Heart in my throat, I take the seat opposite Mr. Talbot. Glancing around, the truth sinks in. This is a table for four with places set for two. My guys aren’t coming. They lied to me. I have a feeling Mr. Talbot is about to tell me why.
“Have you been here before?” he says, taking a sip of his iced tea.
“No,” I reply.
“Well, I ordered a few things. We can graze as we chat.”
As if on cue, the handsome waiter comes forward and presents an artfully arranged plate of tuna tartare. The marinated pieces of fish are balanced atop a bed of diced avocado, garnished with green onions and sesame seeds.
“Can I get you something to drink, Miss?”
“Just water,” I murmur.
“You can order anything you want,” says Talbot. “Wine? Cocktail?”
“Water will be fine,” I repeat.
The waiter floats away, leaving us alone at the table.
“Well, let’s dig in,” says Talbot, helping himself to the tartare. “Do you not want any—”
“I want to know what’s going on,” I reply. “Sir, I came here expecting to meet…someone else.”
“You…oh, hell.” He huffs a laugh, setting his fork down with a rattle. “Those sneaky assholes. Did Compton trick you into coming here? God, that explains why you’re being so damn weird.” He sighs, shaking his head with another laugh and I relax a little.
I say nothing, waiting.
“Well, then let’s forget about the damn tartare for a minute,” he says, shoving his plate to the side. “I can see from the haunted look on your face that you’re not going to eat a bite until you know why the hell I’m here.”
I nod, hands clasped tightly in my lap.
“Well, Doctor Price. The long and short of it is that my house is on fire, and I’m ready to do anything to put it out.”
“Fire, sir?”
“Yes,” he replies, those dark eyes glued on me. “My team. My organization. In the past five days, we’ve been rocked from top to bottom. Ever tried putting out a house fire, Price? I can tell you now that it’s not any damn fun.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? This all started with you, Doctor Price. I think you’re the only one who can end it.”
“End what?”
“The madness that has taken hold of my team,” he says with a wave of his hand. “In the last five days, I’ve had over half my players in my office threatening to quit on me. The other half are asking to be traded. They’re making demands, holding my feet to the goddamn coals. I’m ready to cry uncle. So here I am, talking to you.” He taps the table between us.
This is about me? The whole team is involved? That doesn’t make any sense. “Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you, sir,” I say.
“I really only have one question for you, Doctor Price,” he replies. “Do you like working for the Rays?”
“I…yes, sir,” I murmur. “I love it. I love the team. I love the support staff, the camaraderie. I loved the idea of being part of something new, of building something lasting from the ground up.”
He nods slowly. “And what’s your five-year plan, Price?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Umm…I always hoped that, if I won the Barkley Fellowship, it would lead to a full-time position. Not that I ever expected it,” I say quickly. “I just know that Barkley Fellows often transition into permanent roles. And that’s what I want…wanted,” I correct.
“From what I’ve gathered, you didn’t actually pick the Rays though,” he replies. “The fellowship was all set up for some other doctor.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah, from what I understand, he fought a white-water raft and the raft won. The position became vacant, so I filled it.”
“So, you didn’t pick the Rays,” he presses. “You settled for the only open option.”
“I guess I don’t see it like that,” I reply. “I took an opportunity. A door opened, and I leapt through it. And, at least in my life, the best things to ever happen to me were always the things I never planned for. Did I ever see myself as a sports medicine doctor for an NHL team? No. Frankly, when I arrived in Jacksonville, I couldn’t even tell you the names of all the positions. But I quickly fell in love with this city and this team. I wouldn’t change my placement for anything.”
He nods, pensive as he takes another sip of his iced tea.
My eye drops to the stack of manilla folders by his elbow. “What are those?” I dare to ask.
“These?” He places his hand over the stack. “These are your files, Price.”
“My files?”
“Yeah, this top one is all your professional records,” he says, lifting the top file. “Courtesy of Doctor Tyler. It’s your resume, transcripts, your application to the Barkley Fellowship, including letters of recommendation from doctors at the LA Galaxy, the Lakers, and the Cincinnati Sport Clinic.”
“And the others?”
He picks up the second file. “Well, these have been flooding into my office for the past five days. It’s letters of support from pretty much every high-profile patient you’ve ever worked with.”
“Oh my god,” I murmur, tears stinging my eyes.
Talbot flips open the file, thumbing through the pages. “I’ve got letters here from golf pros, an Olympic bronze medalist high diver, and what looks like half the Cincinnati Bengals. All glowing in their praise. To a one, they all say I’m an idiot if I don’t hire you immediately.”
I’m floored. This was my guys. It had to be. How did they get this all in motion so quickly? “Mr. Talbot—”
“And then there’s these,” he says, holding up the last folder.
I bite my lip trying to stop the tears from brimming over.
“Letters of support from every single player on my team. Every Ray, including most of the farm team guys. The support staff wrote too. The equipment managers all rave about how nice you are, how easy you are to work with. There’s even a letter in here from the coffee cart lady at the practice complex. Apparently, Candy says you’re generously paying for her son’s trombone lessons this year because she can’t afford them. He made first chair in his middle school orchestra thanks to you. And George on the janitorial staff said you bought him a new moped with a matching helmet when his broke last month.”
They even tracked down George? Yep, I’m officially crying. I snatch my napkin off the table, dabbing under my eyes.
