrative staff and even a few scouts, although they’re hardly ever in them. Those guys live on the road.

  I knock on Cole’s door. “Come in,” he calls out.

  I step inside, closing the door behind me. He smiles and stands, although I notice he winces a bit. “Thanks for coming,” he says.

  “It’s my job.”

 
He laughs a little, goes around the desk, and sits in one of the guest chairs. “I guess so. Still, I know you have other people to look after.”

  “You’re my boss. I do what the boss says.”

  He sighs. “I’m your boss’s boss.”

  “Close enough.”

  I watch as he stands again and starts to take off his pants.

  “Did you do the exercises I showed you?” I ask.

  He nods. “Did them last night. Hurt like hell.”

  “Good. It’s supposed to.”

  “You seem to enjoy hurting me a little bit, don’t you?”

  I laugh. “Only if it’ll make you stronger.”

  “That’s what I tell my players, but it’s bullshit, you know.”

  “Is it?” I raise an eyebrow as he finishes taking off his slacks. He sits back down with a sigh.

  “These guys are at the height of their careers. They don’t need me beating them up anymore. They know what they’re about.”

  I kneel down in front of him, inspecting the scar. It’s nasty, about what I expected, clearly deep and painful.

  I start my massage, keeping it easy. I can tell it hurts, though, from the way he reacts. I poke and prod him gently, rubbing, kneading the muscle. He’s surprisingly strong for someone in so much pain.

  “So why do you do it then?” I ask, trying to keep his mind off the massage.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” he grunts. “There are a lot of reasons. I want them to respect me, listen to me like a general. It’s a mental thing, mostly. But maybe I just enjoy it.”

  “You enjoy telling them to hurt themselves?” I ask.

  “No—oh, shit,” he says, grimacing.

  “Sorry. Too hard?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He takes a deep breath.

  I start again. He’s silent for a moment.

  “I can’t play anymore, so I guess… I take it out on them. Beat them up. Punish them for being able to do what I can’t.”

  I bite my lip. It’s a strange thing for him to admit to me, but I think I can understand. I’m sure there’s resentment inside of him still.

  “You miss it?” I ask.

  “Hell, no,” he says, laughing before he grimaces again. “At least, not really. I wish I could’ve played longer when I was younger, but I’m also happy I didn’t.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Not really. I just know if I played longer, I would’ve walked away from the sport with some kind of brain injury. At least now I get to coach.”

  I nod a little bit. Head injuries and trauma are really common in retired NFL players. There have been lawsuits about it, and the league has been trying to change the rules to make it safer to play.

  It’s not helping, of course. People don’t really want to help NFL players. They want to see them smash into each other, over and over. They want the violence. They want the drama.

  I hate that about football, and it’s part of why I’m here. I want to help these guys, maybe do some good for them while I can.

  I massage Cole’s leg for another few minutes. When I’m done, he leans back in his chair, groaning a sigh of relief.

  “How was it today?” I ask him.

  “Bad,” he admits. “Worse than usual.”

  “Okay,” I say, walking over to my clipboard. I plan on writing that down, but he stops me.

  “Don’t put anything down on paper,” he says.

  I raise an eyebrow. “It’s just for me.”

  He shakes his head. “Call me paranoid if you want, but no paper trail.”

  I laugh a little but shrug. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  He grins. “Listen, I never asked. Are you a football fan?”

  I put my clipboard under my shoulder and look him square in the eyes.

  For a second, I consider lying.

  “Nope,” I say.

  He just laughs. “Good. Better if you’re not.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re less likely to try and pass these guys when you shouldn’t.”

  I bite my lip. “You think that happens?”

  “I know it happens. Don’t be that trainer, okay?”

  I hesitate a second. “Don’t you want us to pass your guys if they’re borderline? I mean, you need them to play.”

  “I need them alive and healthy,” he says softly. “If I’m put in the position of choosing in front of other people, I’ll tell you to pass them. But privately, between us, don’t put me in that position, and do the right thing.”

  I laugh gently. I don’t know how this conversation went in this direction. “Do you tell your whole training staff to do this?”

  “Nope. Just you.” He sighs, stands, and puts his pants on. I get a glimpse of his hard, gorgeous ass before he gets himself situated. “And I saw you staring.”

  I turn bright red. “I wasn’t, I mean, it’s part of my job, you know.” I stutter like a moron.

  He grins, cocking his head at me. “It’s part of your job to stare at my ass? I don’t think so, Leah.”

