Kulti(46)

He was talking to me. Me.

And: poop.

I was fine.

“Can we call a truce?” I kept my gaze forward and made sure not to move my mouth more than was necessary just in case someone turned around. They wouldn’t be able to tell I was talking to The King. “I want things to get back to normal. I don’t like drama, and I can’t keep doing these hate-eyes with you. It won’t be long before someone catches on.

“I would never say anything to anyone about you-know-what. I promise.” The urge to say I swore was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it in. “I won’t. It doesn’t matter how much you might make me angry, that’s between you and you. If I wanted to be an asshole, I would have taken pictures of you with my phone and sold them right after it happened, don’t you think?”

Nothing. I kept going.

“I can also get over the fact that you called my brother an imbecile and that you were a jerk to my dad, I think. But if you think I’m going to apologize for what I said to Gardner, it’s not going to happen. You should know that now. You weren’t being helpful or nice and it wasn’t helping the team. If it matters any, I didn’t say anything rude about you as a person—” though I wanted to. “I don’t want to feel awkward every time I’m around you for the next few months either. So, can we go back to pretending each other doesn’t exist?” I asked finally.

Fair enough, wasn’t it?

At least I thought so.

He didn’t respond. A minute passed, and still there was no reply.

I blinked facing forward and then slowly, slowly, slowly just like those creepy possessed dolls in scary movies, turned to look at him.

He was staring at me directly, one hundred percent intense and focused on my face. Those warm-colored eyes were zeroed in on me like I was the first person he’d seen in ages…and wasn’t really sure what to think. So I stared at him right back, right in the eyes, not at the small cleft in his chin or the scar that sliced through his right eyebrow from an elbow he’d taken to the face during his eighth season in the European League.

I kept my gaze steady. “I’m trying really hard here,” I told him carefully.

Still, he stared.

Yet I wasn’t a quitter and didn’t plan on becoming one anytime soon. “I’m not asking you to be my friend or even to talk to me. I could care less if you like me,” that was mostly true, “because it isn’t like I’m fond of you either, but maybe we can just set this crap aside, all right? Whatever happened between you and my brother was a long time ago. Done. What happened at the bar is none of my business. If you want to pay me back for the hotel room, go for it. And yeah, I did say something to Gardner about you kind of sucking at being a coach, but it’s the truth; if you were in my shoes, I’m sure whatever would have come out of your mouth would have been worse than what I said. Isn’t that right?”

It was, it totally was. For one split second, I let myself imagine the Kulti I’d grown up in love with. The one that thought he owned every field he stepped out on, and I could imagine the way he would have erupted at being doubted.

Then I reminded myself that this wasn’t the same man. For whatever reason, he just wasn’t. People changed over time. I got that, so I wasn’t going to think about it too much. This was the version of Reiner Kulti I’d been given, and this was the one I’d have to deal with for the next few months. It was like when I craved something sweet. I had a bite to get it out of my system and moved on.

Another minute passed and he still hadn’t responded. I could play the staring game as good as anyone. Even if it made my throat feel weird and I had to tell myself not to blush or worry about whether I should have put some concealer on that morning.

I blinked.

He blinked.

Okay, I’d struck out twice. What was once more in the name of peace? In a careful, controlled voice I said, “I was a fan of yours for a very long time. That game about twenty years ago at the Altus Cup, when you scored the winning goal, changed my life. I’ve respected you as an athlete for as long as I can remember. I know that I’m no one to you, but I’m here, and I’m going to still be here until the season is over. If there’s any part of you that’s still that man I admired, I’d appreciate it if we could just… make it through the season without killing each other.”

All right. I’d said more than I had planned on. Whether he was worried or alarmed by it, I had no idea, but screw it, it was the truth. You couldn’t build a friendship or… a lasting whatever, on lies. My crush on him was just extra information that wasn’t exactly relevant for this conversation… or any other.