He follows me in and shuts the door behind him.
“Do you have the schedule, Savannah? It’s overdue.”
“Actually, it’s three days early,” I snap as I hand the printout to him. “It’s not due till next week.”
Shit. I don’t know what’s come over me today. It’s like I’m speaking up all over the place.
Craig raises his eyebrows at my comeback like he doesn’t know what to say. He takes the schedule out of my hands and grunts. Maybe that line-cutter guy was right. Maybe I do have a stick somewhere that I don’t know about.
Craig gets a phone call and steps into the hall to take it.
Once he’s gone, flashes from this morning’s attack race through my mind despite my best attempts to push them away. I feel like a door’s been opened that I can’t close, and I pull out the shoebox from underneath my desk. I carefully take off the lid and peer inside at the pile of photographs.
These photos are all linked to my father, and once he left us, I didn’t know what to do with the pain. So I stuffed it all into a box and left it here. I haven’t looked inside since.
Like he can hear my mind working, a new message pops up in my email.
It’s the league newsletter, and on the front is the star of the Colorado Caves. Jason Watts, former star of the Climax Cannons, and the man my father betrayed my trust for. He got a second chance with my father while I’m the one Daddy cut out of his life. No amount of emails or letters have gotten my father to speak to me. They all go unanswered.
But Coach McMann gives interview after interview with the press, raving about Watts and how lucky he is to have him. He says he wouldn’t have won three titles in Colorado without him.
I reach inside the box and grab the first two pictures my hand closes around.
I kneel on the floor to look at the first one, but before I can focus on it, Coach Craig walks back into my office without knocking.
I stuff both photographs into the purse sitting at my feet and hurriedly get up off my knees.
Craig wipes the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and heaves a sigh in my direction. He’s clearly in a mood.
“I’ve got a great idea for sponsors, and I need some research done.”
“Okay.” I grab a pen off my desk. “What is it?”
“Check up on this lead.” Craig tosses a faxed sheet of paper in front of me. “We should have had these guys on our list years ago.”
Even though Craig’s team has yet to have a record over five hundred, he never misses an opportunity to try to make it seem like he’s better than my father was at this job.
Craig puts his knuckles on the desk and leans into my personal space in his usual no-manners way. A piece of gum hangs halfway out of his mouth. He’s trying to lose weight by chewing something that’s supposed to suppress his appetite.
“So we need to start winning. Or your job…” He puts up his hands in a surrender gesture. “I may not have the money to pay your salary.”
My heart goes into my butt, and I can’t do anything but stare at his mouth as he keeps talking. “Let’s face it, Savannah. We’re not winning. We need ticket sales, and Climax residents want to see wins. Or at leastgoals. We haven’t scored in three games. The more we score, the more people we attract from Minneapolis. Nobody wants to come to Climax to watch ice melt.”
I don’t know what to say to him. My whole life, I’ve been a coach’s daughter. That’s pretty much been my role. Even after my father left, I stayed here as assistant to the coach. The role is comfortable, and I’ve never once tried to change up my routine. I’ve never even considered it.
“Ican’tleave here, Craig. This is the only job I’ve ever had. My father built this team from the ground up.”
“I’m sorry,” Craig says, looking anything but as he gets distracted by a text coming through on his phone.
“Coach Craig, when my father was here, we almost won the whole thing. That’s the closest the Cannons have ever come to a title. I’d like to stay on and help get us winning again.”
He looks back down at his phone and sighs. “Fine. I like you, and I like having the help. So I’ll tell you what—we’ve got a new guy starting today. If he can provide some excitement, like goal-scoring excitement, I think ticket sales just might improve. His name’s Cameron Wild. He was a star coming up, and there was talk of him making it to the big-time. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have a shot at the playoffs.”
“Wow.”
Craig nods. “But he’s hit a dry spell. He used to lead his old team, the Stars, in goals and assists. But the last season and a half—he’s hardly scored at all. He’s twenty-four, just a couple years older than you.”
“But the Stars are in a far bigger league than we are,” I say. “So he must be really good. Why is he joining the Cannons?”
