The Assistant Coach (BOOK 1: OMEN KING SERIES)

|𝟸𝟹|

Leia Welsh

They tied.

The scoreboard blinks 3-3, a perfect stalemate. The final buzzer sounds, and the players hang their heads in defeat.

Iverton's coach is having a full-blown meltdown, screaming and hurling insults at his team. The fans on both sides are going wild, but it's all just noise now.

I watch them all from my spot in the box, unmoved. They gave it their all, I'll give them that much.

Kateb breaks his hockey stick in half on the ice, while Warren punches the bench with his bare fist. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy.

"I think you should be the one to go talk to them," I say to Coach Johnson, who looks just as glum as the rest of the guys. He nods in agreement.

As the boys trudge off to the locker room with Coach Johnson, I stay behind, leaning against the boards and staring at the scoreboard. The numbers mock me, taunting me with our win and loss.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a player from Iverton drop to his knees on the ice, picking up the two pieces of the hockey stick that Kateb had snapped in his fit of rage. He skates over to me, his movements abrupt and uncertain.

I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he's up to. He stops in front of me, holding out the broken hockey stick like some kind of peace offering. I snatch it from him, the gesture is meaningless to me.

"What am I supposed to do with a busted hockey stick?" I deadpan, staring at the broken piece of equipment in my hands. It's not like I'm a professional stick repairer or anything.

"One of your players decided to use it as a tripping hazard and then told me it was valuable. I didn't want it to go to waste,"

I let out a long-suffering sigh, "That all?"

He beckons someone over, and when I turn my head, my expression twists into one of revulsion as I see the same guy who was sporting a bloody nose just moments ago.

"If this is some kind of joke–"

"I'm sorry. It was completely out of line for me to say what I said. My coach wanted me to stir things up, but that's no excuse," he mumbles, looking more scared of the imposing figure standing next to me than genuinely sorry.

I had a feeling deep in my gut that the coach was up to something fishy. The way he talked to the players and treated them like they were disposable really rubbed me the wrong way. They deserve better than that, for sure. Coach Ivette...No.

Suddenly, my eyes are met with the sight of my team barreling down the aisles, chucking their helmets off in frustration. Warren is practically sprinting towards me, but I stand my ground in front of him, causing him to screech to a halt.

"Leia, respectfully, move the fuck out of the way," Warren's voice cuts through the tension in the arena, but I refuse to budge, his eyes stay glued to the guy he punched earlier.

"We just wanted to say sorry and give back the hockey stick, that's all," the guy mutters, shooting daggers at his buddy before attempting to flash me a smile.

It's a strange smile, though, almost fake. Or maybe I'm just reading into it too much.

"Bullshit that's all!" Kateb bellows from the top of the aisles, clad only in his boxers, prompting me to roll my eyes and shake my head.

"Alright, Reggie, let's get going–" he gestures towards me before slinging an arm around Reggie's shoulder. "Catch you later, Coach Leia," he calls out casually as they saunter off, leaving me to deal with the aftermath.

I stop Warren in his tracks, placing my hand firmly on his chest to prevent him from starting a needless fight with the hockey players ahead.

His eyes are fixed on the backs of those guys, particularly on the one who's been flashing a weird smile at me. His vibe felt off, but I shrugged it off, probably just my imagination running wild.

"Where the hell are they?" Kateb demands.

I seize Kateb's ear and give it a sharp twist, pulling him

along with me. "Coach Johnson's got some choice of words for you little punks. Don't keep him waiting."

Kateb lets out a pained groan as I drag him up the aisle, the other boys trailing behind. As we reach the doors, Ari and Sammie are waiting, snickering at the sight of me tugging on Kateb's ear, before they laugh seeing him in only his boxers. I release my grip, and Kateb shoots me a glare.

"Ari, where did you take our precious water bottles?" Owen drawls lazily, his arms stretching out in a dramatic fashion.

With a nonchalant flick of her hand, she gestures towards the locker room. "Oh, I just handed them off to Coach Johnson."

We all shuffle into the locker room, with Ari and Sammie trailing in behind me. Ari seems surprisingly at ease, like she's finally fitting in with the guys. I can tell by the way they all have their own secret handshakes with her, except for Warren.

"You boys did well today–" Warren clenches his fists as he sits on the bench, staring at the floor, his dark, damp hair falling in front of his eyes. "–But there's always room for improvement. This is just the beginning, so don't get too discouraged." Coach Johnson finishes his speech.

Warren sits there completely silent in his black sleeveless Nike compression shirt, flexing his tan biceps that are practically begging to punch something.

His sweat catches the light, making him look like he's glistening in the dimly lit locker room. I can see the frustration in his eyes, the urge to release his anger bubbling just beneath the surface. His hand is slightly bruised, probably from taking out his aggression on either the guy he was fighting or the bench he punched.

Ari, always the optimist, chimes in, "I think you guys were great out there," giving a thumbs up that elicits a few smiles from the group.

But most of them, like Warren, are still seething with anger. I get it – the adrenaline is still coursing through their veins, the taste of defeat still fresh in their mouths. It's hard to shake that off, even in a room full of people who understand.

"I mean, honestly, I just cheered when I saw other people cheer," Sammie mutters with a nonchalant shrug. Laughter fills the room, except Kateb and Warren who stay silent.

The guys then all look at me, waiting for me to say something.

I feel the weight of their disappointment heavy in the air, suffocating any chance of a lighthearted response from me. But what can I say? Nothing I do or say will magically make everything better. I know this because I've been in their shoes before, feeling lost and defeated.

I meet their gaze, my eyes cold and unapologetic. I want them to feel something, anything other than this crushing disappointment in themselves.

Even if they hate me for it, anything is better than watching them lose confidence in themselves. So, I simply stand there, my expression unreadable, as the laughter fades and the silence stretches on.

"I love being right, and you all proved me right on how much you sucked tonight–" The glares and hatred radiating off them makes me roll my eyes "–Don't get in the rink if you're going to keep screwing up"

"Come on, Ice Queen, don't you think we know?" Ronald says, his jaw clenched in frustration. The others shoot daggers at me with their eyes, as if they want to see me burn.

I know.

"No, I don't know," I taunt, smiling at them. "You all look like a bunch of sore losers. You're acting like you're not gonna face Iverton again, but next time you'll beat them."

Warren's lips twitch, and even the stoic Kateb is silenced when he catches my gaze. They all break out into a smile, making me confused because I'm supposed to be tearing them down so why are they smiling?

"The Ice Queen actually said something I can agree with," Kateb says, making me raise my eyebrow.

Coach Johnson speaks up, "Good work boys,"

Well...I guess that's that then.

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