Page 21 of Hat Trick
“Thank you for telling me,” I finally say.
“You’re going to be working with him in a close capacity. I wanted you to be aware. I don’t think he’s having those thoughts anymore, but it’s important to me you have all the information.”
“I’m going to do my absolute best to work with him physically, but I don’t want there to be any unrealistic expectations. It’s going to be an uphill battle. The odds are going to be stacked against him.”
“Lexi, the fact that he showed up to our meeting today blows all my expectations out of the water. If he skates again, great. I just want him—” Coach stops to fix the picture frame on his desk. His phone lights up, and he glances at it briefly before turning it face down. “Here. With us.”
“So do I. It’s going to be slow at first. We’re not going to see a lot of improvements right off the bat. Based on his lack of balance with his crutches while only using his newly dominant leg, it’s obvious he hasn’t been doing any of his rehabilitation exercises. But we’ll get there,” I say.
“I know you know this, but don’t?—”
“Rush him. I won’t. We’re going to go at his pace, not mine.”
Coach tosses me an appreciative glance. “I have a meeting with Kirk in a few. We haven’t released an official press statement about Riley’s future with the team yet, but the media outlets are hounding us. That’s the plan for this afternoon.”
“Smart. I’ll work on a detailed long-term recovery plan and send it your way.”
“I don’t trust anyone else with this undertaking, Armstrong.”
“You aren’t Team Stuart?”
“I want to punch that guy in the fucking face. He went to college with one of the alternate governor’s sons, so it’s above my pay grade, but I swear to god if any of my players have a single complaint about him, he’s gone. That includes you.”
I smile, feeling appreciated. “Between us, I also want to punch him in the face.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Coach looks at me. “Get our boy back, yeah?”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, his ask making my soul ache.
We exchange goodbyes and I take a deep breath when I step out of the arena and into the late-morning sun. That meeting was emotionally charged, and I need a second to decompress.
When I look to my left, I spot Riley leaning against the wheelchair ramp leading to a security checkpoint. He’s staring at his phone. His shoulders are curling in, and I make a split-second decision.
“Hey,” I call out. He jerks his head up. His eyes meet mine, and when he doesn’t scowl, I take it as an invitation to walk over. “What’s up?”
“Waiting for an Uber,” he says. “Hopefully I won’t get in another accident and almost die.”
“Glad to see you have some humor left in you.” I point to my black Audi across the street. “I can drive you.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t really a suggestion. It’ll give us a few minutes to talk about your rehab sessions we’re starting on Monday. Do you want to walk, or should I pull the car around?”
“I can walk.” Riley glowers at the road, and I’m addingstubbornto the list of his new personality traits. “You don’t need to baby me.”
“I wasn’t sure, given the way you acted in the conference room.” I hear the click of his metal crutches following me when I start for the car. I slow my stride so I don’t get too far ahead of him. “Are you going to team dinner tonight?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t want to.”
“Gosh. You’re a peach.” We reach the crosswalk, and I hit the button for the pedestrian signal. “You lost your leg but picked up a bad attitude? Working together is going to be so fun.”
Riley huffs. He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “Sorry.”
“For what? Being a dick?”
