Page 22 of Linebacker
Instead of responding to her, I decide to avoid as I’m not sure how much of my past I want to rake up. So, I hit back at him instead.
“You should know better than anyone, Marshall. Living the university lifestyle comes hand in hand with a wild social life. However, once we finish our education, is when we grow-up and be more responsible.” I pause before adding. “Well, most people do.” I cast him a knowing glance.
“What are you implying?” he snaps back at me. I don’t need to say anything. I raise a knowing eyebrow and a lopsided grin. He reads my expression perfectly, and it incites the exact reaction I was expecting. Not even a therapy session is required for me to know that Vance Marshall is a bear and doesn’t need much poking to get a rise out of him.
“Imply would suggest that I was referring to a possibility.” I refrain from showing any real emotion in my voice or facial expression. “When it comes to you, the tabloids have all the evidence that points to the truth. Some simply never grow up.”
His face goes all shades of red, a clear sign that I’d hit that delicate wound that has already been rubbed sore by Coach Scully. I’ve just gone in with the salt. For a moment, I think that he’s going to blow a gasket, and Lucy is watching us both. Her eyes flick between us like a tennis match, her expression makes me think that she wants to pole vault over Mars to escape from the confrontation. But then he surprises me when his demeanour suddenly changes, and his comeback is far from aggressive yet stinkingly patronising.
“Shouldn’t you be at home sharpening your psychology skills for your first victim?” The cocky smirk on his lips tells me he’s fully aware that he will be the first one to grace my couch. He’s so infuriating. So much so that at this moment, I’d love nothing more than to reach over the table and slap that arrogant look off his face. But I know better than that.
“Not really,” I offer back. “It’s not like I can go into any detail of my past or present work due to client confidentiality, but I can assure you, I’ve dealt with all different levels of issues and behaviour and to be quite honest, my work here will be like a walk in the park.”
Due to the lack of a response and any readable expression on his face, I get the impression that I’ve flummoxed him enough to force him to shut the fuck up. Suddenly he lets out a raucous laugh which makes Lucy almost jump out of her skin.
With his head and comment clearly in the direction of my newfound friend, no longer acknowledging me, he pulls Lucy tighter into the crook of his arm. “It was great to see you, Lucy. Maybe we should do this again sometime, just you and me.” He finishes with a kiss against the hair at the side of her head before sliding off the seat and stands at the head of the table. “Better get back to the guys.” When he turns to leave, taking a step brings him slightly nearer to me. Instead of continuing on his way, he stops and leans down towards me, his mouth coming close to my ear. My head tells me to jerk away from him, but my stupid body leans towards him. “Don’t let the bartender get the better of you,” he whispers. “But then you know what they say,” I lean back so I can get a read on him. All I see in his eyes is contempt.
“Karma’s a bitch and will come back and bite you in the ass.” With that, he’s gone, disappearing amongst the crowd.
I let his words bounce around in my head for a moment but quickly put them right to the back, take a breath and ask a simple question that I know will get the best answer.
“More drinks?” I ask Lucy.
“I’ll get these,” she says, jumping to her feet. “And when I get back, you can tell me what the fuck that was all about.” I watch her while she wades her way towards the bar, thinking how the hell do I explain it when I don’t understand what’s going on myself.
CHAPTER18
Saturday comes around before I know it, thanks to Lucy. After being reckless and getting far too drunk at the sports bar on Wednesday night, I’d crashed on Lucy’s sofa. The next morning both of us had been nursing the hangovers from hell, so it was a good thing that Thursday was Lucy’s day off from work. Once we downed a hangover recipe handed down from generation to generation in Lucy’s family, which held raw eggs and pickle juice, she declared that the next best thing would be to get outside.
Lake McDonald at the national park was completely stunning, and although dubious at first as to how the hell it would help my pounding head, the crisp fresh air and beautiful surroundings did the trick. On the way back, Lucy pointed out a few places of interest. The mall, which is the biggest shopping complex I’ve ever seen, despite her assuring me that it was tiny compared to the ones in other states like Minnesota and California. A coffee shop, best supermarket and the library were also pointed out, not that I’ll get much time to read anything other than case notes while I’m here, but it’s still good to know. A couple of miles out from my apartment, we stopped at what Lucy reckoned was the best steak joint in Montana. Once I’d tasted the delicious, succulent beef, noisily cooing and moaning out my appreciation, I had to agree with her.
At the time, I hadn’t thought Mars’ dig in the sports bar had resonated with me, but it must have because yesterday, I found myself going over previous notes of a client from a year back who played football for one of the English clubs. It had been a complex case, a hard nut to crack. His love for the hard stuff, mainly whisky, had been problem enough, but when he’d started to dabble in drugs, it was obvious that things had escalated and become more serious. The club he was with at the time was pushing an anti-drug campaign, so of course, the chance of his antics becoming public was more than the club was willing to risk. Hence why they brought me in. The board had enough level-headedness to know that usually there’s a reason why people act the way they do, and sometimes it’s deep routed too. Over time or a trigger can suddenly cause their behaviour to escalate to epic proportions. Not only that, on a professional level, his antics were affecting his game, which in turn was on route to ruining not only his career but also his life. It had taken me six weeks to get him to open up to me.