  “I wasn’t staring.”

  “Sure you weren’t. Did you like it, at least?”

  Of course I freaking liked it. The guy’s built like a Greek god.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, turning away from him. “I’m a lady.”

  “I bet you are!” he says, laughing, as I push open his door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Coach,” I say, waving to him.

  “Cole!” he grumbles after me as I shut the door and head down the hall.

  I have a stupid smile on my face the whole walk back to the training room.

  4

  Cole

  I rub my thigh softly. It’s early the next morning, and my leg already aches.

  Not as bad as the day before, though. Leah’s massages hurt, but they definitely help, and I think even those damn torturous exercises are even starting to do something.

  I wish I didn’t have to do this shit, but I’m a pragmatic man. I do what works.

  One thing’s bothering me, though. The way I spoke to her yesterday was… odd.

  I don’t know why. Maybe because she’s a beautiful girl kneeling between my legs, touching my bare skin so close to my cock. I want her hands to slide up my thigh, massage my shaft, get me fucking hard.

  I just started talking. I told her something I don’t think I’ve ever said out loud before. I’ve always known it, deep inside the quiet parts of my mind. But admitting that to someone is dangerous.

  It’s the sort of thing that can make me look bad in the NFL. Nobody wants to play for a coach that delights in torturing his players.

  Which isn’t even what I was saying. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to make them work for what they have, because some of us can’t anymore.

  I stand at the door of my office, looking down the hall. I can see people moving around, the inner workings of this team buzzing like an anthill. Leah’s somewhere nearby, probably in the locker room or in the training room, taking care of someone.

  Making sure they aren’t hurt.

  I respect that in a person. If I didn’t go into football at all, I think I would’ve tried to become a doctor.

  I don’t know what it is about her, but I need to try and keep myself together.

  I stretch a little, rubbing at my leg again before stopping myself. Even here, where I’m relatively alone, I can’t afford to show weakness.

  “Cole,” a voice says suddenly, nearly making me jump.

  I look down the hall again and he’s striding toward me. Everyone stares after him as he comes.

  Atlas Gage.

  He’s young, in his late twenties. He’s wearing a suit, light gray, slim fitting. His tie is a bright mélange of flower blues and yellows. His hair is cut short, pushed back to one side. His eyes are green and brown swirls.

  He’s the youngest owner in NFL history, and one of the youngest billionaires in the world.

  He’
s also one of the strangest people I’ve ever met.

  “Coach Cole,” he says, coming up to me. He doesn’t smile as he shakes my hand. “How’s my team?”

  “Going good,” I say, stepping aside. He drifts into my office. “Very good. You did a great job, pulling this together.”

  He grunts, nods his head. He’s about an inch shorter than me, although he’s muscular, well built. I never would guess that he made his money in tech.

  When I think of tech billionaires, I think of little nerdy boys in glasses and sweatshirts. That’s not Atlas Gage, not at all.

  He doesn’t sit down when I offer him a chair, so I’m forced to lean against my desk for support.

  “It was a lot of work,” he allows. “Building this stadium alone set us back a couple years.”

  “But here it is.” I grin at him. “It’s amazing.”

  “Maybe,” he allows.

  It is amazing, though. Fargo, North Dakota, was just another sleepy Midwest town that didn’t care at all about having a major sports team. But Atlas is from here, and he was adamant about bringing it to this city.

  He built the stadium. He found the staff. He paid for the players. He’s paying for everything, actually. I don’t know how he managed to talk the NFL into allowing this, but here we are, a brand-new modern stadium and a brand new NFL team in the middle of a tiny North Dakota city.

  All because of this very strange man.

  “I wanted to ask you about your staff,” he says. “I hear there are some shortages?”

  I shrug. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  He eyes me warily. “We can’t afford to project weakness, Coach Wood.”

  I grin at him. If only he knew how much I understood. “We aren’t. We’re missing some minor coaching staff, some minor training roles, but we’re running just fine. For a new team, we’re in good shape.”

  He grunts at that and nods. “Okay then. I’ll take your word for it. There’s a reason I brought you on here.”

  I know that reason. I took Monray College, a tiny little team that lost every game for five years straight, and turned them into a powerhouse. We went from last place to first place in two seasons. We didn’t lose a single title when I was coaching there.

  I resurrected that team. Hell, I birthed that team. I hear they’re still doing pretty good. I bet they’ll always be a contender, all because of the work I did there.