Page 76 of The Home Grown
I make my way back to my client, standing behind her chair and looking at her smiling back at me in the mirror.
“Well?” she says. “Who’s this lucky man?”
I shake my head dismissively.
“Let’s check how we’re getting on,” I say, swallowing down the emotion that’s creeping its way upward. I can’t quite decide what it is. Uncertainty? Excitement?
I peel back a foil, feeling my sister’s eyes burning into me from her place at the counter.
“We’ll leave it a few more minutes,” I say, folding the foil back over.
And as I turn, I lock eyes with Kathryn. A flicker of something on her face.
She’s jealous.
Chapter Fifteen
BETTSY
The media room.A place for reflecting, conversation and, usually, camaraderie. But today, it also happens to be the place where Coach seals my fate. It all comes down to the decision of a leadership team who have, likely, been watching me play for years.
Danny sits on my left, scrolling through his social media, and Greer on my right, sipping the same cup of coffee he’s been nursing for the past half hour—not that he has anything to worry about. He’s starting. He knows this and everyone else does too.
“This forum is still rife with gossip,” Danny says, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“I’ve stopped looking,” I say. “Honestly, I’ve had bigger things to worry about.”
My leg jiggles of its own accord and I nibble my thumb nail, my eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Coach to make his appearance.
“Well, I’m just saying,” Danny says. Leaning closer, he whispers, “do you think this’llbe good news?”
I didn’t tell him Vicky sort of gave the game away earlier today, probably because I don’t believe it myself. I guess I’m convinced that until I get the official notice from Coach Harris, it’s not happening. He could have changed his mind right after Vicky found out.
“I guess we need to wait it out,” I say, flashing a look at Langer.
He’s sitting on the opposite side of the room next to one of his home team buddies, and every so often, I feel compelled to tear my attention away from the door to go and flick him on the nose—enough to make his eyes water but not enough to get me kicked off the team.
He’s made this week harder than it needed to be. Snide remarks and insults forcing me to be on my best behaviour, knowing that one tiny little fuck up on my part would be enough to have my name plate ripped from my cubby faster than I can say ‘puck’.
Danny nudges me in the ribs and nods towards the door. A shadow of someone outside.
Everyone stops talking instantly and we all watch as the handle dips and the door swings open, Coach Harris leading his coaching staff inside.
“Right then, boys,” he says, coming to a stop at the media cabinet at the front of the room. He sets down the laptop he had tucked under his arm and fiddles with a bunch of cables, extracting an HDMI and plugging it in.
Torture.
This is torture.
I thought my blue balls were painful enough, but waiting for windows to finish updating features is horrendous—even more so when everyone seems to be looking either at me or at Langer.
“While this does its thing,” Coach says, nodding at the screen, “I want to take the time to thank you all for this week. You’ve given it your best and I’m hugely impressed with the talent that British ice hockey offers. Now, I want everyone to know that ourongoing roster is always flexible. So getting a spot, even if you’re returning, is not guaranteed long term. I expect you to practice like you’ve never won and play like you’ve never lost—I think that’s how the saying goes, anyway.”
The log-on prompt steals Coach’s attention for several seconds as he types in his password, and up comes a slide deck with the title‘Upcoming Roster’,set on a Team GB corporate template.
I’m starting to feel pretty smug right about now, as Coach lists off several qualities he’s been looking for that I know describes me perfectly. But when he flicks the slides to the next screen, my heart drops out of my ass.
What the?—
