Which meant I needed to get my green ass in gear and start paying attention to the game as well as learn how to skate.
Two weeks without my shrew were an agony. I thought about her all the time, especially at night when I could hear Ozar yanking on his hand-axe in the bathroom while he was on the phone with his mate. No amount of running shower water could drown out those sounds. Even pillows over my head and pressed tight to my ears didn’t block the moans and groans of ecstasy coming from the other side of the bathroom door.
Three nights on the road and I took matters into my own hand, envisioning all the things I would do to my shrew when Ihad her naked in my arms once more. And when I was done, I made sure to stuff any used tissues under Ozar’s pillow just to annoy him.
The idiot never even noticed.
After the first game I realized something. We were the only team traveling for an insane amount of hours on a bus to these games. The human teams flew in the amazing human airplanes and were at their destination within hours. They were rested and fresh at their games where we were trying to work out muscles stiff from sitting in uncomfortable seats and inaction. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Our owner was a cheap bastard of a demon.
While I envied the travel accommodations of the human teams, I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being crammed into a giant metal tube with hundreds of humans, then being propelled tens of thousands of feet into the air by what seemed like a series of explosions. Bwat tried to explain what he’d read about aerodynamics on the internet, but I didn’t trust that metal tube to stay in the air. And I certainly didn’t trust it to land safely either. The videos Bwat showed me had me amazed that humans put their lives at risk to travel this way when fae portals were a far safer option.
Two weeks never went by so slowly. I continued to work out with the team, taking to the ice when I was sure no one could see my careful and slow progress in remaining upright on my skates as I moved back and forth from goal to goal. After the Buffalo game the bus turned south towards Baltimore. Others slept, but I was wide awake with anticipation. When I walked down the steps to the arena’s parking lot and looked around I saw the team staff moving to unload the luggage and equipment from the bus. I saw Ozar’s mate calling his name and running to jump into his arms. I didn’t see my shrew.
She hadn’t been there to see me off, so I shouldn’t have been so worried that she wasn’t here now. In spite of mymental reassurances, my heart sped up. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Should I go over to her apartment? Maybe she was waiting at my hovel for me or planning on showing up before tonight’s game. Had she found someone else in the two weeks we were apart? My feelings for her had grown stronger during our absence, but perhaps hers had not.
She wasn’t at my hovel. I slept fitfully, then went to the arena to work out and practice skating, the whole time thinking of her. During the game against the Ducks, I watched her in the stands, so focused that I was nearly brained by an airborne puck.
She didn’t even look at me. Not once.
That night at McHenry’s as we walked through the door, she didn’t greet me. In fact, she completely ignored me. I felt unusually chilled, as if the temperature inside the tavern were colder than the outside air. I searched my mind, wondering what had happened, what I had missed. Was there something during our last day together before I left on the bus that caused this change?
Unsure, I decided to approach her. Maybe she was waiting for me to make the first move. Maybe I should have gone to her apartment when I arrived. If I showed her how much I missed her, let her know that my feelings had only increased since I last saw her, then maybe everything would be okay.
26
WILLA
Of course Jordan had VIP tickets for the Tusks’ first home game after their two weeks of travel. I had told her I wouldn’t be able to make it, that I had some clients to work with that night. The thought of seeing Eng was almost as anxiety-inducing as the idea of hearing Jordan gush with happiness over Ozar for the entire night.
Then I received a phone call from an unknown number that tossed me head-first into indecision.
I’d given up on the slim chance that Escalates Johnson would hire me as the team’s trainer. He hadn’t been sold on the idea I’d pitched, and two weeks of silence spoke volumes. But something must have changed because that phone call was from him, hiring me and informing me that I was to report to the arena Monday morning to begin working with the team.
How could I possibly have such feelings of excitement and dread at the same time?
This was my big chance to launch my career into the professional sports space. And I’d be seeing Eng every day. Until he married some milk-toast woman and went home, that is.
Maybe I could talk him into giving me the Amy Sherald painting when he left. Although having that constant reminder of him would probably kill me.
As much as I wanted to stay home tonight, I couldn’t let Monday morning be the first time I’d see Eng since he ghosted me. Monday was work. It was my first chance to prove that I could train a pro sports team. Having an emotional breakdown and crying, throwing a dumbbell at Eng, or screaming insults at him wouldn’t be good for my career. No, I needed to put on my big girl panties and go to the game. There I’d see him play—or not play. And afterward if my heart could take it, I’d go with the girls to McHenry’s. If I was going to burst into tears or start throwing things, it would be best if that happened in a bar rather than the first day of my new job.
After a quick text to Jordan that my clients had cancelled and I’d be joining them after all, I spent way too much time deciding what to wear. Then in an effort to take my mind off Eng, I began to put together the framework of a training plan for the orcs. Balance training was at the top of my list, thinking it would help them with their skating and with remaining upright during tricky maneuvers. They probably already did strength training, but I’d want to continue that in a more formal program. Team runs to not only fulfill my promise of showing off half-naked orc bodies to an admiring Baltimore public, but also to build endurance and speed. I could mix in interval training, and put together a few running games to help build communication among the team members. Some Pilates to increase flexibility and build on the balance training, and the real fun: explosive power training. I thought the orcs would actually enjoy some of these workouts, and it would give me a chance to evaluate them individually to customize the one-on-one training.
I’d also want to meet with the new coach the owner had mentioned in case he planned to switch out the positions eachorc was playing and to establish a partnership. If he saw a deficiency on the ice, I’d be happy to work with him to put together a training plan to address it.
I met the girls at the arena entrance and was thrilled to see that Stephanie had managed to leave her work behind and join us tonight. The crowd filing through the entrances had to be double the attendees of their last home game, and I felt my heart stutter at the idea that I wouldn’t be training a losing orc hockey team no one took seriously. There was less to laugh at, judging from the scores of their last few away games. The orcs were improving, and while they still might end the season at the very bottom of the standings, they were gaining a strong local following.
And I’d be a part of that.
“Guess what I got us?” Abby reached into her tote and pulled out a hockey jersey. “Ta Da!” She turned it to show us Ozar’s name emblazoned on the back before she handed it to Jordan.
“Uh, they’re still skating without shirts, right? Because that’s a good part of the reason I’m here tonight. If I can’t ogle orc pectorals, then it’s just plain old hockey,” Stephanie announced.
Abby pulled another shirt out of the bag. “Yes, they’re still skating half-naked, but I did talk the owner into painting numbers and names on them in grease paint before each game. How else are we going to encourage fans to root for their favorite player? And how else are we supposed to sell tons of merchandise?”
I laughed at that, because she was right.
“Who does everyone want?” She asked us.
