Page 39 of Cheap Shot
“Rookies, get the shit lockers,” I grumble, knowing this is what I’ve been reduced to. Talk about a fall from grace.
I drop my bag and plop onto the bench in front of it, taking in the rest of the area. It looks just like any other locker room I’ve been in over the years. It's a large, wide-open area, aside from a row of lockers lining the outer wall. Not fancy, but definitely expensive. The floors look like they were made to be hosed down—dark, industrial, practical. Thick wooden benches circle the room in front of the lockers. Each one is a little worse for wear, scuffs from skates and gear bags lining the top and sides of each.
But the locker room isn’t as chaotic as usual without any of the players talking loudly as they dress or, sometimes, undress for practice. The locker room will probably never look this clean again, especially after all the players fill in and claim space for their own gear and belongings.
In the middle is a large whiteboard with nothing written on it, but once the season starts, Coach Mercer will have strategy scrawled in dry-erase—arrows, numbers, notes that would probably only make sense to the players who have spent their lives living one period and penalty shot at a time.
The locker room is silent. The only sound is the hum of the air conditioner, a contrast to the loud, aggressive music that probably plays before each game. Something to help each player get the blood pumping and shut out the noise of everything else—fans, pressure, maybe even fear—each player taking the time to focus on winning the game.
For the first time since I woke up in the hospital, I feel whole. I may not know my place on the team or if I’ll even set foot on the ice wearing a Timberwolves jersey, but it doesn’t matter. Because it’s not about scoring goals, the hits, the fights, wins, losses, and rituals. This place is more than just a locker room. It’s my home.
ChapterTen
Michele
“Ready for your first day?” Parker asks before throwing his arm over my shoulder, his green eyes alight with mischief.
I don’t know who’s more excited about my first day of work: me or Parker. He has been bouncing off the walls since he came strolling out of Stacey’s room this morning. When he said he was going to be there to escort me to my first day of work, I thought he was joking, but there he was, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at six a.m. this morning.
“Define ready.” I yawn before threading my arm through my backpack strap and sliding it onto my opposite shoulder. “I only cleaned and recleaned the bathroom twice this morning before making it into the shower.”
Parker is my least favorite kind of person: a morning person. After cleaning the bathroom before and after I took my shower, I barely had enough time to pull my hair in a ponytail and get dressed. Unlike me, Parker has been awake since before the sun rose. Apparently, he was up early enough to go for a run, shower, and make lunch and breakfast for both of us. However, the one thing he forgot was my coffee. I can’t function before ten a.m. without coffee.
“Damn, Michele.” Parker whistles, stepping away from me and sliding his hands into his pockets. “I knew we should’ve stopped for coffee.”
“Potentially being late for my very first day at work because I was stuck in line at your favorite coffee shop wouldn’t have made things better, only worse.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
I wish that there was a magic cure-all to keep my anxiety at bay, but there’s no such thing. I took a full dose of my medication this morning before I left the condo and have my emergency dose tucked away in my backpack. For now, there’s nothing else to do but pray I can keep my shit together.
“Nah, but thank you.” I smile at him, needing to make light of the situation before I crack. “I just have to wait for it to pass. Just make sure the therapy room is stocked with soap, hand sanitizer, and paper towels.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Then batten down the hatches, because your girl is going to be freaking out all day.”
“It can’t really be that bad, can it?” he questions, not understanding how bad my anxiety can get once I start spiraling.
“You have no fucking idea.” I stifle my yawn with my hand before continuing. “There’s coffee inside, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but it’s horrible.” Parker chuckles, running his hand through his dirty-blonde hair and using his head to motion me toward the employee entrance.
“Great. Nothing says congratulations on your first day better than shitty coffee.”
“Told you we should’ve stopped.” He pulls his employee badge from his pocket but stops, smiling brightly at me. “Do you want to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Man, you really need coffee to function.” Parker chuckles, motioning toward the keypad near the door. “Swipe your badge and open the door for the first time.”
“You are so sentimental, Parker.” I giggle, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my brand-new shiny Portland Timberwolves ID badge. “But I don’t mind if I do.”
I inhale deeply before swiping my card over the electronic reader. The only sound in the area besides our breathing is the click of the door as it unlocks. A sense of accomplishment overcomes me as I turn to Parker and smile.
“Congratulations, and welcome to the Timberwolves family, Michele.” Parker slaps a wet kiss on my cheek, grabbing the door over my head and holding it open.
“I’ve been a part of the family since I was nine and Dad joined the staff as a head coach.”
