Page 55 of Wildcat
“Come in. Come in,” he calls from behind his desk with a scowl. “Have a seat.”
That glower deepens when I fall into the chair. He rummages through a few papers on the top and then opens and closes every drawer.
“Everything okay?”
“I can’t find my phone. I know I left it in here.” The stack of papers falls to the ground as he continues moving things around.
“I got it,” I offer and squat down to pick up the papers. I stand and set them on a corner of his desk. Finally, he lifts his laptop bag, and the phone appears.
We take our seats again.
“I was supposed to make reservations for tonight and it slipped my mind,” he says as he taps out something on the phone. “Just one second. I need to send an SOS text to my wife and see if she can bail me out. After almost thirty years, I think she’s probably expecting it at this point.”
“No problem.” I pick up a framed photo on his desk. It’s a black and white of him smiling from the bench. He’s younger here, taken some time before he came to The Wildcats, but I recognize the smile. It’s a victory smile—one I hope we get to see frequently this year.
“My daughter took that years ago after the junior’s team I was coaching won the division title,” he says when he notices me looking at the picture.
His daughter. Scarlett.
“It’s a great photo.” I set it back on the desk.
“She’s talented,” he says, staring at it like he’s seeing it again for the first time. “One year for her birthday, she must’ve only been five or six, she asked for a camera. We got her the cheapest digital camera we could find, fully expecting that she’d lose it or break it in the first week.” He shakes his head lost in the memory. “She had it for years. Brought it with her everywhere. I think most of our family photos over the years were taken on that thing. Lasted well into her teen years before it broke. By that time, I would have gladly bought her a nicer, newer one, but she only wanted to use that old cheap one, so then we had to find someone to fix it.”
“Does she still have it?” I’m smiling at the glimpse into a young Scarlett and her stubbornness, not thinking about how asking private details might seem odd.
“Nah. She has this big, fancy thing now with lots of buttons and detachable lenses.” He waves a hand dismissively. I know that camera, but I like the image of her with an old cheap one because it’s another piece to the puzzle that is Scarlett. I’m eager for any details he might toss out, but he changes the subject.
“Any grumbling in the locker room about the line switches for tomorrow night?”
“No, sir. We’re ready.” The first regular season game is tomorrow, and the only chatter is how much we want to win. There are a lot of people who have already discounted us because we’re young and we want to prove them wrong.
“Good. I saw some nice things on the road. Let’s use these next few games to let everyone feel out where they’re comfortable and where they fit best. You’ve been a consistently strong player for us, Leo. I’ve switched your line maybe more than anyone else. It isn’t because I’m trying to figure out where to put you. It’s because you make each group better.”
It hadn’t occurred to me that when he was asking about the guys grumbling, he really wanted to know if I was silently fuming about the lineup for tomorrow. Would I love to be on the first line with Jack and Ash? Hell yes. That’s where I was last season and we read each other so well it was almost easy. But Coach’s been trying me at center with Tyler and Maverick. We’re not quite at that same comfort level as I was with Jack and Ash, but they’re great players, and I have no doubt we’ll work well together.
“All that’s important is we win.”
“That’s what I needed to hear.” He smiles and stands. “Thanks for swinging by. I won’t keep you. I’m sure you have plans of your own tonight. Girlfriend?” He squints like he’s trying to think if he’s ever seen me with a woman.
“Not currently,” I say around a lump in my throat. My palms sweat as I slowly back out of the room. The only woman I’m interested in might earn me a permanent spot on the bench. Or worse.
19
HOLY PUCKING SHIT
SCARLETT
I’m sittingin the dark of the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when Dad comes in. He flips on the light before he sees me.
A tired smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”
I shake my head. Meeting up in the middle of the night for a snack used to be our thing, and I’m happy that after being gone for two years, we still have something that’s just ours.
He grabs a bowl and sits in the chair next to me.
“The Raisin Bran is in the pantry,” I say as he dumps my Fruity Pebbles in his bowl.
“I missed these. Your mom never bought them when you were gone.” He settles in beside me and spoons a heap of the colorful candy cereal into his mouth.
