TWO DAYS after I got home, I sat in another insufferable coaches meeting. I dreaded these meetings. Baxter’s hatred of Max was so plain, it was to the point of being uncomfortable for anyone required to listen to him vent about all of Max’s shortcomings. Most of which Baxter made up.
At the end of the meeting, everyone stood up and gathered their things. Dad walked into the room.
“Baxter, may I have a word?”
Baxter paused, fear flitting across his face. “Sure.”
The other coaches filed towards the door with haste. I made quick work of gathering up my papers and almost made it to the door when Dad’s voice rang out. “Rory, you can stay.”
I stared longingly at the door before shutting the door and turning around.
“Have a seat, Baxter.” Dad’s voice was deceptively casual.
Baxter sat. Dad leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. I hovered between the table and the door, in no-man’s-land.
“Baxter, how do you think the last road trip went?”
Baxter’s eyes widened. “We won four out of the five games. No major injuries. Despite the small incident in Minnesota, it went well.”
Dad studied the floor and made a noise. “So, when you knocked my daughter into a crowd of drunk, angry men, and they dragged her body over a fence wanting to tear her from limb to limb, you’d consider that a small incident?”
Baxter’s eyes flitted to mine. “I consider that everyone got away safe and there were no major injuries, so it was resolved.”
Dad nodded again. “Twenty-three of my most valuable employees, whom I pay over $96 million dollars’ worth of wages to per year, had to step in and engage in a full-on brawl over that incident.”
Baxter held my gaze. Hatred sparked in his eyes. “Yes, they did.”
“Did I not talk to you about getting extra security to escort our team out of the building?”
“We had it.”
“Yet, you were the catalyst who pushed Rory into the crowd.”
“This is Logan’s fault.”
Dad tilted his head, his face a mask of calm. I knew Dad. The cooler he appeared on the outside, the more volatile his emotions ran beneath the surface. “From what I could see on the tape, Logan is the one who stepped forward and saved Rory.”
“I meant, none of this would have transpired if it wasn’t for his sordid past in Minnesota. He’s the reason the fans were so angry and worked up. And furthermore, I think it might warrant adding that we’ve never had a female accompany our team. Historically, we’ve had men who can handle those kinds of situations.”
The bastard!
Dad nodded. “I see. So, you believe that perhaps Rory’s job would be better suited for a man?”
Baxter flushed. “I’m saying that this world is rough. And no fault of her own, but because of her gender, she’s an easy target.”
“An easy target.” Dad measured each word out.
“I’m not saying this is my opinion,” Baxter protested. “I’m only voicing the common concern everyone has about this situation. I mean, there is even a twitter account tweeting about Rory and these issues. These are going concerns.”
Dad ignored his comment about the social media. “I will not stop Rory from traveling with the team. So, if you’re unable to protect her, then find someone on the fucking team that will.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dad,” I protested, finding myself siding with Baxter on this one. I was way over my head. I didn’t belong in this world, no matter how much Dad wanted me to belong.
Dad turned his attention towards me. “Make this work, Rory, or I will hire a personal security team to accompany you on all these trips.”
Which would be worse than hiring a babysitter.
I nodded.
Dad leaned onto the table and stared down at Baxter. “If you can’t make this work, I’ll find someone who can make this work.”
Baxter sat frozen, staring up at Dad. “I’ll make it work.”
Dad straightened up. “Good. Good talk.”
His phone rang. “I have to take this.”
He stepped out of the room.
I stood there, clutching my papers to my chest, like a school girl. Baxter turned on me.
“Couldn’t help but go running to Daddy, hey?”
“I didn’t talk to him about Minnesota.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do us all a fucking favor and walk. No one wants you here. Not the players. Not the coaching staff. No one.”
My face burned, but I didn’t speak.
Dad popped his head back into the room. “Are we good?”
I nodded.
He eyeballed Baxter.
Baxter nodded. “Got this covered, boss.”
Dad didn’t smile. “Great. Talk to you both later.”
I turned to leave.
Baxter got one last shot it. “Try to stay away from the players. You get on their nerves.”
I stiffened, but I didn’t turn around. Face burning, I walked out of the room.
I hated Baxter, but I feared he was telling me the truth. I wasn’t accepted by the team. No one gave me a hard time, but how did I know that they all didn’t hate me?
I vowed to keep my head down and not bother anyone. Especially the players.
TWO DAYS LATER, Baxter sent me an email asking me to attend the next player meeting. The invite surprised me, but I decided that perhaps he was extending the olive branch after the awkward talk we had with Dad.
I felt excited. I hadn’t seen Max since that night in the hotel. I was wearing a pink fuzzy angora sweater and a pair of skinny cigarette pants with spiky black heels.
