Page 37 of Cheap Shot
“Yeah. Cooper to the fucking rescue,” I respond, my voice low but tight, like a rope pulled to taut.
I lean over, pulling open the glove compartment and pulling out a familiar baggie of red pills. I managed to snag a few bags when I was in Boise, but I need to make them last. I promised myself I would stop, that I wouldn’t touch these things unless I needed them, but right now is an emergency. I just need one to take the edge off before I head into the building. Right, just this once, and then I’ll stop. Having made up my mind, I open the small baggie and shake the familiar tiny red pill into my hand before adding another and popping it into my mouth.
“Cole, I didn’t mean it?—”
“I know how you meant it, Remy,” I snap, my irritation at the subject of this conversation bubbling just below the surface.
Instead of having some off-the-cuff joke or snarky comment, my response is met with silence. Neither of us says a word for a few moments, unsure of how to continue from there.
“I’m sorry.” Remy exhales softly. “Everything you’ve accomplished has been on your own merit, Cole. You’re a great player, and Coach Mercer and the rest of the coaching staff know that.”
I exhale loudly, pushing out all the anger at Remy’s words from my system as the foggy calm of the pills settles on my brain. There’s something different about this particular cocktail. I should definitely give my compliments to the chef.
I didn’t really feel much different at first, just the usual warmth spreading through my chest and my limbs. The edges around my anger soften as the tension in my shoulders release. Then it hits me. Not like a truck or a wave crashing into the shoreline, but more like slipping into warm water without realizing how cold I was. Everything around me feels quieter and lighter. Instead of my mind racing, trying to ensure I remain one step ahead at all times, I’m calm and floating on a cloud.
The tension in my brow seeps from my skin as the bitterness and anger about this situation lessens. It doesn’t disappear completely, but it feels more contained and locked deep inside me, where no one can touch it.
“Okay,” I respond, the day seeming brighter and more hopeful than it did a few minutes ago.
“Okay. That’s it?” Remy questions, probably concerned about my lack of reaction and maybe a little curious about my sudden change of heart. “Are you feeling okay, Cole?”
“Yeah. Just peachy,” I respond lazily, the world around me swaying back and forth like a hammock rocking in the wind as I open the door and climb out. “I need to get going. Can’t be late for my first day of work.”
“Right.” Remy’s voice trails off, probably wanting to pry more, but decides against it. “Behave and mind your manners. I don’t want to get a phone call from Coach, telling me how you and your brothers couldn’t play nice.”
“I’ll try, but I make no promises.” I chuckle, reaching into the back seat and grabbing my hockey bag.
“That’s all I can ask,” Remy responds before hanging up the phone.
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I make my way toward the player entrance, not knowing how I’m going to get past security. When Coach Mercer called me to tell me what time to arrive today, with a warning of what could happen if I was late, he didn’t bother to mention where I could get my player pass.
I approach the entrance, waving at the security guard before stopping on this side of the gate. The man’s eyes widen in surprise before he holds his hand out toward me. “Good morning, Mr. Hendrix. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I grasp his hand in mine, shaking it firmly. “Cole is fine.”
I force a smile, waiting for the man to either release my hand or say something of note, but he does neither. Just continues to stare at me in wonder, his eyes scanning my face, searching for lord knows what.
“Can I have my hand back?” I grumble, causing the man to jump and release my hand.
“I’m sorry. I just never thought I’d meet you in person. I’m a huge fan of yours. And your brothers. You three are a legend.” The man chuckles, lifting his hat to run his hand through his disheveled hair before dropping it back to his head. “Sorry again. What can I do for you?”
This isn’t the first time, and probably won’t be the last, that I’ve run into someone starstruck at seeing me enter the arena. It’s usually a fan of some sort, not the employees, but something tells me this guy is new. “I’m starting training camp today and don’t have my player badge. Can you direct me to someone who can help get me sorted out?”
“You’re what?”
Did I fucking stutter?
“I’m one of the newest members of the Timberwolves and have to get inside before Coach has my hide for being late.”
“Holy fucking shit, really?”
I’m losing my patience with this man, but before I can give him an earful, a petite woman comes skidding around the corner. Her short, curly hair bounces as she skids to a stop in front of me, positioning herself between me and the security guard. She doesn’t look old enough to be working anywhere, let alone for the team, but who am I to judge?
“Good morning, Mr. Hendrix. Sorry, I’m late, but I got lost trying to get from the main offices to the locker room and missed my turn to the players’ entrance.”
She huffs, pulling her pink lip between her teeth and nibbling on it. Her caramel-colored eyes flick back and forth, not focusing on anything in particular. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Just a little.” I chuckle, not wanting to embarrass her even further. “Want to start over?”
