Payoff
Angiedidn’tgotothe dinner—with Sam or with Trevor.Weeks passed, and nothing came of Trevor’s threats, nor did she hear from him again.He was nothing but hot air, and that fact was one reason she didn’t bother telling Sam about the encounter.What good would it have done anyway?He didn’t need the added angst.He had enough worries on his plate without letting a gasbag rent space in his head.Sam had been wound tight for weeks, and one more straw could have sent him spiraling.
He wasn’t a hothead, but he had a possessive streak she’d never seen before, and lately he vibrated like a live wire at its limit, ready to snap.If he decided to track Trevor down and take out his frustrations on the slimeball, it would accomplish nothing.An outburst might set him back and hurt his chances of sticking with the team.He walked a tightrope over a void where his future existed, dark and shrouded.He hadn’t gleaned anything from his agent, his team, or his coach.The suspense was making him nuts.
He’d been visiting his dad and brother over the last few days, and though she hated to admit it, she was relieved for the respite from the thundercloud following him around.She’d thrown herself into work, picking up new patients.Work life was humming.Her love life, though.All of her wanted to help Sam, but she had no clue how—especially since he’d clammed up.
Self-preservation dictated she follow Jenna’s advice and pull back emotionally, but Angie couldn’t.She was all in.She was in love with him, and her heart hauled her along the rocky path it wanted to follow.
As she wrote up a report on her last patient, Celia announced an unexpected visitor—Coach Marty LeBrun.He ambled toward her, all relaxed ease in his gym shorts, T-shirt, and Blizzard ball cap.
He raised a hand.“Please don’t get up.I only need a few minutes of your time.”
Mid-rise, she plunked her butt back down in her chair, unable to hide her surprise.“Of course.Whatever you need, Coach.”
He leaned against her table and braced his hands on the edge.“The training staff tells me you’ve cleared Durbin.”
She swallowed.“Last week.He’s made great strides and doesn’t need PT anymore.If he continues his current regimen, he should be ready to go for training camp.”
Coach nodded, his gaze straying to the plastic knee model on a nearby desk.
“In fact,” she raced ahead, “I understand he’s been killing it in the drills the trainers have been putting him through.”Please, please sign him!
“Yeah, they’re not seeing any lag.For a while there, they weren’t sure he could make it all the way back.”
“He had a slow start and hit a few bumps along his road to recovery, but that’s not unusual with these kinds of injuries.”
Coach gave her a warm smile.“He had a lot of people in his corner trying to get him back.”
A flush heated Angie’s cheeks.“He’s the one who put in the work.”
“I hear it wasn’t always easy getting him to follow the plan.”
Her eyes popped wide.“That’s not true!”Who had said that?Probably Trevor!
A low chuckled rumbled in Coach’s chest.“He admitted as much to me, so you don’t need to cover for him.”He briefly squeezed her shoulder.“See?He had the right people on his side.He’s lucky, and he knows it.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and he stood upright, making ready to leave.Angie bit her lip, debating.
Oh, what the hell!
“Coach, do you know what the team’s plans are for Sam?”She didn’t miss the surprise in the man’s eyes.Yeah, she was definitely out of her lane.In for a dime, in for a dollar.“I mean, we had a lot of time to talk while he was going through therapy, and he speaks so highly of the coaching staff and management.I’m sure he’d like to stay.”
“He’s made that clear,” Coach answered cautiously.“No matter where he ends up—whether it’s here or somewhere else—he’ll be a positive asset for his team.”
With that, he said good-bye and strolled away, leaving Angie slightly embarrassed, a little deflated, and as much in the dark as before.
When Sam called later, she kept the conversation with the coach to herself.Now she guarded two secrets.
Joe passed Sam the last dinner plate to dry and lowered his voice to a whisper.“Jeez, it’d be nice if Dad got a dishwasher.”
Sam swiped a cloth across the wet surface and stacked it in a cabinet.“It’s not like this kitchen’s built for it.”
Joe grinned.“Then maybe we should get him a house thatisbuilt for it.”
Sam leveled a hard look on his brother.“By ‘we’ you mean ‘me,’ unless you’ve won the lottery and forgot to tell us.”Their father lived in the same mid-century modern he’d bought when he and their mother had married.Calling it modern was an upsell, though.It still had the same yellowed linoleum and harvest-gold sink.Dad was sentimental about the place—Sam got it—but it was falling down around his ears, and he couldn’t afford to fix what needed fixing.
Joe had the decency to look sheepish.“Not what I meant at all.I was thinking when I graduate and you sign a new contract …”
