This, right here, is why I should have been honest from the start. I’m the last person Claire would want individual sessions with, and I’m the furthest thing from unfamiliar. Even ignoring our personal past, I can guarantee I’m better versed in Claire’s career than Eliza is. I know the final scores from her last year at Lincoln. What round she was selected in the draft. The standings from her time playing for Denver.
And I can’t come clean to Eliza now because I assured Claire I wouldn’t say anything.
I clear my throat before answering, “Of course. I am happy to help out however I can.”
“Great.” Eliza smiles, dropping the pen on her desk. “Nicole has really appreciated your help. McKinnon and Cascarino have been noticeably improving, and you deserve a piece of that credit. We’re happy to have you back.”
“Happy to be back.” I clear my throat. “And about the photos. It was dinner with an old friend?—”
Eliza reaches for one of the binders on her desk, waving my explanation away. “You were taking personal time, Otto. How you spent it is your business.”
I nod, relieved by her response. Wagner would have had a lot more to say about it. When I met with him, he grilled me on my schedule and how I need to remain focused on recovery.
“It will not happen again,” I say.
“Every publication that posted those photos mentioned your current role with this team. Management is thrilled. It’s the most publicity the Siege has received since the club’s inception. Ticket sales have skyrocketed since this morning.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, that is…good.”
For the team, maybe. For me, not really. Half the point of coming here was anonymity.
Eliza flips a binder open, effectively dismissing me. “Let me know how it goes with Caldwell.”
I stand. “Will do.”
Once outside Eliza’s office, I continue down the hallway. It dead-ends at one of the doors that leads down to the practice field. I step back out into the sunshine, sucking in deep breaths and releasing long exhales as I follow the short path that leads to the turf.
Eliza’s parting comment suggests I’m supposed to approach Claire about working with her individually, and I have no clue how to do that. Treating her the same as any other player isn’t getting any easier, and if it’s affecting her career… I should probably ask if she wants me to leave and respect theyesthat’s sure to follow. Return to Kluvberg. Get my groceries delivered and run through my rehab exercises in the private gym.
I reach the edge of the field, tucking my hands in my pockets as I survey the turf.
“Hi!”
I spin in place, staring at the young boy standing a dozen feet away. His smile is tentative but friendly, eyes wide as he stares at me and at the field.
They’re brown. Not green, like Claire’s. But other similarities—the hair and the nose—are unmistakable.
“Hi.” I smile back. “Are you here to visit your mom?”
“She’s at work.” The boy’s attention wanders back to the field. I recognize the wistful expression on his face.
“You like fo—” I sigh. “Soccer?”
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, but the excitement is impossible to miss.
“Do you want to play?”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I walk over to the equipment shed, using my key to unlock the door and grabbing a ball and a stack of cones out. “What is your name?”
“Tommy Caldwell.”
I can’t decide if I’m glad or mad that he has her last name. Does that mean his dad isn’t in the picture?
“My name is Otto,” I say, shoving all thoughts of his connection to Claire far away.
Tommy nods, more focused on the ball than on making conversation.
