Unless you’re Fletcher.
Fletcher’s in there all the time because he thinks it’s his second job to sell tickets for the team. So he’s often butting in where the rest of us leave it to the office staff to do what they’re best at.
Until Miranda joined the office staff with a position working social media, I hadn’t actually seen her.
I only vaguely knew she existed—I overheard Keating talking to someone else once about going to visit his daughter at college—but that’s about it.
Got the feeling he didn’t want the younger knuckleheads on the team—some of them about her age—thinking of trying anything. And then he confirmed it when Coach sat us all down and told us Keating’s daughter would be working with us for marketing and publicity and if any of us so much as looked at her wrong, we’d be welcome to go try playing rugby in Antarctica.
“Sorority sister?” I finally say.
“Dunno, man. Maybe. You want breakfast? Get to cheat since you’re not playing for a while. There’s this pancake place not far from your house. I can watch you eat and pretend I can taste it.”
“Already had too many since the season ended?”
“Yes,” he groans.
“At least you can still work out.”
“You can do upper body. Bet we can get you one of those arm cycle machines too. Keep your ol’ ticker in good shape.”
Yeah.
Yeah, I’m gonna be okay playing for the Pounders.
And they do still want me. Coach said as much. I’m seeing the team doc tomorrow to get a plan for recovery. They think I can be ready before our season starts again early next year.
I’ll do everything on my end to prove them right.
Crew pulls up in front of my house and insists on getting my door, then walking me to my own front door too. Plumber’s van is here.
Good thing.
A second working bathroom upstairs will be helpful.
“You need anything else, Captain?” he asks. “Food? Something moved around? Someone to change the channel on your TV for you?”
“I got it. But thanks.”
He gives me a one-armed hug. “Glad to have you back. I know it would’ve been awesome for you to go back to a bigger league, but we would’ve missed you bad, man. Fletcher wouldn’t be the same as captain.”
I grimace. “No.”
“Heh. Gotcha. No way we’d pick Fletcher.” He grins and points finger guns at me. “Call me if you need anything. Phone’s on all day long for you.”
I thank him again and head inside.
Smells like French fries.
Ziggy’s been cooking.
I head upstairs—fucking stairs and crutches don’t mix—and talk to the plumber. He’s making good progress, andnone of the pipes need to be replaced like he thought they might.
I leave him to it and debate if I want to take another nap, but I want to see Ziggy.
Make sure for myself she’s okay.
Her car’s here too, so when I glance in her room and find it empty, I assume she’s out back with Jessica.
