Page 41 of Cheap Shot
“We are gonna have to agree to disagree on this one, Michele. But do you honestly think your dad is going to like the fact that his baby girl hangs out in the locker room with crass hockey players on a daily basis?”
“What the heck does that have to do with anything?”
“Come on, Michele, you can’t be this obtuse.” Parker chuckles, but I still can’t figure out what he’s getting at. “You know what? I’m gonna leave this one to Coach, but I promise not to say a thing about your relationship.”
“Thank you.” I smile, finally getting the answer I was looking for from him. I’ll probably still have to have a conversation with Dad, but at least the immediate threat of exposing my secret has been taken care of.
“Can we go inside now?” Parker asks, his hand resting on the locker room door, waiting patiently to push it open.
“Lead the way, boss.”
Parker’s nose scrunches in disgust as he pushes the door open and strolls inside. “Nope. That’s weird. Don’t ever call me boss again.”
I laugh loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the currently empty locker room. I’ve spent a large part of my life hanging out in NHL locker rooms, but stepping foot inside today feels different. This isn’t just some place to sit while waiting for Dad to finish coaching or to do my homework when my sister didn’t want to babysit. This is now my sanctuary. A place where I can live out my biggest dream and help players become the best versions of themselves. Okay, that last one was a little more dramatic than I was looking for, but I’m sure you get the idea.
This locker room belongs to me just as much as Dad. It’s a place I would love nothing more than to share with him, but I have a feeling that won’t happen for a very long time. I know he’ll come around eventually and accept that being a part of the training team is what I want for my life, but it won’t be easy. I have just as much to prove to everyone on the training team as I do to my dad. It won’t be easy, but I’m more than up for the job.
I follow Parker to the right and into the athletic training room. Directly through the door in front of us is a gigantic wall painted the same emerald green color as the team jerseys, and the logo, a gigantic wolf layered over two hockey sticks, is in the center. Tucked into the left corner of the room are four large cold treatment baths and an oversized ice maker just waiting to be put to use. To the left of the baths is a row of rehab benches, while the opposite wall is lined with cabinets, probably filled with everything we could need to take care of the players.
“And here is where the magic happens,” Parker announces, dropping his bag onto the taping benches that sit back to back and run down the center of the room.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad? That’s all you have to say?”
“Okay, fine. This place is freaking awesome!” I exclaim, pointing toward the machine sitting in the back right corner. “Is that an ultrasound machine?”
“It is.” Parker puffs out his chest in pride. “We can assess and diagnose anything that doesn’t involve an MRI or CT scan right here in the training room. It eliminates a lot of trips to the emergency room after games, that’s for sure.”
“Wow.” I was going for something a little more articulate, but that’s the only word my brain could think of. This training room is like the perfect candy store. Almost every piece of equipment I could ask for is right here at my fingertips. “I’m really going to fucking like working here.”
“Now that you’ve seen the training room, this is where I’d usually give you a tour of the locker room, but I have a feeling you know your way around the place better than I do.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I know my way around.” I giggle just as Parker’s phone rings.
He pulls it from his pocket, trying to discreetly check the screen before silencing it.
“You can take that if you want. I have a feeling I know who it is.” I shake my head, motioning toward the phone in his hand with my chin.
Stacey has never been one to wait. Before going to bed last night, she made me promise that I’d call her and tell her how the introductions to the team went. I doubt she even looked at the time before calling Parker, knowing damn well I would wait until I got home to tell her anything.
“Stacey,” we say in unison before laughing loudly as his phone rings again.
“Might as well answer. You can tell her all about my minor freak-out session in the hallway.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Parker smiles before turning to head out of the locker room. “Hello. Yes, she is doing just fine. I told you that you had nothing to worry about, babe.”
I shake my head as Parker leaves the main training room, walking to his office for some privacy. I take the time alone to familiarize myself with the training room, opening and closing each cabinet to check the contents. I make a mental note of what each cabinet contains, but quickly give up. Maybe Parker has put together a list of where everything is because this is way too much to memorize.
According to my welcome packet, I’m going to be one of four other people on the training staff, besides Parker, but I’m the only full-time physiotherapist on staff. There are an additional three that work on a rotating schedule during the season, but only as needed. As long as I can keep a majority of the team happy and healthy, those three will be out of a job. Not that I’m excited about someone else not having a place to work, but it ensures I have job security.
Now that I’ve looked through all the cabinets, I shrug out of my backpack and drop it to the floor before climbing onto a taping bench. And yes, I mean climb. I swear, these things should come with step stools for anyone under six feet tall like me. I scoot to the edge, swinging my legs back and forth for a few moments before stopping. I look around the room, ensuring no one saw me. How can I expect someone to take me seriously when I look like a little girl instead of a twenty-year-old physiotherapist?
I hear the distinct sound of someone coming into the locker room, but I ignore it. The only other person coming in here this early would be my dad, and I’m not ready to face him yet. Just as I look up, I notice a man with dark-colored hair tucked under a backward baseball cap and an oversized black hockey bag slung over his shoulder. I can’t see much of his body, just that he has on an oversized red sweatshirt. His head is cast down, but I notice his lips moving slightly, as if he’s talking to himself before he disappears behind the wall.
“A player this early,” I mumble, glancing down at my watch.
The arrival time for training camp isn’t for another few hours, but there are some injured players Parker and I are set to meet with before it starts. Maybe this is one of my new patients. Hopping off the bench, I head toward Parker’s office and find him still deep in conversation with Stacey.
