Page 68 of Sexting the Coach
Bernie and Perkins have their arms around me, holding me back.
“Get off me,” I mutter, but I know better. Miles pushes Fincher back, to the end of the hallway, telling him he needs to fuck off for saying that about Elsie, that they’ll all be reporting him to HR. I could beat his ass right now, but if I chase him down and lay him out, it’s not going to look good for anyone.
After a second, the guys let go of me and I straighten up, glancing at each of them in kind. The hallway is full of uncertain tension.
“Thanks for having my back,” I say, frowning and straightening out my shirt. My hands still buzz with the urge to throttle Fincher for talking like that, but I manage to shove it down.
“Of course,” Bernie says.
“Any time,” Miles adds.
“Fincher is a fucking asshole,” Orla mutters, and when we all laugh, some of the tension diffuses. I roll my shoulders and turn to the locker room.
“We just need to stay focused right now,” Bernie says, and the other coaches are nodding, too.
“You’re right,” I breathe, looking up at the ceiling. “The next string of games is vital for making it to the play-offs. We all need to have our heads on straight.”
As head coach, it’s not just my job to the get the players ready—it’s my job to make sure the assistant coaches are able to do their jobs, too. As much as I wanted to punch Fincher in his stupid fucking face, maybe there’s a note of truth to what he was saying.
Maybe I’ve been a little too distracted.
I push through the door into the locker room, already thinking about what I’m going to say to hype the team up, get them ready to play their fucking hearts out tonight. Then I realize that at least that whole thing with Fincher did one thing right—I completely forgot about the pain in my hip.
“Alright!” I stand in the middle of the players, looking around at them, clapping my hands together so loud that some of them jump. The last thing I want right now is despondency, the sort of quiet in here that tells me theydefinitelyoverheard that fight out in the hallway. Pushing everything else away, I turn in a circle, focusing on what I can do right at this moment.
Which is firing up the guys for this game.
“Who’s ready to kick some ass?”
Chapter 29
Elsie
I’ve only been to the HR department twice since getting my job with the San Francisco Squids. First, when I stopped by to get my benefits package and fill out the paperwork for my tax stuff. And second, when Weston and I came together to make our relationship official.
So, when I woke up this morning to an email from human resources, asking me to come in for a meeting, it made my heart jump into my throat.
There’s only one reason they’re asking me to come in today.
I’ve missed almost two full weeks of work at this point. Even though I’ve been calling in dutifully, and even sent over a vague doctor’s note about stomach problems—a purposeful rephrasing of “morning sickness”—it’s not like they were going to keep me on the team forever if I never showed up.
My mom hasn’t been subtle about her disapproval. “Are you sure you’re too sick to go into work? Karlee told your father the doctor’s note just saidstomach problems. You know how the doctors can be, not giving women proper diagnoses. Should I come and go to an appointment with you?”
“No,” I’d said it a little too fast, and when I did, nausea pushed right up into my throat. I’d taken a deep breath, stared atthe ceiling, and said in a small voice, “I’m starting to feel better. Maybe I can go into work next week.”
And the next morning, I got an email from HR. Taking the decision out of my hands.
I got out of bed. Washed my hair, flossed, and put on some make-up. Put on something semi-professional. Ordered an Uber because I couldn’t bare to tell Mabel that after everything, we wouldn’t be working together after all.
Of course, San Francisco was beaming with sun this morning. After a bout of rain and dreary weather for days, the clouds finally parted and opened up into the kind of weather we’re known for. Tourists laughed and pointed, their faces blurring by the car as it continued on its path to the arena.
As I sat in the backseat of the Uber, endlessly grateful that my driver didn’t want to chat, I thought about Mabel. I couldn’t tell her about HR’s email, because Mabel would have tried to stop the meeting from happening. She would have spent the entire day looking up laws and regulations, reasons why they couldn’t fire me for being sick.
But, if I’m being honest, there’s something almost…freeing. About the idea of being done with it. Never having to come into the Squids arena again.
If I see Weston, I know I’m going to break down and tell him everything. And that’s the last thing I want to do. Even though I’ve missed him so much the ache has been physical, feeling like it was leaking right down into my bones.
It’s been half a year since I first met him. Five months of this fake relationship that started to feel more and more real every day. It may not be that long, but I know him. I know that if I tell him the truth, he’s going to give up everything he’s ever cared about to do the “right” thing, even though it’s not what he wants.
