Page 53 of Harley

The last few days had flown by. I had been poked, studied, and examined and was waiting for the results. Alongside that, I’d trained next to some of the Cub players who had been happy to come in and help test me. Shutout had called in a few favours; I’d no doubt of that.

Stern faces surrounded me.

“Harley. We’ve your results. The medical files from six years ago were correct. But the specialists didn’t take into account your youth and the resilience of muscles. The blacksmithing has helped repair the damage you had in that arm. You’re not one hundred per cent and never will be,” Doc Rower explained.

My hopes died, and I nodded. I was going to be turned away. What a damn fool I’d been to hope.

“However, you’re in peak condition, I’d put you at ninety-five per cent,” the doc finished.

“Well, thanks for everything. It was a pleasure,” I said, standing up and holding out my hand.

“Sit down, Michaelson,” Coach replied.

I frowned but did as told.

“We’ve trained you vigorously, Harley. Your ninety-five per cent is better than most players one hundred per cent. Damn, kid, I would have loved to see you at full strength. We’re all in agreement, you have an inane talent that can’t be dimmed. TheCubs would like to offer you a year contract and see where you sit after that.

“We think you have a chance. Despite a potentially shorter career, you’re a Hall of Famer. The doctors believe that over the years, the wear and tear on your injury will take its toll and shorten your career by a couple of years,” Coach said.

“A year contract?” I repeated, my mind whirling.

“Yeah. We’ll see how your mobility and arm are after that. That protects the club and yourself,” Coach stated.

“What do you think?” Craig Booker, the manager, asked.

“Can I discuss this with my family? I have a prosperous Smithy and can’t just walk away,” I inquired.

“Yes. Harley, we understand what a shock this is. It’s not every day you get a second chance at living your dream,” Booker said.

“No, and I’m stunned. Truthfully, I mourned the loss and then moved on. Now you’re offering me it again. This is hard to grasp.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Go home to your family, talk it over,” Coach suggested, and I nodded.

???

Oakley looked up as I walked into the hotel room we’d been using. She’d came to every practice session and attended all my appointments.

“Well?” she asked, bouncing on the bed.

“They’ve offered me a year contract. After that, they’ll reassess the injury and see how it is. They may be looking at me playing long term for them, but they reckon my career might be cut short because of my mobility range.”

“But you’re good enough to play for them now?” Oakley demanded.

“Yes. But I didn’t sign.”

Oakley frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I wanted to discuss this with you. You wanted a workshop. If I’m spending half my time in Chicago, that interferes with us. Oakley, I want you to have everything you wish for.”

“Harley!” Oakley gasped, a hand flying to her chest. She took several deep breaths, and I wondered if I’d screwed up when tears flooded her eyes.

“You’re willing to give up your dreams so I can live mine?”

“Babe, I don’t wanna spend months away from you. We’re building something. That comes first. No way will I put my needs before yours—or ours.”

“Harley!” Oakley cried again and scrambled off the bed and into my arms. Confused, I enfolded her in a tight hug and wondered why she was crying.

“Nobody apart from Grandad and Aspen ever put me before themselves.” Oakley sobbed.

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