Page 9
“I think that’s everything we need.” The hiring director stands from behind her desk, reaching out a hand. “Welcome to the Portland Timberwolves Athletic Training Team.”
I’ve been dreaming about this moment for years, and now it’s finally here, but instead of feeling elated at finally accomplishing my dreams, there’s a huge knot in the pit of my stomach. Getting the job was the easy part, but now I have to do something much harder. Or maybe not. Although I doubt I’ll be that lucky twice.
“Thank you so much for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.” I smile, gripping her hand in mine and shaking it firmly.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that’s true.” She smiles before returning to her seat. “However, now comes the fun part.”
I can gather by her tone that whatever she’s about to ask me to do is going to be anything but fun. “Excuse me?”
I hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She can't be asking me to do what I think she’s asking me to, can she? I mean, that wouldn’t be very professional. However, using a fake name on a job application so your dad doesn’t find out isn’t professional either. I guess at this point, we are even.
“You get to tell your father that you are the new team physiotherapist.”
Fuck. She did it. She asked me to do the one thing I’ve been dreading doing. Telling Dad. The conversation can go one of two ways, neither of which is beneficial for me. Dad has always wanted more for me than being an NHL team physiotherapist. Too bad that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Most of my friends' parents would be happy if their kids managed to snag their dream job, but not my dad and stepmom. Not to mention the guilt trip that is no doubt going to follow my announcement. I hate guilt trips. I love my dad. I love that he practically raised me and my older sisters. He sacrificed so much for the three of us, and I will forever be grateful to him for everything that I’ve been able to have and accomplish in my life. But that doesn’t mean I owe him anything. I don’t owe him a say in what I do with my life or even what I find fulfilling. Sure, both of my sisters followed the path of what Dad and my stepmom wanted, but I had dreams of my own. Too bad no one else saw it that way.
The worst part of this is that at the end of said guilt trip, he’ll demand I come home for a family dinner. I hate family dinners even more than the guilt trips, especially because it always ends with my stepmother and sister nitpicking everything about me: my clothes, my hair, my skin, my weight. They always wrap it up nicely, disguising it as a backhanded comment, but I know what they are doing, and so do they. Dad has always been completely oblivious to their antics, not that he’s much better. Instead, he’ll lay it on thick about this being a starting point for my career, wanting to discuss how and when I’m going to move on to bigger and better things. Too bad for him, this is it for me.
“I thought you said it was going to be fun,” I huff, leaning back in the chair and crossing my arms.
“Okay, fun for anyone who isn’t you.” The hiring manager giggles softly before grabbing a packet off the desk and holding it out to me. “Your first day will be next week. We have some trades coming in to take part in the rookie training camp this year. We’re going to need you to examine a few of them.”
Talk about dropping me in the deep end from the start. Rookie training camp is probably the most stressful time in a future NHL star's career. This is the one and only time the rookies and traded players are going to be the stars, giving them a chance to showcase their skills and compete for any open roster spots without the veteran players hot on their heels. Add to that the fact that some of them are recently injured and are in recovery, so they have the pressure of possibly not even having a chance to step foot on the ice. This is definitely the makings of a potentially volatile first day of work. Good thing my parents didn’t raise a quitter.
“No problem. Do you have any records about their past and current injuries?” I open the packet and begin leafing through it.
I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. A few bum shoulders and a torn MCL that he’s been rehabbing for the last ten months. This should be a cakewalk. I don’t know what I was even worried about.
“We do. Only one of them is currently injured. He had major rotator cuff surgery at the end of the season and is still working to get back into skating shape.” She leans over the desk, flipping a couple of pages before pointing to a familiar picture. “We have a complete sign-off and return to the ice with limited contact form from his surgeon and physical therapist, but we’d like to do our own assessment.”
My eyes almost bulge out of my head when I notice the face staring back at me from the page. I know the world is small, but could it really be this freaking small? I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart before responding. “I can do that. I did assessments all the time at the hospital.”
Calm down, Michele. Everything is going to be fine. Sure, you know this person, but there’s nothing illegal about knowing a professional hockey player on the team that you work for. I inhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. I know a lot of players on the team because Dad has been the head coach for years. Okay, talking about knowing a player might be a stretch of the word since I haven’t been around much recently, but the last thing I need to do right now is have a panic attack.
What the fuck! This can not be happening to me. Of course, the face staring back at me is the one who got away. No, that saying doesn’t actually fit this time around because that would imply something started. Cole asked me out, and I thought it was a good idea to play mind games instead of accepting the minute he asked. It’s not like I've been obsessively waiting for him to come back into the therapy center since the last time I saw him. Can you tell I’m being sarcastic? It’s gotten so bad that Stacey volunteered to let me take a peek at his file and snag his phone number or something. That may be just a little illegal, so I declined.