“Rory, come sit at the front,” Baxter motioned me to the front of the room. I preferred the back seats, in case I wanted a quick escape, but since Baxter was trying so hard, I weaved my way to the front of the room and sat in the front chair.
Players entered the room. I regretted the pink sweater. It was too fluffy and too feminine. I felt like a bunny in a roomful of wolves. I needed to rethink some of my wardrobe choices. Perhaps wear more neutral or dark colors that would help me blend in.
Baxter showed a video of last week’s games. Then the offense coach talked to the players about two new offensive plays they wanted to try. With my head bent over my book, I made careful notes. I had some serious doubts that our third offensive line could handle the second play. I chewed on my pen and made a note to ask Dad about it later.
I could sense that someone was watching me. I lifted my eyes. Off to the side of the room, Max leaned against the wall. His penetrating gaze focused on me. I flushed and ducked my head back over my book.
The man was way too hot. I swallowed, remembering how he had held me while I sobbed before tucking me into bed. Being cuddled by Max was almost a life changing experience. The sheer size of him, surrounding me, protecting me had made it one of the best cuddles in my history of cuddles.
“What are you writing in your book?”
Baxter had paused his talk and now stared at me.
“Me?”
“You are bent over your little diary writing so intently.” He glanced up at the room, with a smile on his face, inviting everyone into his joke. “We all want to know what kind of notes you write in there.”
I shook my head.
“Yes,” he motioned for me to come up and stand beside him. “Come. Come and talk to us. We’re interested in what you have to say.”
I could feel myself begin to sweat in my fucking angora sweater. Oh shit. Dad would kill me. He didn’t want me to talk in these meetings.
“I’m not supposed to talk.”
Baxter’s face broke out into a huge smile. “That’s okay. We won’t tell anyone.”
If I refused, I’d be dubbed a coward. But if took part, I might sound like a fool. I’d rather be a fool than a coward. With a flushed face, I stood up, and stared down at my notes.
“Well, I made notes about the second play for the third offensive line.”
“Go on,” Baxter was all smiles.
My shy gaze skimmed over the group. “Number 12 shoots left. And this play puts him far too deep in the pocket on the right side. It’d be an awkward angle for him. I thought we could flip or reverse the play, but if he doesn’t get the shot, and he has to send it back to the center man, the angle would be so sharp, that I doubt the center could manage a slap shot. It’d be a serious disadvantage. But,” I chewed on my pen. “It would work, if the leftie zipped around the net and took his shot on the other side.”
I fanned my face with my book and squinted at the room. Players all sat there, stock still, staring at me.
I shook my head. “It’s dumb. I wanted to ask my dad, I mean, ask the GM about it.”
Baxter had his arms crossed, and he wore a scowl on his face.
The offensive coach stepped forward. “That’s a brilliant idea. We had the same questions about #12 but we didn’t know how it’d work until we ran the play.” He stared at the whiteboard and then grinned at his two assistant coaches. “Why didn’t we think of this?”
I glanced up at Max. His head rested on his chest, and his arms were crossed. His shoulder shook. Was he laughing?
Baxter stepped forward. “Well, I guess that solves that mystery.” He sounded sour. “One more announcement, Rory.”
“Okay.”
He gestured widely to the men in the room. “On top of everything we ask you to do, the GM has come forward and asked for a volunteer to play personal bodyguard to Rory.”
My mouth parted in horror. That is not what Dad had meant. Had he? The way Baxter said it, he made it sound so awful.
I shook my head. “Unnecessary.”
“Yes, Rory. The GM insisted we babysit, sorry, we protect you.”
I shook my head at the room. “Total misunderstanding. I think I’m more than fine to take care of myself. In fact, my job is to take care of you. All of you.”
Baxter rubbed his hands together. “So, do we have any volunteers?”
One player spoke up. “We all have her back. That goes without saying.”
I could feel sweat rolling down my back. My face was flushed hot.
“Thank you. That was proven the other night. Thank you.”
I scrambled to my seat to grab my bag. I needed to get out of this meeting.
“I’ll do it,” a familiar voice spoke.
My back snapped up so fast, I almost gave myself whiplash. Blue eyes met mine.
“No!” I spoke with more force than necessary.
Baxter bestowed a cold smile between the two of us. “Logan, you have been assigned to ensure that Rory remains safe, as termed by the GM.”
Mortified, I picked my way over a sea of big long legs, in a desperate attempt to leave this meeting.
I’d deal with Max later. And stop this ridiculous notion that I needed to be babysat.
I got to the back of the room and glanced over my shoulder. Max’s eyes tracked me. I gave him my best “WTF” look and then fled.
