But I was gone, storming out of the locker room and into the balmy morning air.
I pulled out my cell phone, a bolt of jealousy shooting through me at the sight of Nate’s name.
Miller: She’s okay. A little crabbier than usual, but I don’t think you need to stage an intervention just yet.
Code for: Don’t do anything stupid that’ll only piss her off even more.
Me: Keep me updated and don’t tell her about this.
Miller: Sure. Does that make me your dirty little secret though because I’ve got to say, Wilder, that’s all kinds of fucked up.
A faint smile played on my lips. Miller was a weird one. But he’d helped me out more than once now.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Max had told me though, about his sister. That was some tragic shit, but it explained his savior complex where Harleigh was concerned.
Me: Just text me if anything changes.
He texted back a thumbs up emoji.
Pocketing my cell, I dropped down on the bench, inhaling a ragged breath. If Harleigh was spiraling… fuck, I didn’t know how to help her. How to be the guy she needed me to be. I’d read some stuff on depression and anxiety, tried to understand what she was going through. But I also knew it was a deeply personal experience, and what triggered one person, didn’t necessarily trigger another. I figured it was like looking through cracked glass. The visual impairment was the same, but everyone’s perception of the scene beyond it was different.
Until Harleigh opened up more and shared her experience, I was stumbling along in the dark, hoping like hell I got it right with her.
“Can I have a word?”
Bryson beckoned me into his office and I slipped inside, closing the door behind me.
“Didn’t expect to see you here at this time.” He glanced at the clock on the wall.
“School got out thirty minutes ago.”
“Didn’t make it to senior year.” He sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Nix?”
“I… uh, I need a job.” I ran my hand over my thigh, trying to stop my leg from jostling.
“A job, you say? Well, I can probably put you back on the rota, and—”
“No, I don’t mean fighting. I mean something legitimate.”
“Legitimate?” He cocked a brow. “Didn’t have you down as the kind of guy who’d wanna clean the johns or make the coffee.” Deep laughter rumbled in his chest.
I didn’t laugh though, and his brows pinched. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“I see.”
“Well, I don’t have much in the way of legitimate work right now. Pendall sees to the cleaning and repairs and we have Jodie on front of house.” If you could call the small desk in the foyer front of house. “I’m not sure what else—”
“I could work with the younger kids, help train them?”
“Like you’re working with the Rowe kid?”
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“Gotta have permits for that kind of thing, Nix. I’d be breaking all kinds of laws if I take you on as a trainer.” His lip curled. “How about I cut you a deal? I’ll take you on as my assistant. You can do a bit of this and a bit of that. And you go into the rotation once a month.”
“Brys, come on. You know Coach won’t—”