My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten why I’d come to Coach’s office in the first place. To plead my case.
“The specialist says I absolutely should not be playing yet. A dislocated shoulder should result in six weeks of rest regardless, but the bigger concern is this: if I get hit again before it’s completely healed, the nerve damage could be permanent. That means permanent numbness and tingling in addition to loss of grip strength. The problem is, the team doctors are of the opinion none of this matters since it’s my nondominant hand. Which makes no sense to me since I catch with both arms and hands. They’re clearly more concerned about my ability to do my job than the risk of permanent injury. Not gonna lie. I’m scared of getting hit again, and I’m worried it’s going to make me play too conservatively. If that’s the case, they might as well have Brent out there anyway.”
As I spoke, Mikey’s face dropped in disappointment and worry. “Oh. Shit.”
I ran a thumb at the dampness remaining under one of his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m going to talk to Coach, try to plead my case. Are you really okay? Do you need me to bail on practice and come home with you?”
The question made his chin wobble a bit, but he gave me a smile. “No. I’ll be fine. But… can you…” He swallowed and firmed his jaw. “Can you wait here for a minute? There’s something I forgot to tell my dad.”
I nodded and waited while he went back into the office for a minute. When he came out, he wouldn’t meet my eye.
“Mikey,” I said, lunging out to grab his arm before he raced past me. He winced and stopped in his tracks. Whatever it was going on with his family friend must have been bad. I hadn’t seen him this upset in a while. “You sure there’s nothing I can do?”
He shook his head and kept his eyes on the floor. “I’m sure,” he whispered. “Go easy on your arm, okay?”
I nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. He melted against me a little bit and kissed me longer than I expected. When he finally pulled back, he looked dazed.
“I… I’ll see you later,” he said.
I grinned at him. “If Sam gets there before I do, tell him to keep his hands off my apricot chicken.”
This time his smile was genuine and unforced. It made it easier to say goodbye to him and watch him walk away. My relief only lasted thirty seconds until I got into Coach’s office and prepared to be disappointed.
But Coach surprised me. Before I even had a chance to tell him what the specialist said, he told me, “I’m going to play Brent, after all,” he said with a big smile. “Give you another little while to get that arm back to full speed. No need risking permanent nerve damage. I still want you on the bench and focused, but I expect you to keep your flailing hands and strong opinions to yourself. Got me?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
I wanted desperately to ask him what had changed his mind, but I wasn’t inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Was there anything else?” he asked, reaching for the tablet he usually brought to meetings.
Only the teeny tiny issue of my sleeping with his son. But I wasn’t stupid enough to upset the apple cart right now, especially if they were dealing with a family issue.
“No, sir.”
“Then get out of here. I need to meet with the college scouting team, and I’m late.”
I hustled out of there and down to the locker room where I got an odd smile from Colin Saris.
“That Mikey I saw in the parking lot?” he asked. My stomach curdled. I didn’t like the look on his face, especially if the topic at hand was my… Mikey.
I nodded and reached into my locker for my turf cleats. “He was here to see Coach.”
“Yo, listen… can I get his number from you? It’s just that my, ah, ma wants to order some of his casserole shit for Christmas.”
The man was lying through his teeth. “I thought you already had his number,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. These cleat laces were a bitch, so I yanked on them. Hard.
When he didn’t respond, I glanced up and noticed him studying me. “Why you ask me that like that?”
“You know what?” I asked, feeling a head of steam building up. For as much as I’d never thought of myself as the jealous type, my gut was churning with green rage. “No. No you can’t have his number. Not only that, but if someone else gives you his number, lose it. Got me?”
He studied me for a second before the edge of his lip curled up. “That how it is?”