Page 71 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“You could always be a model,” Maggs says and she’s trying to sound lighthearted, but I know underneath she means it as a serious suggestion.
“That’s like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. It’s so not me. I really don’t like being in the spotlight.”
“Unless you’re on the volleyball court,” she points out.
“That’s different. Playing is… exhilarating. Competing is everything.”
“Too bad playing professional volleyball doesn’t pay—unless you want to move to California to play professional Beach Volleyball or go overseas,” she says.
“You know I’m not good enough for that.”
“Pish posh,” she says.
Ignoring her insinuation that I’d have a shot after my dismal Olympic experience, especially against the older more experienced players in the pros, I say, “You’ve been hanging out with Levi too much.”
She cracks up and my smile turns to a chuckle because, duh, she’s married to him.
“Is this what I have to look forward to? Colloquialisms from the old days and throwback pop culture references?”
“Could be,” she says then pauses for a beat. “Chels, what about coaching?”
“Volleyball?”
“Duh. You should be a college volleyball coach. It suits you perfectly.”
This isn’t news to me. My pulse rate ticks up. I’d love the excitement of the competition, being on the court again, everything about it really, except the pay. I answer her carefully.
“There’s not a lot of openings for those jobs in the Boston area and I would have to start at the very bottom as an assistant for very little pay. I can’t do that and support—”
“You can now—with your severance to help. Promise me you’ll send out your resume.”
How can I not do that much without being a total nitwit?
“Fine.”
“Great! Send me your resume and I’ll look it over.”
“Are you kidding?” I know she’s not, know she’s relentless, so I agree. But coaching? There’s another reason I’ve been avoiding that career choice that has nothing to do with the money. Coaching is a big responsibility. Shaping and guiding young women is no small matter and it has to be done right. It can be harmful if done wrong. I should know
But I’d do a great job, wouldn’t I? I know how to support young women, how to be there for them. How to protect them from predators. And whatever anxiety I’ve been feeling about Ryan and my mom now seems like rainbows and daisies compared to what descends on me right now. Because a giant crank just tightened the coil in me so that I have to stand and make myself breathe in and out, slow and long, and try not to think about my Olympic team assistant coach.
Looking around the restaurant, I step away from the table. Calming myself is easy because I’m looking at my friend. And thinking about her brother.
“You okay, Chels?”
“Yeah. Yes.” I will be. Whether I find, or even look for a coaching position, one thing is certain. I need to quit this job. Right away. To save Ryan from himself, from his misguided good intentions.
As soon as I get back to my office, I sit at my desk, type up my resignation. It doesn’t take long because, much like my average time at any job since graduating, it’s short. I hit send.
And I cc’d Eli.
* * *
It’sodd to be home in the middle of the day, but now that I’m jobless again, I find myself sitting in the kitchen gazing out the back door at the O’Rourkes’ driveway. Daydreaming when I should be working on my resume. When a car pulls up, it knocks me out of my stupor. Then the surprise of seeing Ryan get out of the car makes me jump to my feet and I have to stop myself from running out the door.
I walk instead.
“What are you here in the middle of the day?” I say, more playful than accusing.
