Things had been different since.
Turning the corner, I spied the line of rooms that belonged to the coaches. NHL on the right, PPHL on the left. I wasn’t in Boston when the PPHL team was given joint custody of the arena, but it had been the same in Tampa.
Things started happening. Changes. And I fucking hated change.
Taking a breath, I walked up to the office with a tag on the door that read Tucker Banks with a line of braille under it. I didn’t think he was going to be in there. The final buzzer hadn’t gone off yet, and when it did, he’d be in the locker room with everyone else, giving the usual bullshit pep talk about how they’d do better next time and whatever the fuck he could come up with to make the players not want to drown themselves in an ice bath.
Though I didn’t know if the Legends took losses as hard as we did. I didn’t really know jack shit about them at all.
Lifting my fist, I knocked and was surprised when the door opened. I was met by a wide-eyed, terrified-looking man with dark hair, pale skin, and freckles.
“Can I help you?” he asked, then flushed. “Oh my god, Mr. Zeki, I?—”
I lifted a brow. “Do I know you?”
“No, I—I’m an intern? I’m…shit. Sorry. Fuck. Sorry for swearing!” He cleared his throat. “Can I help you with something?”
“I need to speak with…” I pulled back to look at the nameplate again. “Banks.”
Noah wasn’t going to relent on this ambassador thing, so I wanted some idea of what to expect when I showed up with my boys. If this was supposed to be a lesson in humiliation, I wasn’t fucking having it.
Now, in reality, I was distracting myself so I didn’t go looking for Jonah, but this kid didn’t need to know that.
“Sure. Yes…I think?” the guy said. He bit his lip, then stepped aside. “I think it’s fine if you wait in here. It’s not like you’re going to steal their plays.”
“What would it matter if I did? We don’t play each other.”
He flushed brightly. “Right, I—right. Of course. Okay.”
Brushing past him, I walked in and stared around. It looked a lot like Noah’s office, apart from a bigger computer monitor, but everything else was like his. There was a whiteboard and markers, two chairs, a big desk, photos along the shelves.
It didn’t seem like the coach was blind, though I didn’t know if that was also part of their rules. I wasn’t sure how any of it worked. It never really mattered to me, and I still couldn’t understand why Noah was making it my problem. I had enough on my plate.
Why this?
Why now?
Dragging one of the guest chairs into the corner by the bookshelf, I hunkered down and pulled my phone out, scrollingthrough my Instagram feed on silent as the minutes ticked by. And then ticked by.
Then they began to crawl by like drops of frozen honey.
Dear god, this was going to take all night. My eyes started to get heavy, so I tilted my head and let it rest against the wall as I closed them. What would it hurt if I rested for a few minutes? Tucker’s after-game duties would take him a while longer.
And frankly, I needed the sleep.
My bones ached with deep bruises—ones I would never regret, but also ones I would never forget. I took a deep breath…and started to drift.
