Chereads / No Perfect Game (BL) / Chapter 6 - Slim Chances

Chapter 6 - Slim Chances

Noah's POV 

The parking lot is nearly empty, the air thick and humid, clinging to my skin. I sit on the hood of my car, gripping my keys, trying to make sense of the mess I'm in.

Three months. 

That's how long I have before the Coyotes are gone. Before this team, this town's history is erased like it never mattered. Like we never mattered. 

I inhale deeply, exhale and scream the one thing I've been meaning to scream all morning, "Fuuuu—"

The horn of a passing truck censors the rest of the expletive which is for the best because I don't think the group of human women passing by on their morning jog would appreciate hearing that right now.

But, dear goddess above, I am screwed.

Three months isn't enough time to do anything. It's not enough time to find a new job, or figure out where I'll go, or how I'll keep Oliver fed and happy. Hell, it's not even enough time to save up for a decent buffer before the paychecks stop coming. 

Finnian huffs in the back of my mind, pacing like she's ready to snap at something—or someone. She's always been quiet, the steady one, but today she feels as restless as I do. Fix it, she urges. Protect our cub.

I bite back a laugh—bitter and sharp. Fix this? How? I've spent the past two years trying to put myself back together after the shitstorm of a scandal, and now I'm staring down another disaster with no backup plan and no lifeline. 

For a split second, I consider running. Packing Oliver up and heading somewhere new. But the thought makes me sick. Eastvale's our home, the only place Oliver's ever known. He loves Ms. Reilly's house, loves the alcove in our tiny cottage that's just big enough to build a blanket fort in, loves watching me practice drills on the field. 

And I love him. Gods, I love him so much it hurts. 

The idea of leaving him in a daycare again—of working long hours at some grocery store or retail job just to scrape by—makes my stomach churn. I remember what that was like after he was born, when I had no savings and no options. 

The separation anxiety of leaving him at daycare every morning and driving away with tears in my eyes because his cries echoed in my ears. The exhaustion of those long shifts, standing on my feet for hours while my body ached from the aftereffects of pregnancy. 

And the humiliation. 

People recognized me. Oh, they pretended they didn't at first, squinting as they tried to figure out where they'd seen me before. But then they stopped pretending and started outright asking. 

"Hey, didn't you use to play for the Coyotes?" 

"Weren't you on the news a couple months ago?" 

"Weren't you the one caught doping?" 

Those last ones were the worst. The people who hadn't heard the truth, who didn't know I'd been proven innocent and thought I'd cheated my way onto the field always got under my skin.

The accusations stung like claws ripping through my chest. "Cheating scum," one guy had muttered, shoving his groceries at me like I was dirt under his shoe. "My team would've won if it weren't for you." 

Finnian snarls at the memory, her hackles rising like she's ready to sink her teeth into anyone who dares call us cheaters. But her anger doesn't make me feel any better. It just reminds me how powerless I felt back then, standing there, smiling through gritted teeth while someone called me scum.

I was so scared back then. Scared of losing even more than all I'd already lost. Scared of failing my son. 

And where was Logan? Nowhere. 

The sheer audacity of him offering me money earlier makes anger bubble in my chest. But I don't even have the energy to hold onto it. I just want to go home. I want to hold my son and pretend, for a few hours, that my entire world isn't falling apart again. 

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up to see Logan striding toward me, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his expression… apologetic. 

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice flat. 

He stops a few feet away, looking like he's trying to figure out how to word something. Finally, he says, "Where are you going?" 

"Home," I reply shortly, sliding off the hood of the car. 

"You can't go home," he blurts out, then immediately backpedals when he sees my expression darken. "I mean—you can't go home until you tell me how we're going to win this tournament." 

Oh, that's right. His ridiculous plan to save the Coyotes by winning a tournament. With all that's been going on in my head, I almost forgot about it.

I snort, shaking my head. "We're not." 

"What do you mean, we're not?" he demands, his voice rising. "Don't you want to save the Coyotes? Don't you know what's going to happen if the team is sold?" 

Of course I know! He's a millionaire and I'm just some coach who got the job because the manager felt sorry for me!

"Don't you think I know that better than anyone?" I snap, whirling on him. "Do you think I'm stupid, Logan? Do you think I don't know what it's like to coach a failing team? To watch them stump game after game from the sidelines?" 

