Standard operating procedure.
You're supposed to be working,I scold myself.Stop staring at the angry giant.
Then I see him moving toward heavy dumbbells for lateral raises and I squeak, "What are you doing? Don't! That'll strain your stabilizers!"
Silas and his trainer both look up with matchingare you kidding meexpressions.
"I don't need a babysitter, Scout," Silas snaps. "Do me a favor and work somewhere else."
His tone stings. I plaster on a bright smile. "Sure thing. I'll just... go upstairs."
I walk off with as much dignity as I can muster. Which is not much.
Upstairs in the office, I throw myself into Mobility Mondays planning for a solid hour. Then I make a list of other suggestions and email them to Coach Ryan. Shifting travel meal schedules. Adjusting practice timing. Small things that might help players feel better.
Being useful is my superpower, after all.
When I drive Silas home, he's extremely short with me, growling every other word. He moves so slowly getting into the car I have to wonder if it's because he's really hurting. Or maybe he's just run ragged. When he closes his eyes and seems to fall asleep on the way home, I conclude it's more likely to be the latter.
The big caveman's just exhausted.
He disappears into his room when we get back, shutting the door and boxing me out. Getting down to business, I prepare a sensible dinner of sliced chicken breast, pasta with pesto, and a large serving of asparagus. I find myself hesitant to knock on his door. What if he's still asleep? Will he yell at me?
Because I'm not sure what kind of state he's in, I leave a plate of pasta in Silas's kitchen before I retreat to my room. I leave no note, no explanation. It's food for someone who can't take care of himself.
Surely I can't be chastised for that.
I hear him come out of his room later. Cracking my door, I listen to the sounds of a fork scraping against a plate. He eats in silence, not looking for me, not saying thank you. I pretend I don't care.
He's cold as ice, colder than I remember him being. What can I do to thaw him a little bit?
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. I glance at it and my stomach drops.
Enzo.
Enzo
You still haven't picked up your stuff. I'm starting to think you're using my storage unit as a free service. Come get all of your shit out of my house, Scout.
I flip the phone over, jaw tight. I don't respond. There's no point. Enzo only texts when he wants to pick at a scab. When he needs to remind me I'm not worth the space I take up.
Another buzz a minute later. I almost ignore it but the name on the screen makes me reach for it.
Sable. My lovely big sister, older than me by a year, also lives in the city. She travels a lot for her job as a sports therapist, seeing patients in Vancouver and Portland as well as here in Seattle.
My sister's voice note is warm and excited.
Sable
Scout! I'm organizing a free clinic for athletes dealing with burnout and mental health stuff. I thought maybe you could help with the physical side? Mobility work, injury prevention? Let me know if you're interested!
I smile despite everything. Sable knows exactly how to brighten my day.
Me
That's amazing. Count me in. When you're back in the city, we should have lunch!
Sable
