Page 2 of Outlaw Heartstrings
Flipping down the sun visor against the setting sun, I get a glimpse at myself in the small mirror.
Whoa. Jump scare!
I look like shit.
Wrinkled clothes, dark circles under my eyes, unkempt facial hair, worry lines creasing my forehead.
Not the aesthetic I usually go for. But this new visual is a perfect reflection of my shitty mood.
Rocco reaches forward and claps me on the shoulder. “Sorry I can’t be away from the team too long. I’ve already used most of my vacation days. So I’ll be traveling back and forth from Sin Valley when I can.”
Rocco is one of the personal trainers for my hockey team, The Sin Valley Saints. And while my ass is going to be laid up all summer, the rest of my teammates still need to prepare for the upcoming season. It worries me, thinking about how much time I’ll be missing with the team. Still I know that I need to lick my wounds, focus on healing, and block out the rest of the noise.
“We have your back if you need anything, though,” Oliver adds.
I’d bet he’s eager to get back to doing…whatever it is he does. My youngest brother is super hush-hush about the private security job he took since getting out of the military. I never ask him for details. I just pray it’s not something that’ll get him locked in the trunk of a mobster’s car with a cloth bag over his head one day.
In any case, my family has always been my support system. Lincoln has been my sports agent ever since I signed my second professional contract. Rocco got a job as a trainer for the team right after he finished college. Oliver…well, he may not work in the sports industry, but he’s smart as hell and he’s the most observant person I know. He always has the best advice, and he’s even given me some clever ideas for hockey plays.
And of course, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without Mom. She’s my rock, my biggest fan and my self-proclaimed life organizer.
I’m lucky to have a solid support system.
Lincoln loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his crisp white shirt. “I’ll be in and out of town, too, taking care of my kid and trying to juggle my clients in Sin Valley.”
Having my brother as my sports agent means knowing that he’s always in my corner. But he’s still figuring out life after his divorce. He’s got to focus on his business and his son.
With me practically having one foot out of the sports world, I’m sure he’s already making contingency plans for what his life will look like if he loses me as his star client.
“You’ll get lots of time to yourself. We won’t be in your hair the whole summer,” Lincoln tells me. Then he grunts. “But I can’t make any promises about Mom.”
The guys all chuckle.
Our mother got to town earlier in the week to get things set up for us. Only heaven knows what she’s been up to.She’s been doing a lot of running around but I know she doesn’t mind.
Monica Raines appointed herself as my personal assistant the minute I retired her from the three low-paying jobs she held down while my brothers and I were in school. After a lifetime of overworking herself, being on my payroll now is her equivalent of living her best life.
“You just need to focus on attending your outpatient physiotherapy sessions at the local hospital,” Lincoln goes on.
“And continue your phone sessions with the team’s psychologist this summer to make sure you get your head back in the game, too,” Oliver chimes in.
All I do is grunt in response.
“And most importantly, don’t become afuddy duddylike these two,” Rocco chides, motioning to Lincoln and Oliver with his chin. “Make sure to have some fun.”
“Not sure what kind of fun I’ll be having while I’m limping around on crutches,” I grumble.
Rocco exhales harshly. “This doesn’t have to be the end of the road for you, East. Remember Jude Kingston? He tore his ACL—twice—and he’s still one of the top ten tight ends in pro football.”
My brother proceeds to list off a bunch of other professional athletes who got injured and then returned, going on and on about each of their comeback stories. He would know. He’s worked with some of them personally. But I don’t remind him that for every stunning comeback, there’s an unlucky sucker who meets a dead end.
I’m terrified that sucker might be me.
When I don’t instantly cheer up, Rocco gives my shoulder another shake. “Come on, bro. It’s not that bad,” he says appeasingly.
But itisthat bad.
I sustained a serious multi-fracture that required surgery. Sure, bones heal, but try stuffing a shattered foot back into ice skates and pretending that it’s as good as new.
