Page 19 of So This Is War
“Get out,” he yells while pointing at the door.
“Great, yup, I wanted to leave anyway.” I stand from my chair and grip the handle to the door right before I pull away and ask, “Uh, when do I meet her?”
“Tonight, after the game. Come to my office.”
“Got it. Okay, see you then. Yay for teaching lessons.” I raise my fist in celebration.
He just points at the door. I get the hint and leave his office and head down the hallway toward the locker room, feeling like I was just put through the wringer.
So I have an assistant now.
I’d be sort of thrilled if it wasn’t the coach’s daughter.
Really thrilled if I didn’t have this sick feeling that I’m being set up to fail.
Incredibly thrilled if I wasn’t the one who had to teach this twenty-two-year-old a lesson on responsibility and career building.
What the hell am I in for?
“Just put a butterfly bandage over it,”I say as blood drips down the side of my face.
Grace, our trainer, holds a towel to my face. “This needs to be cleaned up. I can’t just put a butterfly bandage on it.”
“I need to get back out on the ice,” I say.
“You’re winning by two goals and have one minute left in the game. You’re going to the training room. Now move.”
Irritated, I take the towel from her, press it against my face myself, then let her guide me back to the training room, fans on either side cheering me on as I leave the game. Surprisingly, this was not from a fight. Instead, it was an elbow to the head. Must have been a hard as shit elbow because I’ve never broken skin like this before.
Just my luck.
When we reach the training room, Grace tells me to take a seat on one of the benches, so I do as I’m told, sit down, andthen pull my jersey up and over my head while Grace gathers the supplies she needs.
She glances over at me and says, “I’d appreciate it if you hold the towel to your head to help with the bleeding and not disrobe yourself.”
“Sorry,” I mutter as I bring the towel back up to my forehead, right above my eye.
When she comes over with her supplies, she sets them down on the bench and says, “You seem a bit off tonight. Any reason?”
“Off?” I say. “How so?”
“Well, normally, if someone elbowed you in the head, you would have tossed your gloves and gone after them. You wouldn’t have stood there, stunned. I think the fans were just as confused as your teammates. Think they were looking for a Posey Brawl.”
“Oh,” I say. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“Which means you were thinking about something else. Care to share what that is?”
“Not really,” I say because I’m not sure I’m even aware of what’s going on.
When I went back to the boys, they asked what Coach Wood wanted, and I told them that his daughter was looking for work and wondered if I needed an assistant. I left it at that. I felt like if I got into the details, they’d ask a lot of questions, and I wasn’t up for it.
“Well, if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m here. You know, if it’s girl troubles or something like that.”
“Thanks, Grace,” I say as she starts cleaning my cut. “I do have a question for you.”
“Yeah?” she asks as she picks up some gauze. “What is it?”
“Do you happen to know who is eating my bologna?”
