58. No Big Deal

Rhys

I pace in my hotel room, my phone pressed to my skull, listening to every word from Amira and wishing she were saying something else. "No, I get it," I say, trying to mask my emotions. "It's fine."

But I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose.

"This isn't the worst thing," she reassures me.

"Right. Right," I say with forced cheer. Don't want her to know that I'm a treacherous mess inside all over again. "Of course it's not."

"Rhys," she says, using her mum voice. "Are you hiding the way you're feeling?"

She's not in the same room as I am. She can't really tell. "I swear it's no big deal. I mean, I get it. They don't want to commit. I will remain trade bait. Hey, hopefully another team likes me."

"Just because there are trade rumors doesn't mean you'll be traded. And just because the Foxes don't want to sign you now doesn't mean they won't at the end of the season," she says, calm and caring. "It's just business. Teams sometimes want to take their time. You really have to try to put it out of your head, hon. Did you give any more thought to what I suggested?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. I should have. But I was busy in Lucky Falls. "I don't really know," I say, avoiding the topic of seeing a sports psychologist. What athlete doesn't have anxiety? "I should probably go work out. Run. Something."

"The GM thinks you're a great center. They're glad to have you. A lot of teams don't do contract renewals in the middle of the season." She goes on to explain why and all of it makes perfect sense. But that doesn't change the fact that my chest feels too tight, and my muscles too tense, and my mind too damn busy.

I leave for the Chicago arena and hit the visitors' workout room early, pedaling fast and faster still on the exercise bike, trying to burn off all these feelings. When I hop off, I'm covered in sweat. And not at all relaxed. Gavin wanders in, giving me a once-over. "You doing okay, man?"

"Definitely. Absolutely," I lie.

"How did the call go?"

I don't feel like talking right now. "Fine."

"You sure about that?" he asks.

"Definitely. I'm thinking sushi if we win?"

"When we win," he says, and we head to the locker room, out of step.