Guys like him don’t randomly ask girls like me out on a date. I had to be sure it wasn’t some kind of joke. It wouldn’t be the first time a hot guy decided it would be a good idea to ask the big girl out on a date, only to stand her up. I’ve been dealing with shit like that my entire life. It makes sense for me to be wary, but ?this time, I have a feeling he meant it. But that doesn’t matter now because it's too late. Instead of being some sexy stranger I might never see again, he’s Cole Hendrix. If this file is correct, the younger brother of hockey superstars Cooper and Beau Hendrix is currently starring in all of my dreams. This won’t end well for me.
“You’ll be working with Parker on a treatment and workout plan for this player.” She leans back, returning to her seat. “Not that we don’t trust you, but the owner has a particular interest in this specific player.”
Damn. I don’t know what Cole could have done that would require special interest from the owner of the club, but this is a big deal. I should be elated that I’m being trusted with such an important case, but this terrifies me almost as much as having to tell my dad about my new job. Almost.
“It's not going to be a problem, is it?” She mistakes my quiet for concern. “I know Cole has a reputation for being a hothead. That’s why we are pairing you with Parker on this one.”
I will not freak out in this woman’s office. I will not freak out in this woman’s office. Maybe if I repeat it in my head like a mantra, I’ll actually believe it. Do I tell them we’ve met before? Are there rules against relationships with hockey players? Not that his flirting with me for a few minutes and asking me out can be considered a relationship, but can I get fired for this?
“No, it's fine.” I swallow, trying to find the right words to describe my relationship with Cole. “I’ve met Cole before. I was his therapist for a few sessions at the hospital.”
Her eyebrows pull down in concern, but she says nothing. I don’t know why, but my brain automatically goes to damage control. I need this woman to know that although I’ve seen him a few times, there is nothing going on between me and Cole Hendrix. Not that I didn’t want something to happen between us, but she doesn’t need to know any of that.
“I wasn’t the person who wrote that recommendation. That was my roommate, Stacey. She was his primary therapist while he was receiving services, but I filled in for her once or twice.”
She stares at me in silence for a few moments. Why the hell do people do that, anyway? I’m sitting here, trying to make sure I haven’t screwed up this job before I even had a chance to start it, and all she can do is stare at me? Jeez, woman, can you at least smile or something when you hold my entire future in your hands? Being able to read minds would be an amazing superpower to suddenly appear right now. Unfortunately, I’m not destined to be Charles Xavier in the flesh, so I just sit and wait.
Thankfully, she puts me out of my misery and starts speaking again. “Good. Hopefully, a familiar face will make the transition back to the ice smoother.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and smile. One crisis averted. Now I just need to tell Dad that he and I will be working closely together during the next season. Fingers crossed he keeps the guilt trip to a minimum for once. I really don’t want to be guilted into attending another family dinner. My psyche won’t be able to take it. Maybe I should call my therapist and schedule an emergency appointment for Monday, just in case. You can never be too careful when it comes to my family.
“If you have any problems with him or any of the players on the team, please let someone know. We don’t tolerate that type of behavior from anyone.”
Why do I feel like she’s trying to tell me something without telling me something? Nope, not going there. Judging by her statement about Cole being a hothead, I’m sure she can tell there is something up, but there’s no way she can know our history or lack thereof. No need to panic. I can just plaster a smile on my face and pretend I’m not internally freaking out. Because I am, in fact, freaking out. Is there even a no-fraternization policy with the team? I am the first female staff member to work directly with the team, so they have never had one before, but still. Can I be fired for a policy that hasn’t even been written yet? I mean, technically, I wouldn’t be fired since I haven’t actually started working yet. Is that even legal? I can’t lose a job before I actually have it, can I? I haven’t violated any rules, but wait, have I?
OMG, brain! Cut me a goddamn break. I just need to get through this meeting, and then I can freak out to my heart's content before I go and see Dad to tell him the good news.
I scoff but quickly cover it with a cough. “I don’t expect there to be any problems with anyone on the team.”
After Mom died, it was a little hard for my dad to find a babysitter for me. I have two older sisters, but they weren’t too keen on me tagging along on their dates, so I went to practices and sometimes games with Dad. I learned everything I know about the sport just by hanging around the rink. I grew up around hockey players. My dad was a hockey player. I don’t think I’ll have a problem handling anyone in the locker room.
She walks around her desk, holding her hand out for me to shake a second time. “Neither do we, but I wanted to let you know my door is open if you need anything.”
“I appreciate it.” I grip her hand in mine before she motions toward the door.
“Good luck telling your father. He’s expecting the new hire to stop by his office on their way out.”
“Okay.” I grimace, guessing I don’t have time to freak out after all. Well, maybe just a tiny one. “I’ll head to his office before heading out.”
“Good luck,” she says sympathetically.