“If nothing else, all this drama shined a light on a festering wound,” he goes on.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It turns out most of the guys were dissatisfied with the level of care they were getting under Doctor Avery. They were just all suffering in silence. But they’re not silent anymore. I’ve had over half the team in my office this week threatening to quit if I didn’t can him. The other half has been banging down my door telling me to hire you in his place.”
I shake my head. This is too much. I didn’t want to earn a spot this way. “Sir, I never meant to cause you this much trouble,” I say, leaning over the table. “I just wanted to do my job. I like to help people, and I’m in a position to do so. Money is nothing to me, sir. I think you might understand that better than most,” I add.
He says nothing.
“I work hard because I want to,” I go on. “I help people because I can. And I swear to you, I would never jeopardize a player’s health. Everything I did with Kinnunen was to keep him safe. I pulled him from the ice, even when he didn’t want me to. I got him scans. I worked in all the PT with him that I could. Yes, we fell in love,” I admit. “But if anything, that made me more committed to his care, not less. And if that makes me a terrible doctor because I get emotionally invested in patient care, well…I guess I don’t care,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Sir, I don’t care. I’m a double Cancer, which means I’m an emotional fucking wreck of a human who cares too deeply and tries too hard. Maybe they shouldn’t let double Cancers go to med school. But I did, and I’m here, and I stand by my choices. I would make them again.”
My speech sucks all the wind from my sails, and I slump back in the chair, snatching up my water to take a sip.
Talbot goes on as if I didn’t just spill my guts. “Langley’s letter is four pages long. He has a real gift for writing, as it turns out. He says he hasn’t felt so good on the ice in years, and that it’s all down to your regime of physical therapies.”
His smirk falls into a decided frown when he lifts out the top paper. “This one is from Kinnunen.” He flashes it at me and I can see the brevity. The whole letter barely covers half the page. He really had so little to say about something as important as this?
“Want me to read it to you?” He looks down at the page and clears his throat. “Dear Mr. Talbot, Give Dr. Rachel Price back her job, or I’ll leave the Rays, effectively immediately. And I’ll take Jake Compton with me. And this—” He hefts out a stack of papers held together with a binder clip. “These are all the offers they’ve both farmed in a matter of days from other teams willing to take them both. Five NHL teams, three Finnish Liiga teams, a Swedish team. And I got a text from my secretary as I sat down that she has trade offers pending on four other players too.”
My heart drops out of my chest. “Sir, I’ll talk to them. They won’t do this to you, I promise—”
“Oh, they’re not the only ones threatening to leave the team,” he replies with a huff. “I already told you, Price. I’ve got half a dozen more letters echoing a similar threat—Novikov, Sullivan, Langley, Morrow, Gerard. How the hell am I supposed to replace my entire starting lineup? You tell me.”
“I’ll…talk to them,” I say, still shaking my head. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go, sir. This isn’t right. This isn’t how I wanted to earn back my place on the Rays—with threats and avarice and—”
“Friendship,” he corrects. “Concern, outrage. That’s what all this is, Price,” he says, holding up the thick stack of files. “This is what teamwork looks like. This is what respect looks like. These are the files of someone who is honorable, someone who engenders loyalty. These men are ready to burn down the Rays for you, and I’m not just talking about Compton and Kinnunen.”
I’m crying again, trying to hold myself together and failing miserably.
“When my whole team is telling me something, it behooves me as their manager to listen. And what they’re telling me is that they like you, Price. They trust you. They want you on this team. You can’t buy loyalty like this,” he says, tapping the top of the files. “You’ve earned a second chance. I’m here to see that you get it.”
“Sir—”
“So, here’s my deal,” he says over me. “Finish out one more week of suspension without pay so Coach Johnson is satisfied. He needs to see that actions have consequences. So do the players. Set the example and do your time in the penalty box without complaint.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmur, nodding my head.
“Good.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “Then I want you to come back and finish out the rest of your fellowship.”
I gasp, looking up. “Sir—”
“Let me finish, Price,” he says, raising his hand. “This isn’t official yet, but the Rays are parting ways with Doctor Avery. As I said, when my team talks, I listen. They’ve spoken in one clear voice. Avery is out. That means I have a hole in my roster. I’m going to move that the board of directors approve the creation of three new PT positions—director and two assistant directors. One assistant will work exclusively with our injured players. The other will be a joint hire with the strength and conditioning team.”
I nod, not sure what I’m supposed to say. He’s dangling something that is starting to look decidedly like a carrot. But I’m afraid to trust it, afraid to hope.
“Consider your fellowship a trial period, Price,” he goes on. “Keep your nose clean. No more going rogue. No more pissing off Coach Johnson. And for the love of god, no more falling in love with any more of my Rays. At the end of the fellowship, you can take your pick of the assistant director positions.”
All the air leaves my chest in a huff. “Sir, I don’t—” I shake my head.
“You say ‘thank you,’ Price,” he teases. “And you say, ‘Yes, Mark, I accept.’ Because if I have to go over to those guys and tell them I couldn’t close the deal with you, I’m legitimately concerned for my safety. You’re saving my life with your answer, Price. Say ‘yes,’ and we can all leave here happy.”
“All?” I say, confused by his phrasing.
“Yeah, your three demons have been haunting the corner of the restaurant for the last five minutes,” he adds, pointing over my shoulder.
I spin around, eyes wide, to see Jake, Caleb, and Ilmari sitting at a table at the far corner of the room, watching us like hawks. And they’re not alone. Seated next to Ilmari is a curvaceous woman with a head of fiery auburn curls twisted up in a messy bun. Her red-painted lips split into a grin as she smiles and waves. Tess is here.
