Page 16 of The New Guy
So here we are, two hundred miles out of her clutches. And she wants to buy a condo across the river and put her nose in at every opportunity?
“We’ll just see how the house hunting goes,” she says calmly. “Jordyn loves her grandparents.”
“Of course she does,” I say without gritting my teeth. “And when you plan your visit, please email me the details so I can make sure she’s free.”
“Already have!” she says cheerily. “It’s in your inbox. Now let me speak to that sweet girl.”
Beaten, I carry the phone over to my child, who takes it eagerly.
And I resume making dinner.
* * *
The next few days are busy. I begin working full time with the players. I memorize injury reports. I sit down with Neil Drake to discuss his diabetes protocols, so I’ll know how to intervene in a crisis.
I work with Ivo Halla on his ankle stiffness, and with Patrick O’Doul on his creaky shoulder. I do soft tissue work on everyone’s aches and pains.
Except for Hudson Newgate’s. He’s still avoiding me.
The other guys are friendly and welcoming. That goes a long way toward easing my new-guy stress. But not Newgate. With a recent injury, he’s near the top of the list of players with pressing physical issues. A close look at his chart reveals that he was sidelined from four games by a bursitis flare-up in his hip.
During which time I met him in a bar.
But can I find him to discuss the injury? Nope. Whenever I offer my services in the weight room, he’s just leaving. When I walk into the players’ lounge, he walks out.
It’s nerve-wracking. He obviously doesn’t want to talk to me. At all. And the longer it goes on, the more awkward it gets.
One morning I arrive just as the team is finishing a yoga session, and Newgate is there. From this distance, his hip movement looks smooth. So that’s good news for him.
What’s equally smooth, though, is the way he avoids me after the class. He strikes up a conversation with the team captain, which I am loathe to interrupt.
And then another player—Jason Castro—asks me if I have a minute. “My mid-back is cranky.” He reaches awkwardly over his shoulder and frowns. “Like a rib is out of line.”
“Can you feel it on a deep inhale?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Let’s take a look.” I point toward the treatment rooms, and we head in that direction.
“Hey baby,” he says to a petite blonde woman in the corridor. “You look hot in that dress.” Then he makes ameowsound. She rolls her eyes.
Well, okay, that’s a little aggressive.
He follows me into the empty treatment room. “That’s my wife, by the way. I’m not sexually harassing the staff.”
“Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Ididwonder.”
Castro cracks a smile. “This is a very incestuous workplace. O’Doul is married to the yoga instructor. Trevi is married to the publicist.”
“Ah. Which one?” I ask, quickly rubbing down the table with an antiseptic wipe. This place isstocked. I’ve never worked anywhere so clean and accommodating.
“Georgia. The, uh, female one.” He sits down on the table.
“I was pretty sure that’s who you meant. Just teasing, really.”
“You married?” he asks.
“Actually, widowed.” As I say it, I’m thinkinghere we go. It’s important to me that I don’t hide my sexuality. But I’m pretty sure I’m the only gay man on the staff, and you never know how that will be received. “My husband died two years ago in a car accident.”
