The Assistant Coach (BOOK 1: OMEN KING SERIES)

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Kohl Warren

It's been a damn long week since that disastrous night with Leia. I can't shake the image of her disappointed face out of my mind.

Stupid, stupid me for opening my big mouth and ruining everything. I never wanted us to be just Coach and Athlete. I wanted more, but I screwed it all up.

Every practice since then has been a painful reminder of my own stupidity. Leia still looks as beautiful as ever, but she won't even glance in my direction now.

I get it though. I hurt her.

I can see it in the way she avoids me like the plague.

I try to focus on the practice, passing the puck to Ant, but my head is all over the place. Kateb swoops in and steals the puck, scoring effortlessly. I don't even bother to try and get it back. What's the point?

Ari is on the sidelines, cheering us on with her usual enthusiasm, but I can't find it in me to care, not that I ever did to begin with. I skate around the ice, feeling like a complete idiot.

I almost wish Leia would start crying again, just so I could have an excuse to comfort her.

But I know deep down that what I said was for the best, even if it feels like a dagger in my heart every time I see her cold shoulder.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ant asks, his voice full of irritation as he skates towards me, but I simply shrug him off, my demeanor cold, matching the icy rink we're on.

"Kohl, Miller, Owen, and Ronald, you'll be doing zigzags on that side of the ice" Leia's voice cuts through the air, assigning drills like she always does, but this time, something feels off.

She called me "Kohl" instead of Warren, and it stings more than I care to admit.

The realization hits me like a slap in the face: the Coach and Athlete relationship has shifted, and I'm left feeling like a kicked puppy.

I can't bear to look at Leia, so I focus on the ice beneath me, the chill seeping into my bones matching the ache in my chest. She doesn't seem fazed by the change, but I can't help but feel a pang of hurt.

With a clenched jaw, I skate towards the exit, the sound of Coach Johnson's voice calling after me falling on deaf ears. I untie my skates with steady hands, each movement a struggle as I try to push down the emotions bubbling inside me.

The locker room is a welcome respite, the familiar smell of sweat and ice soothing in its familiarity. I throw my skates into the locker with more force than necessary, the clang echoing off the walls. As I slump onto the bench, the weight of everything

crashes down on me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

I don't bother waiting around and grab my beat-up old duffle bag, the zipper barely hanging on, and shove it into the locker with a grunt of effort.

I quickly change out of my sweaty gym clothes, the fabric sticking to my skin uncomfortably, and into a faded t-shirt and jeans that have seen better days.

I leave the locker room feeling the weight of the day on my shoulders, my backpack slung over one shoulder haphazardly.

I throw my hands into my jean pockets, the fabric rough against my skin, as I clench my fists, feeling the frustration bubbling under the surface.

I stare at the ground, my brow furrowed in concentration, as I start making my way out of the building, my steps heavy and purposeful, ignoring the curious glances and waves from the opposite sex.

"Kohl Warren, right?" A voice interrupts my thoughts, and I tilt my head slightly to see a guy I don't recognize standing in front of me, wearing an Iverton jacket.

I raise an eyebrow, brushing a hand through my unkempt hair to get a better look at him. His shiny brown hair is styled in a way that screams 'trying too hard', his ugly brown eyes fixed on me expectantly.

He's about the same height as me, but slightly less muscular, and there's a fresh scar on his left cheek that looks like it was made by a wild animal.

Did this guy get into a fight with a pack of rabid raccoons or something?

Who knows, who cares.

I squint at him, unimpressed.

"Who are you?" I ask bluntly as I size him up, unimpressed by his flashy grin.

"Henderson Adam, how could you not remember me? I'm the captain of the Iverton ice hockey team, it makes me sad you don't remember," he says with a smile, his eyes twinkling with a hint of irritation.

He scratches the back of his head, the sunlight catching the strands of his messy brown hair. I tilt my head, squinting at him as I try to recall his face. Nope, nothing.

"Yeah, I remember. What are you doing at DU?" I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm as I pretend to remember him. He seems familiar, but for the life of me, I can't place him.

"I'm here to talk to my crush," he says, his smile faltering slightly. I raise an eyebrow, my interest waning at his sudden change in demeanor.

"There she is now," he exclaims, his smile returning as he rushes past me. I roll my eyes, clicking my tongue in annoyance at his eagerness.

What a weirdo. How could I not remember that guy? Maybe he just wasn't worth remembering. I continue walking, not bothering to look back at whoever that weirdo's crush is.

Finally, I reach the Omen dorms where my dorm is located and stop dead in my tracks when I see a girl with bright blue hair pummeling some random guy. My eyes widen in disbelief as I take in the chaotic scene before me.

This day just keeps getting stranger.

"Like I said, I'm not here for you, bitch, so move out of my way," she sneers with a devilish look on her face, flipping her long blue hair out of her face as she stands there in ripped jeans and a crop top. Her eyes are practically sparkling with mischief and malice.

I can't help but notice the three guys lying on the floor, groaning in pain as she continues to kick one of them relentlessly until they fall silent.

It's a brutal scene, and I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the poor guy getting pummeled while he's already down.

I can't believe a single girl did all this damage. She's got to be some kind of psycho. I try to walk past, not wanting to get involved, but then I hear the sickening sound of bones snapping, causing me to pause. I really shouldn't be getting mixed up in this.

"What'd they do?" I ask, turning my head to look at her, only to be met with a glare that screams 'mind your own business.'

But then her expression changes, her eyes widening and her smile stretching into something almost predatory.

She lets out a dangerous laugh, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Oh, my Satan, is that you Kohl?" she asks, and I'm left feeling completely bewildered.

Do I know her? Have I ever slept with her? No, definitely not. So how does she know me?

I turn my whole body, squinting my eyes as I try to place her. Her long, straight blue hair falls down her back, contrasting against her bright blue eyes.

She has a slim figure, with chubby cheeks and a slim nose. And that terrible attitude of hers is something I remember all too well. Ah, who am I kidding, I have no clue who this chick is.

"Don't tell me you forgot all about me, KW," she says, flipping me off and making me groan in protest.

"Of course it's you, AD," I mumble, recognizing her as she continues to kick one of the guys who regained consciousness, only to be knocked out again by her kicks.

Of course it had to be her. Athena DuPont. I haven't seen her in ages, and here she is, causing chaos as usual.

She always did have a way of making an entrance.

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