Six weeks of us sitting in a room, face to face and him staring me out, trying to intimidate me into giving up. I didn’t bow to his scare tactics. Shit, it was nothing on the bullying I’d endured in my school years. Once he started talking, all his childhood terrors came gushing out. It was clear that it was those experiences that had led him down the path that would lead to destruction. But after lots of hours talking, rehabilitation and putting practices into place, he had come out the other side. He was now one of my close friends, almost family, along with his wife and two small children. The trip back down memory lane prompted me to pour myself a glass of Gin and tonic and have a ‘proud of myself’ moment. I’d only taken a couple of sips when an idea had popped into my head. It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and when I’d pulled up the team’s schedule on my phone, that Coach had kindly sent me on day one, I’d seen that on Fridays, at that time of the day, the team would be out on the training field running plays. Perfect.
Gin forgotten, I’d quickly swapped my leggings for a pair of ripped jeans and pulled on an oversize hoodie. I’d grabbed a baseball cap on my way out, made my way to my car and driven over to the training field behind the main stadium ground. With the cap pulled down low, my hair tied back, and inconspicuous dress, I’d found a spot where I could watch without being seen.
Memories of my days at Capa Down Academy school, hiding in the shadows as I watched Mars, Bell and the rest of the Capa Cobra’s take the field for practice, had come flooding back. I was hiding then, and here I was seven years later, doing the very same thing. Watching Vance Marshall do his stuff.
I had ‘wowed’ to myself when I’d seen how fluid and precise Mars moved around the field. He oozes confidence and skill with every step, rush, and tackle. It’s clear why he’s one of the best Linebackers in his field. But what makes him so special, is that he’s got the skills and ability that clearly show that he could take any position on that field and make it his own, and possibly outshine some of the best. He’d been good back when he’d played for the Capa’s at only eighteen. Now at twenty-five, he is exceptional. I’d watched a few more plays being run before the practice had started to wind down. Back slapping, isotonic sports drinks and bottled water were handed around while Coach had gone over the points where he was looking for improvement. From what I could hear from where I’d stood, none of it was directed to Mars.
Suddenly, while I had been trying to catch the last bit of Coach’s team talk, Mars’ head quickly spun around in my direction. I swear he’d looked right at me, his facial expression giving nothing away, but hell, it was a little bit creepy. I remember when Mars had opened up to me and confessed that he’d known all along that I’d been there in the background, watching the Capa’s training sessions. He’d told me that he could sense me, despite not being able to physically see me. I had watched them back then, but that was a long time ago. Could he really feel my presence now? Like I can feel him too?
Maybe it is some kind of weird juju or something? Empathy, Vibrational energy? Who knows, but I’m sure there’s a group of scientists somewhere trying to get to the bottom of it.
When he’d looked my way, I’d quickly stepped back, not that it made much of a difference, because I was pretty sure he’d been well aware that I was stalking in the shadows. As soon as I was sure that his attention had gone back to the rest of the team, I’d made a quick getaway. Once safely back in my car and away from the grounds, it had occurred to me that, one thing was for sure, watching Mars play had still given me that same buzz. Whether it was while back in school or since then on the big screen, it gave me the weirdest kind of high that no drug or splash of alcohol could replicate. At that same moment, I’d also made a vow to myself. No more hiding.
Today I get to put that into practice. I have a legitimate reason to be on that field, standing beside Coach, and observing every single one of the team members. Because I’ve officially started my position as sports psychologist. No more holding back or hiding in the shadows, it’s time to let them see exactly who I am, and especially Vance Marshall, how far from hopeless, Hope Palmer is now.
CHAPTER19
When Monday comes around, I’ve already made my presence known to the team. Everyone seems to be accepting, and not one of them has voiced any negative comments. Not even Mars. Although I’m not sure that’s the case when I’m out of earshot. The locker room is interesting, to say the least. A few of the guys have tried to intimidate me by stripping off or dropping their towels after being in the shower, purely by accident, of course. But if they thought that it would send me scampering from the room with embarrassment, then I’ve been there, had it done numerous times, couldn’t give a flying shit. Nice view though.
When I’d handed out the schedules to the group that would include the three key elements of my psychology sessions, Motivation, Visualisation, and relaxation, some of the guys had got vocal, voicing that none of the subjects were relevant to them. They quickly shut up when I explained that not only were they expected to participate in the classes, but also Coach Scully and the fourteen assistant coaches that were an integral part of the fitness and mental balance were too.
It's blatantly obvious to me that as they all started to filter into the inside sports hall this morning, that the way that they’re dressed, only a small proportion of them have read the subsections on each of the categories. Thick fabric tracksuits, heavy trainers and a couple are wearing club scarves and gloves. The last couple of days have been unseasonably cold for Montana, but Jesus, the heating systems that have been set up, which also pumps fresh, filtered air has the room temperature at forty degrees. Perfect for Hot Yoga.
“Damn,” Dallas Rucker, the QB1, curses out at the top of his voice. “It’s fucking hotter than Hades’ nut sack in here. What the hell?” Unzipping the front of his track top, he shrugs it off and flings it dramatically across the room. No surprise there. I’ve already pegged Dallas as the drama queen of the team. Every team has one and, in the NFL, it’s more times than not, the Quarterback.
