Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

brOCK

“Hey … Brock?”

A soft voice pulls me slowly from sleep, and I blink awake to find Presley leaning over me. She’s put her long, chestnut brown hair into a bun on top of her head, and her brown eyes look bright.

“Pres?”

She crouches down next to the couch. “I wanted to let you sleep, but the PT in me thought it might not be great for your back. Also I figured you probably have an early flight in the morning you won’t want to miss.”

My chest warms at her thoughtfulness. This whole night, from the moment she called to check in on me and then when she welcomed me into her home, she’s been taking care of me. I’m lucky I can call her a friend.

I also have a whole list of things to point out to Lincoln to prove that our relationship is purely platonic. Like how Presley sat on the opposite end of the couch from me and didn’t try to make any moves or even flirt.

I stretch my arms over my head and then sit up, pulling my feet off the ottoman. “Thanks. I appreciate you looking out for me. ”

She beams. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends. Exactly.

I slowly extricate myself from her couch and stand up, checking the time on my watch. Just after one a.m. I pull out my phone to get a LetsRide, but as soon as I open the app, Presley puts her hand over my phone.

“Let me drive you. It will be way easier.” She grabs a hoodie from the back of the couch where she was sitting and laughs when I scowl at the Rays logo on it. “Sorry to tell you, I only own Rays hoodies,” she says apologetically.

“You don’t need to drive me,” I say. She’s already moving to the door, slipping her feet into a pair of sandals. “It’s late.”

“I don’t have to work tomorrow. It’s no problem. You’d have to wait forever for a LetsRide anyway.” She motions for me to follow her. “Come on. Stop whining.”

I put my hands up in surrender. I know that look. I’m going to lose this argument like I did when I tried to convince her that book six is basically a retelling of the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone.

We’re both quiet on the drive. I’m exhausted, and the short nap I got on Presley’s couch has only enhanced it. It’s not just physical exhaustion either. My time with Lincoln and his family and then with Presley has been a good distraction, but I haven’t been able to completely let go of the worry about what’s going to come down from the Devils’ general management after what I said today. Presley might be right that a lot of people are thinking it and that some of my teammates might agree. That doesn’t mean anyone high up at the Devils will like what I did. I’m drawing attention to the failures in Devils management, which they’re obviously trying to cover up.

When Presley pulls up to the hotel, I lean over to hug her. Lincoln would totally read into it if he knew how much I liked hugging her, and he wouldn’t believe me that it’s nothing beyond the comfort of someone who understands me so easily. Friends like that are hard to come by. I don’t have anyone in Denver I can trust like this. I’m friendly with some teammates, but I could never confide in them.

“Thanks for everything today, Pres.” I squeeze her tighter and then finally pull away. She still has to drive home.

Her hands slide down my arms before she sits back, and I open the door with one hand. Goosebumps rise up along my arms, probably from air that rushed into the car. It’s not cold in LA by any stretch of the word, especially for a big Wyoming boy. But my sweater is lightweight and the blast of air is a surprise.

“Anytime,” she says.

I reluctantly step out of the car, wishing I could hang out another day or so with Presley, but my flight is already set, and I have practice on Monday, bright and early.

Who knows, maybe by Monday I’ll have all the free time in the world. My chest tightens at the thought, bringing back all the worries I was able to shed for the few hours I was with friends. I wave to Presley as I walk toward the hotel and she waves back. Then I hear, “I’m totally beating you to the end of book ten!”

When I turn around laughing, she waves vigorously out the window and then drives off. One good thing may come of me getting fired: I could beat Presley to the end of book fifteen for sure.

We’re expected to be at the facility early Monday morning since we lost. Even though I told Mom not to interrupt her vacation for me, she’d insisted on coming to Denver on Friday anyway. She and Kurtis even picked me up from the airport. Hanging out with them was a good distraction from worrying, but now that I’m at practice, that ball of anxiety I battled all weekend returns in full force.

Our weightlifting workout first thing in the morning keeps my mind off things, but by the time I’m in meetings at mid-morning, there’s nothing to do but think about what happened. I try to focus on the team meeting and the position group meeting that follows, but I feel like I’ve gotten the bare minimum out of what we’re talking about. Pretty hypocritical considering my criticism on Thursday afternoon.

That’s the thing. I should feel some loyalty and partnership with the guys in my position group, but I don’t. Maybe we’re all checked out because of what I did. They have every right to be mad about what I said. Attitudes aside, we’re all here doing our best, even if we have different ideas of what the best thing to do is.

By the time we get to the field for the correction period, I’m holding myself back from doing everything full tilt. We’re not wearing pads, just jerseys and helmets, so letting loose will get someone hurt, and that’s the last thing I need to add to this mess. When we get to conditioning, I’m able to burn off a little steam.

That doesn’t mean I head into the locker room calm, especially not when one of the assistant coaches comes to get me after my shower. This could just be another talking to. It’s been a long time since something like this has happened, and maybe I’ve earned some good will. Hey, my comments have been all anyone is talking about after our spectacular loss to the Rays, so maybe my distraction from the bigger problems and the way they use that to ignore the issues will get me a pass.

But in my gut, I know that’s not what this is.

Especially when the general manager is sitting in the office with the coach when I arrive.