He looks taken aback, but I'm too far gone to stop. 

"I'm the coach, Logan. I know this team inside and out. I know our stats. I know our players. And I know we're not cut out for Golden Sun." I sigh, filled with a fresh dose of exhaustion. "Most of our star players are gone. The ones left aren't tournament material. They're good guys, but they're here to have fun, not chase dreams of going pro. We can't handle teams like the Stampede or the Rangers. This isn't some anime where we level up just because you say we should keep fighting—it's reality. And in reality, we lose." 

Logan says nothing for a full second and I can see the wheels turning in that simple Alpha brain of his. Then he grabs my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "You can't quit before you even try," he says, his voice low but urgent. 

Did I say 'simple' Alpha brain? Scratch that. I meant dumb.

I laugh bitterly. "I'm not quitting, Logan. I'm being realistic. You're not the one who's looked at the stats." 

"No," he agrees. "But I'm here now." 

I blink, caught off guard. "What?" 

"I'm here now," he repeats, his bright blue gaze steady. "What are our chances with me on the team?" 

"You're insane." 

He grins. "Noah, like you said, you know the stats. But I also know that you know I make a difference. What are our chances?" 

He looks so sure of himself. So confident. This is the Logan I fell in love with, the man who cut out all the 'if's' and 'but's' and went straight for what he wanted. Sure, I was one of those 'if's' and but's' but I still admired this part of him. 

I hesitate, my eyes narrowing. "You're a bird with a broken wing," I point out, poking his injured shoulder. 

"I don't care about that," he says, brushing me off. "I just want to know if we have a shot." 

I chew on the inside of my cheek, my mind running through possibilities. Logan's right, damn him. Even injured, he's a game-changer. If we avoid overexerting his arm and if I can convince the rest of the team to play at their absolute best… 

"Our chances are slim," I admit finally. 

Logan's grin widens. "Mama always said a slim dog is the hungriest for the bone." 

Finnian lets out a soft huff that feels suspiciously like a laugh. 'Don't laugh,' I snap at her, even though Logan can't hear her. 'He's not funny.' But she just flicks her tail, unimpressed with my protest.

I stare at him, torn between frustration and reluctant amusement. "This may not work," I warn. 

"But we have to try," he says simply. 

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. The truth is too glaring to ignore but it doesn't make me any less anxious. If I don't try, I'll never know if I could've saved this team. And I have to prove—to myself, if no one else—that I'm a coach worth my salt. 

"Fine," I say at last. "I'll make some plans and change our training regimen. But there are conditions." 

"Anything," Logan says quickly. 

"First," I say, holding up a finger, "you have to listen to me. No more stunts like the one you pulled at practice." 

"Got it." 

"Second," I continue, "you don't overexert yourself. Your arm has to heal." 

"I'll try," he says, though his tone isn't exactly convincing. 

"Third," I say, my voice hardening, "you remember that we are in the past." 

Logan blinks. "What?" 

He looks so dumbfounded it's adorable, but that doesn't change the fact that I know him. I know he's a simpleton who'll dive headfirst for what he wants and I know that, given how closely we'll be working together, he'll be tempted to want me.

I have to set boundaries. I have to keep him at arm's length. Because, every time I look into those blue eyes, I feel like I'm drowning all over again. And if I don't draw a line now, I'm afraid I'll let him cross it—and I won't survive that again.

"Our relationship is strictly professional now," I say, avoiding his eyes. "I just want to make that clear. We might have to be friendly to work together, but don't mistake that for anything more. There's a line, Logan. Don't cross it." 

He's silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. "Fine." 

"Good." 

I turn and open the car door, sliding in. Before I close it, I glance at him one last time. "Go home, Logan. Your mom misses you." 

And with that, I drive away, leaving him standing alone in the parking lot. 

The drive home is quiet, the hum of the engine the only thing filling the space where my thoughts should be. But my head isn't quiet—it's full of Logan's voice, his stupid grin, the way he looked at me like I had the power to change fate itself.

"Don't be an idiot," I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter. But even as I say it, Finnian stirs, her tail wagging faintly in the back of my mind. She's hopeful. She always is. But hope isn't safe. It's just another way to get hurt.