Page 20 of The No Try Zone
We’re good. She’s pretty stiff in the mornings these days, but she’s in good spirits.
Mom can’t work anymore so she lives with Erin. And while Erin swears she doesn’t mind it, I still feel bad that she’s the one doing it instead of me. We’d shared responsibility for years, which was easy when we were in the same town. Both of us were single by choice, too, making things even more simple. But now that I’m down here, the only thing I can do is send money and hope Erin takes it.
Does she still complain about the dogs?
ERIN
Of course! She loves them. They’re absolute menaces.
She sends me a picture of Mom asleep in the recliner, two mini dachshunds, one dappled and one black, curled up on her lap. Pangs of homesickness spike in my chest. It might be the most peaceful I have ever seen her.
Thank you. You’re an angel.
ERIN
Only because I’m banking on you to hit millionaire status any day now and take us along for the ride. Truly expected you were gonna make it big on your solo trip to Vegas, tbh.
I suck in a hiss. Yeah, that’s…not what happened. Not that I’m telling her about it. I type out a quick goodbye and walk inside, making my way up to the top floor where the offices are and finding Neesha, the head of HR.
“Morning,” I say, giving two raps on the door as I poke my head in. “Ready for me?”
Neesha smiles broadly, big earrings swinging as she rises. Her head is mostly shaved, except for a small amount on the top that’s dyed the same teal blue as the team’s. She’s in a teal suit with a black Granite tee, and she sports matching Nikes. “Welcome to your first day, Coach!”
“Thanks.” I return the smile, and I mean it.
Neesha walks me to my new office, and I nearly weep. No lie. How is this my real life?It’s a massive corner office that could easily have held the entirety of offices from my last gig. Sunlight streams in through the open window shades and bathes the open space in warm light, drawing my attention to the plush gray couch and chairs in one half of the room. A substantial wooden desk occupies the other portion of the room, with two chairs in front of it and an empty bookshelf to its right.
“Plenty of space for you to personalize it, of course,” Neesha tells me. “Ansel walked you around the meeting rooms, showed you the media room, training room, all the things?”
I’m still a little speechless, so I manage a nod. I’d seen the office on my last visit, but suddenly everything is incredibly real. I did it. I made it to the pinnacle of my career: head coach for a professional rugby team. Everything I’d worked for, all the sacrifices and rules and rigidity had paid off.
It’s mine to lose.
And I might lose it.
No. That thought isn’t allowed to take root.
“Coach?”
Clearing my throat, I smile and answer. “Sorry. Yes, he did. Great guy.”
Neesha beams. “He is.”
Ansel Miles is captain of the team and a hell of an exciting fly half to watch. He’d acted as interim coach for some bizarre reason that I still don’t really understand, but I’ve spoken with Scott enough times that I’ve already learned the man goes with his gut. In my conversations with Ansel, it was clear that he didn’t ask for the job and that he had no desire to remain head coach. He wanted back on the pitch with a quickness, although he never really left it. He’d shown me the facilities the second time I visited to officially sign paperwork and take the job, and they are top tier. Even the football teams at the colleges I worked at didn’t have the level of sophistication these do, and that’s saying something. There’s a main video and strategy room where I’ll lead the weekly team meetings, every wall equipped with large screens, and an actual media room where I’ll give my first press conference as the official head coach of the Granite in a few hours. The gym holds the absolute latest in machinery, with computerized equipment that can be customized to every player and quickly pull up their individual profiles and increase weights and resistance as needed as they move through a workout. A large office off the gym is for the team’s doctor and two physical therapists. I’ve not met them yet, but Neesha tells me I’m considered their boss.
Which, again, mind-blowing. How am I suddenly responsible for this many people? The spins threaten to overtake me if I think about it too much.
The view from the windows is a wonder of its own. Right below me is the pitch, its lush green grass glinting up at me with two bright white goals rising from each end. It’s a huge stadium by American rugby standards; in fact, it’s amazing that we have these facilities in the first place. A lot of pro rugby teams are still playing on collegiate fields or soccer fields; not all, but many. Clearly the Granite have some high-roller donors, and Scott made it very clear to me that part of my job was kissing those donors’ asses.
Fine by me. I have exactly zero problems with that, especially since those very same donors are likely paying my salary, indirect as it may be.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
Striding through the doorway is the owner himself, Scott, along with the team’s head of PR, Frank something. The man makes me think of those legless lizards, and not in a good way.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Neesha says, backing out with a respectful nod at Scott but not bothering to acknowledge Frank.
Interesting. I tuck that tidbit away and turn my attention to my boss. “Great to see you, Scott.”
