“Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”
“Wasn’t exactly in the welcome packet,” I add dryly.
“No,” he agrees. “And it wasn’t my doing. Wasn’t my place to tell you either, even if I’d wanted to.” His jaw tightens. “That one’s on the rental agency. And on his father.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I roll my eyes. “Ken gave me the warm and fuzzy experience of talking to a snowplow with opinions.”
That earns me a huff of amusement, but it fades quickly. Coach straightens, his tone shifting—less joking now, more careful.
“Just… keep your head down,” he says. “Beau’s got a lot on his plate.”
“I noticed,” I reply quietly.
“He’s been carrying things since he was too young to be carrying them,” he continues. “He learned early not to ask for help. Learned to lock it all down instead. Instincts and emotions included.”
Something in my chest tightens at that.
“That... probably explains a lot.”
Coach nods.
“He’s not the enemy,” he adds, slower now. Not a threat—more like a boundary being gently but firmly drawn. “Even when he comes off like one.”
I look at him for a long, drawn-out moment.
“I didn’t say he was,” I say evenly.
“Good.” His shoulders ease just a fraction. “Because he’s got enough people in his life who’ve mistaken control for care.”
That lands harder than I expect, and we sit in the quiet for a beat before he sighs and shakes his head.
“Besides: if you two end up killing each other, I’m not filling out the paperwork.”
I snort despite myself.
“I’ll try not to bury him under the foam rollers.”
“I appreciate that.” He pushes off the doorframe, already slipping back into work mode. “Anyway—best I get ready before the guys come down. Feel free to make the space yours. As much as it ever can be around here.”
As he makes leave, he pauses, then glances back at me.
“And Emery?”
“...Yeah?”
“Just… be kind with him,” he says with a heavy exhale. “He doesn’t always know how to be with himself.”
Moments later, he’s gone, the door swinging to a close behind him, and I stand alone, staring at my new kingdom of concrete, dust, peeling tape, and possibility.
“Well,” I sigh, “may as well get started.”
I unpack my bag piece by piece, laying everything out on the tiny counter like a ritual.
My clipboard.
Teal kinesiology tape.
Lucky pen with the chewed cap.
