“Conti! You’re early,” he said gruffly, dropping his pen.
Coach was a funny guy. He still refused most of the time to use a computer and preferred his trusty notebook. It would’ve been fine, but his chicken scratch scrawl was so illegible, if you were on the receiving end of one of his notes, you’d spend the next half hour trying to decipher it.
“I can wait,” I replied, my voice shaky.
I was sweating like a whore in a church standing in the hallway. My palms were clammy, and my heart was pounding. I could hear the blood roaring through my veins as nervousness swallowed me. I was used to running out in front of thousands of people. I could hold my own in TV interviews when the camera was in my face. I could play the role of excited role model in front of the fans. But standing in the doorway of Coach’s office, waiting to talk to him about my future, had me shitting myself.
“Get in here and sit down before you throw up all over my rug.”
“The rug’s ugly anyway.”
Sitting in the uncomfortable stiff chair, I wondered if he’d chosen it on purpose. It was a widely known fact that Coach wasn’t a people person, so discouraging anyone from hanging around too long wouldn’t surprise me.
“So, wanna tell me why you’re annoying me so early on a Monday morning?” he invited.
Although in my heart my decision was made, saying it out loud was proving far more challenging. “I’ve been thinking…” I began. Fuck this was hard. I should’ve sent an email.
“You’re retiring,” Coach finished for me. It sounded so easy for him to string those words together, while I was sitting over here like a chump trying not to choke.
“Ah, yeah,” I confirmed, rubbing the back of my neck. “You knew?”
“Luca, your poker face is shit. When was the last time you asked to see me?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Exactly. And as much as we both didn’t want to admit it, we knew this day was coming sooner or later.”
“So, you’re not disappointed?”
“Hell yeah, I am!” His voice boomed.
“Look, I’m sorry. I mean, shit! I’m not getting any younger and…”
Rising from his desk, he strode over to me with a smirk I didn’t understand. Coach didn’t smile or smirk and barely cracked a grin, so this was definitely unusual. Grabbing his belt buckle, he hoisted his pants up. When his hand landed on my shoulder, I dropped my head. I couldn’t look. Disappointing him, letting him down, letting the team down was the absolute last thing in the world I’d ever want to do. Crawling into a hole and dying, right now, was sounding pretty damn appealing.
“Luca, don’t you dare apologise. Getting old happens to us all. I’m not disappointed in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m only disappointed that next year you won’t be around to help me keep this band of misfits under control.”
At his words, all the stress, all the fear that had been consuming me evaporated, and my shoulders sagged with relief. “Yeah, good luck with that,” I replied, starting to see the humour in the situation.
We talked for another hour or so before he left me with a laundry list of questions I was going to have to find answers to at some point but not right this second. Not today. First things first. There was someone I had to tell before the grape vine and social media got together and made a beautiful gossip baby.
An hour and two coffees later, I was sitting in my car in my parents’ driveway, trying not to freak out. Maybe that double shot macchiato was a mistake. The need to pee had me pulling up my big-boy pants and heading inside.
Using my key, I knocked as I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The fear of walking in and seeing something I could never unsee was enough to have me announcing my presence. Something I’d learnt a few years back when I stopped by to see my little sister one afternoon after training. There wasn’t enough bleach in the world to erase those images from my mind.
“Mum? Dad? You guys home?” I called out.
“Kitchen,” Mum replied a moment later.
After swinging through and dropping a kiss on Mum’s cheek, I dashed to the bathroom and relieved my anxious bladder. Washing up, I returned to the kitchen to find her pulling a loaf of fresh sour dough from the oven.
“Smells amazing,” I told her as my stomach rumbled, secretly praying she wasn’t making it for any special occasion other than my lunch. I’d been known to put away half a loaf when it was still warm, and today wasn’t the day things were going to change.
“Thanks, sweetie. What are you doing here, Luca?” she asked, obviously thrown by my unexpected appearance.
“Well, I can leave if I’m in your way…” I offered, starting to rise from the chair only to be slapped around the ear with her red and white tea towel.
“Sit your butt down.”