Unsure of what to say, I smile at her awkwardly before turning to head out of her office and toward the locker room. Dad has a fancy office on the executive level at the top of the arena, but he prefers to be down in the trenches, as he calls it. He’s happiest when he’s in the locker room with his players. I have a feeling it has more to do with being able to hear if anyone is talking crap about him, but I could never prove it. Either way, Dad loves his players, and they love him. If having a tiny office in the locker room makes him happy, then so be it.
I find a safe spot away from prying eyes and drop to the ground, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all,” I whisper to myself, attempting to make sense of everything that’s happened.
My chest tightens as if all the air is being sucked out of the room and someone has wrapped their fingers around my neck. I struggle to take a breath as panic bubbles up from my stomach and settles in my chest. Beads of sweat dot my forehead as my eyes snap shut, my lips moving slightly as I slowly count backward from ten in my head. I continue counting, willing my body to calm down, only getting to three before sucking in a gasping breath and falling to the side.
This is not the time for me to start freaking out. I just need to get off the floor, walk into Dad’s office, and tell him I found the job of my dreams, then leave. Easy peasy, right? Wrong. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions about my career, but on the other hand, I’m a slightly reformed people pleaser. I say slightly because I have no problem standing up for myself when it comes to anyone but my dad. The idea of seeing that disappointed look in his eyes when I tell him terrifies me.
I need to find something, anything, to ground me.
My eyes snap open and search the hallway for anything that could help, landing on a fire extinguisher hanging from the wall. Not the most obvious choice, but for now, it will have to do. I think about the cool metal beneath my hands as I run my fingertips along the side of it. The sound the latch would make as I pulled it off the wall.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
My skin on my arms tingles as images of fire licking up the walls around me filter into my mind. Feelings of being surrounded and trapped in this tiny corner with no way to escape replace the small amount of calm I managed to muster. My entire body shakes with nerves, and I can barely focus on anything but my fear and the pain radiating through my chest. I throw my hands out in front of me, trying desperately to get past this feeling of the walls closing in. I slam my eyes shut, trying to think of anything else as I gasp loudly for air. I need to think of something else, something to help my mind calm, even if only slightly.
“Fire extinguishers are red. Red things. Think of red things,” I mumble to myself as tears pour down my cheeks.
Stacey’s hair. My favorite sweater. Apples. These things are all red. A memory of last fall, when I last wore that sweater to go apple picking with Stacey and Kyle before I moved back to Oregon. I latch on to it, letting my mind remember that day with perfect clarity.
Deep breath in, and let it out slowly.
Stacey's red hair was piled on top of her head, sun streaks of blonde peeking through. She tucked her hand into mine as we ran toward the trees. Stacey had never been apple picking before, unlike Kyle and me, so her excitement to be spending the day doing something new was written all over her face. We spent almost the entire day picking apples and drinking cider, talking about what our futures would be like after graduation. We were all sad that Kyle was staying behind, needing to finish his degree while hoping for a shot at an NHL contract after graduation. This was one of the last times we were all able to be together.
No! Happy thoughts only.
Stacey and I had just heard about getting a position at the hospital here in Portland. I remember sitting at the picnic tables, showing Kyle the apartments we had planned to rent, and him helping us choose. We talked about how we were going to decorate it and how excited we were to have a place to call our own.
In and out. In and out.
I gasp for breath, my cheeks and chest feeling like they’re on fire as I allow the air to slowly fill my lungs, easing my panic. I push up to a seated position, resting my back against the door for a second time. The tightness in my chest subsides, allowing me to breathe easier.
It shouldn’t be this hard to talk to my dad. He’s my dad. He should support me no matter what, but I know that’s not true. I know the lecture is coming. He’ll tell me how I should want more for my life and about being someone special. I wish he’d see that being happy is more important than all of those things. That as long as I’m happy, nothing else should matter to him.
I thump my head against the door a few times, trying to think of something—anything—else. Fear once again tightens its grip around my heart, but this time, I fight it. I need to get a grip. Obviously, I already have the job. There is no going back now. Dad can’t fire me or force me to take another position. I have the job of my dreams, and now I just need to find a way to keep it. I’ve got to figure out how to tell my dad that this is what I want, what I have always wanted, and I sure a shit can’t do that sitting on the hallway floor.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I scoff at myself, knowing damn well it's going to be bad. Dad has always had a plan for my sister’s and my life. And I was happy to follow that plan, no matter how miserable it made me, but after taking my first psychology class and going back to therapy, I knew that wasn’t an option. It’s one of the reasons I left Oregon and went out of state for school, unlike my sisters. I needed the space to grow, to find out who I wanted to be as a person without my family hovering and trying to influence all of my decisions.
I probably should’ve stayed away from my family, but I missed them. Well, most of them. But I came home because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. That I could get past this last hurdle and reclaim my life for myself. In my head, it would be easy to come home a new person. My family would see how I had changed and be happy for me, but that is not how it went down.
I need a pep talk.