My nostrils flare and I wish I had kept the broom so I could throw it at Jimmy. Not that it’d be a good decision given the current labor laws…
I speak through gritted teeth. “Nat wouldn’t join the camp if his leg was a problem.”
Jimmy shrugs carelessly. “Maybe he lied.”
My voice climbs. “Even if Nat lied about his condition, the truth would come out eventually. He wouldn’t be that stupid.”
Besides, Nat isn’t a liar. He came all the way down here just to apologize for possibly making me uncomfortable. It wasmyfault for not telling him who I am andhe’sthe one who apologized.
That’s the kind of man he is.
“Doesn’t matter.” Jimmy scratches his scraggly beard. “What matters is that he’s got a weakness.” The old man taps his leg three times. “You can’t have any flaws on the ice.”
“Flaws?” I choke.
“Say it’s the last few minutes of the championship and Campbell has the lead. One hit to the leg,” Jimmy mimes a golf swing and I cringe, “andbam. Championship’s over. Morale’s down. Medic’s are being called.”
I turn my face away and squeeze my eyes shut. “That won’t happen.”
“But itcould.”
“It won’t.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But every team wants the best shot at winning. That’s why no coach, no team captain, no manager worth his salt would let Campbell anywhere near their starting line.”
My nostrils flare.
My hands tremble.
Jimmy’s dead wrong.
Even as an eighteen year old boy, Nathan Campbell knew exactly what he wanted in life. He worked his butt off to get drafted and he was the rookie everyone was eyeing after Chance McLanely got kicked out of the league.
The problem is the Lucky Strikers team manager. Does he think the same as Jimmy? That’s what scares me.
The sound of laughter and conversation filter from the front. My attention snags there.
Carlos and Blade have arrived.
“Looks like the rest of the gang is here,” Jimmy confirms, craning his neck to see outside.
The old man is smiling.
I’m not.
I stomp out of the office and both Carlos and Blade stop talking.
“Uh-oh. What has boss lady’s pant—” Blade sees my wrathful glare and wisely amends his language, “skirt in a twist?”
“You’re late.”
Carlos exchanges a glance with Blade. The two of them have a silent conversation before the thick man approaches me with arms outstretched.
“Sorry, boss. It won’t happen again. Just relax, alright? It’s not that serious.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Carlos. Since it’s not serious, both you and Blade can stay back exactly,” I check my watch, “one hour after closing time.”
“One hour!” Carlos balks.
