Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
To this day, I wonder what would have happened had his neighbor not knocked on the door looking to borrow a cup of sugar. Grant seemed to snap out of it and he let me go, but I don’t trust him. I mean, the whole cheating thing was proof his moral compass is lacking, but that look on his face…
I suppress a tiny shudder and shred the card, tossing it into the trash. I take a sip of wine and swallow it slowly before pulling out a small pan for the vegetables.
“All right, my bestie,” I say into the phone. “Tell me how your shift is going? Any gross injuries?”
“Oh no you don’t,” Molly chides, but I can tell she’s done talking about Grant. “You’ve barely scratched the surface on how your first day of work went, and well… I’m doing the same job you’ve heard about for the past seven years. I’ve got five more minutes on my break, so fill me up, buttercup.”
I smile as I heat the pan and drizzle some oil. While my parents are my biggest supporters, Molly is a close third. She’s my true ride-or-die. I tell her about the other coaches and the friendly security guard, Jimmy, who gallantly walked me to my car tonight.
“Did you meet any of the players?” she asks.
“A few, and before you ask, I’m not setting you up with any of them either.”
“As if.” She sniffs haughtily. “In case you didn’t hear, I actually date an orthopedic surgeon.”
“Yes, I know,” I drawl. “There is one player today who stood out though. He’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”
Molly knows better than to ask me his name and she understands the ethics… the precise line between what’s appropriate to share and what isn’t. I’m not a therapist, so I don’t carry the same confidentiality framework, but I carry my own version of it. Always have, and that version says you don’t discuss a client by name.
“Let’s call him Bartholomew,” she suggests.
“That works. At any rate, Bart’s been mandated to work with me, meaning he has no choice. And I can tell he doesn’t like it.”
I think about the way Locke walked out of my office without a backward glance. He’s going to be in for a rude awakening tomorrow.
“You’ll reach him,” she says confidently. Because she’s my loudest cheerleader.
“He’s—” I think about how to say this. It’s a specific situation with anyone outside the professional context. “He’s going to be a challenge,” I say carefully. “He’s a very guarded person and doesn’t see the value in what I do and isn’t interested in being persuaded.”
“But you’re going to persuade him anyway.”
I dump the cut veggies—zucchini and onions—into the pan and the oil hisses. I think about pale blue eyes that registered me like a threat assessment and dismissed me inside the same breath. I think about the way he said, I don’t need your help. It wasn’t defensive and there was no anger. It was just… flat, and that actually told me a lot.
I took that to mean he doesn’t think he deserves help. Therein lies the difference.
“I’m going to do my job,” I say. “Whether he cooperates or not.”
“That’s my girl.” I can hear her smiling. “Okay. More important things… what trouble are we going to get into this weekend?”
Chapter 4
Livia
The Wildfire auditorium in the performance facility is overwhelming.
Stadium-style tiered seating rises from the front in graduated rows, every chair wide and padded in mocha leather with the Wildfire crest embossed into the headrest in burnt orange and forest green. The screen at the front is enormous—wall to wall, floor to ceiling, capable of splitting into three independent panels and running separate feeds simultaneously. Coaching monitors are discreetly mounted around the perimeter so whoever is presenting never has to turn their back on the room. Right now, all the screens are filled with the Wildfire logo on a slow rotating loop, a continuous branding of this team.
I’m standing at the front with head coach Colter Monahan and one of the assistant coaches, Van Turner, while the team files in.
In the back of the room, Juno Paxton is set up with her cameraman, Evan, ready to document the rise of the league’s newest expansion team. We were introduced yesterday and I really like her.
We met for coffee in the Blue Line, the team restaurant tucked into the east wing of the performance center. We spent almost an hour there and I found her easy to talk to. She’s sharp and funny and completely unpretentious.
Juno is an award-winning documentarian—independent work mostly, but she’s good enough that she’s already sporting Golden Globe and Academy Award nominations. Patrick hired her to document the Wildfire’s inaugural season from the inside. He gave her full access, no editorial control from the organization, which reveals a lot about the kind of owner he is. He’s not trying to produce a PR piece but rather wants the real thing captured.