I’d expected him to be just as proud when the team offered me the position of head athletic trainer and rehabilitation specialist four weeks ago, only days after my interview with them. Only, when I called him to tell him the news, he didn’t seem happy. He sounded annoyed, and as our conversation went on, he became more annoyed with the changes I wanted made to the contract.
“While I am excited to start, there is something I want added into the contract.”
“Let’s hear it,” he barked into the phone, his tone exactly the same as if he were speaking with the players and not his own flesh and blood.
“I want to have full freedom over all medical decisions, and I also want the final authority on player readiness after an injury, regardless of team standings or playoffs. I’d also like my compensation to be measurable on outcomes, injury prevention rates, recovery timelines, and return to play success.”
“Bianca, that is ridiculous!” he yelled, but I stopped him.
“I don’t think so. Dad, I want to be evaluated and compensated for the things I can control, not on the things I can’t. So with that said, I do not want to be compensated based on the team’s performance.”
He was quiet, and I listened to nothing but his breathing on the other end of the line for a long while, until finally he cleared his throat.
“So, what do you think?” I questioned.
“Bianca, I think you are making a mistake with your demands. However, I know they are adamant about wanting you here, so I guess we will see you three to four weeks before the start of the season. Keep an eye out for the revised contract.”
He’d slammed the phone down before I could say anything else, leaving me with the feeling that perhaps I’d made a mistake by accepting the position I’d worked hard for.
As I pulled into the underground parking of the Lair, I still had that sinking feeling.
My father’soffice was on the second floor, a beautiful, large corner office with windows that overlooked both the practice rink and the main arena. I had only been in this office one time before, which was during my interview with the team’s general manager and the ownership representatives a few months ago. My father had recused himself from that meeting and interview, even though I was pretty sure that everyone in the room figured I wouldn’t have been there without him.
I glanced down at my watch, and the moment it flashed two, I knocked.
“Come in.”
My stomach flipped at the sound of his bark, and I opened the door and stepped inside the office, looking at my father as he sat behind his desk. He had been handsome once, before the stress of coaching all these players etched lines around his eyes and silvered his dark hair. Now he just looked tired.
“Bianca.” He stood, and for once, smiled.
For a moment, I saw him hesitate, unsure how he should greet me. Initially, I suspected it was because he was unhappy about my presence, and then I understood it stemmed from the circumstances. In our current situation, he was two completely different men: the coach and my father.
I walked over and hugged him, noticing the brief and careful interaction as his hand rested between my shoulder blades.
“Welcome home,” he whispered, hugging me tight before he let me go.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping back, trying to maintain the professional distance I’d worked hard to perfect. “I really appreciate you making time.”
“You know, you could have let me send a car. It would have saved you the rental fee.”
“I know and I appreciate it, but I needed to have my own vehicle. I know I can’t be relying on you all the time until I get my own car. Besides, you’ve always told me that independence matters here, so I’m starting off on the right foot.” I smiled.
“You mean independence matters here, in my domain at the Lair.”
“In the workplace, yes,” I said, sitting down, crossing my legs at the ankle and folding my hands in my lap.
“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” my father asked, taking a seat behind his desk.
I swallowed hard. “Well, I wanted to discuss the department transition along with my expectations for the department.”
My father looked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to argue and try to shift the conversation into something warmer, maybe even more paternal, but my father hadn’t built his reputation by missing cues.
“Of course,” he said, picking up a pen and grabbing a notebook. “Before you start, I want to let you know that I have scheduled introductions for you with the full roster over the next few weeks. Training starts in four weeks, and you’ll need to hit the ground running so we are game-ready. You will have a lot of work to do.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I nodded. “I’m ready for the challenge.”
“Good, I’m glad. Now let’s get on to business.”
