Chapter 21
Adrift
The moment the elevator doors closed, Toby turned to Sam. “Hey, so I’m not sure I’m supposed to say anything, but the team just held a vote on the bonus money for round one.”
Sam’s eyes bugged. “Without me?” he croaked.
“It’s what Grims and the alternates told us to do.”
Grims, or Dave Grimson, was the captain of the Blizzard and a scary fucker to cross. The thing was, though, Cap was a fair leader who usually sought buy-in from the entire team—so were the alternate captains. This move didn’t make sense.
“I don’t get it. I was only a few floors down. I could have been there. Why didn’t I get a text?”
Toby’s eyes darted to the side. “It was a last-minute thing. We couldn’t find you, and we figured you were busy doing your rehab.”
Sam gave him a hard stare. “And yet you found me just now.”
“We didn’t know where you were at that moment,” Toby defended.
Had Sam been deliberately left out of the vote? Acid in his stomach churned. “How, uh, did the vote turn out?”
Toby shrugged. “Not sure yet. But I assume you’re covered.”
Covered by what? A full share? A partial? A courtesy share? Pride kept Sam from asking—Toby probably didn’t know the answers anyway—so he stared at the elevator wall in sulky silence as they rode the few floors up to where the team bustled with activity.
The doors whooshed open. As he peeled away, Toby called, “I’ll see ya later, yeah? Good luck.”
“Later.”
Sam trod with heavy steps toward Coach LeBrun’s office, stopping short when the man himself loomed in the doorway. Coach motioned him inside. “Take a seat.”
The door closed, the sound echoing the anxiety vibrating inside Sam as he perched on the edge of the chair. Coach rounded the desk, holding his tie to his middle as he took a seat across from him.
Coach leaned forward, the sleeves of his dress shirt straining the fabric against his biceps. The guy was a beast. He was also direct, all business, and spare with his words. No chitchat. “So tell me about the ankle.”
Sam’s frustration simmered in his gut. He’d done a good job hiding his discomfort, but he’d hit a wall, his ankle getting no worse but also no better.
His mobility wasn’t where it needed to be.
Still, taped up and laced in a boot, he could skate.
But push off and burst at high rates of speed? That was the question.
He blew out a silent breath. “I’ve been making steady progress. Pretty much there.” Would Coach buy it? Maybe. If he hadn’t been keeping up with the trainers’ reports. Or if the trainers were making the injury sound better than it was.
Like Grimson, LeBrun was exacting, demanding, tough when he needed to be, but fair. He was currently sizing Sam up with one of those looks so typical of Coach—the one that said Sam was full of it.
“Look, Durby, I know you were hoping to get back before this next round, but the trainers think the best course is for you to stay behind and work on getting that ankle where it needs to be.”
Sam swallowed the knot of disappointment in his throat.
It was one thing to expect the bad news to come, but actually hearing it was a punch to the gut.
“I could be there to support the boys, and if my ankle’s doing better …
” Coach shook his head, and Sam’s hopeful argument wilted.
He’d been around long enough to know how this worked.
Injured guys didn’t go on road trips with the team.
“You’re better off sticking around here and working on that injury. With more rehabbing, you’ll get back that much sooner. Maybe even before the end of this round.”
Sam wiped his palms along his legs. He needed to be a grown-up, but he wanted to cry like a little kid. “Looks like Toby’s slotted in well on the second line.” Lame, but hey, probably an adult thing to say.
Coach leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Yeah, he’s done a good job filling, which is another reason we don’t need to rush your rehab.”
So the spot was Toby’s. Possibly permanently since he still had a year left on his team-friendly contract—unlike Sam.
Sam couldn’t hold back. “What do you think my chances are of making the semifinals?”
“If we get that far, that decision will come after you’re evaluated.
” Coach pressed forward again. “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat this.
All your focus needs to be on that ankle.
These usually aren’t career-ending injuries, but they take time.
You do exactly what the trainers and your PT tell you and stick with the program.
You’ll get there. I know it sucks right now, but we’re talking about more than just your time here.
The rest of your career could be impacted by how this rehab goes. ”
A buzz sounded in Sam’s ears, and he stared, momentarily stunned into silence. Coach made it sound like he might never play at the same level again.
“But I’m so close!” Sam pleaded, grasping at straws outside his reach.
Coach’s brows knitted in sympathy. “Yeah, you are, and that’s because you’ve been putting in the hard work. That kind of dedication doesn’t go unnoticed. But the truth is, no matter how committed this is”—he tapped his temple—“the body’s just not there yet.”
“I was in the skates the other day!” The protest was loud, even though he knew how futile it was.
Yeah, he’d been in skates—and quickly out of them when the pivots had hurt like hell and his push-offs had been nearly impossible.
When he’d unlaced afterward, his ankle had throbbed like a mother, and the trainers had tried to reassure him by saying, “Today was about information gathering. It was just a test.” When he’d asked when they’d let him try out the skates again, they’d hemmed and hawed. “Let’s give it a week.”
Coach scanned his computer screen before turning a level gaze back on Sam.
“It’s only been four weeks. These things can take as much as eight, twelve.
With setbacks, they can take even longer.
Let’s take it one day at a time and see where you land after we’re through round two.
Meanwhile, let’s enjoy tonight’s celebration before we enter the next gristmill. ”
A gristmill Sam wouldn’t be participating in.
A feeling Coach was holding something critical back began to mount inside Sam as he navigated the hallway toward the locker room, head down.
He nearly smacked into the captain. Grims was an imposing guy, six-foot-four of pure muscle with a disposition that could only be compared to a grizzly bear, and Sam took a few steps backward.
“Hey, dude. Watch where you’re going.” One side of the captain’s mouth tipped up in the semblance of a smile. Then he gave Sam a hard tap against his solar plexus. “You going to join us on this trip?”
Sam didn’t hide his dejection. “Looks like I’m on ice for now.”
“Don’t feel bad. It’s only two games. How’s the ankle coming?”
“Getting there.” Against his better judgment, Sam gathered his courage and plowed into dangerous territory. “Before I forget, I was wondering when we’ll be voting on the split. I don’t want to miss that.”
Grimson’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “We locked in the vote already. I sent Tobes to find you—didn’t like the idea of leaving you out—but he said he couldn’t raise you. We waited a half hour while he texted and hunted for you. Couldn’t hold out any longer.”
Shock waves rippled through Sam. Was Grims lying, or had his own buddy betrayed him? He looked at his phone. “No texts. I was in PT, just a few floors down,” he said lamely. “He found me just now for Coach without any problem.”
Grimson seemed to consider this before his expression shuttered.
“Not sure what happened, then. You know how fluky cell service can be in this building. As for not finding you, maybe you were using the head when he came looking. Either way, I’m sorry, man.
Don’t like leaving anyone out of the loop. ”
So where did it land? Sam refrained from asking. Had they voted to cut him out completely? It wouldn’t be unheard of since he’d contributed zip in round one, but Christ, he’d played his heart out all during the regular season to get them to the playoffs. Did that count for something?
Grimson clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll miss having you along, junior.
But we’ll try our damnedest to make it to round three.
Hopefully, you’ll be back by then.” With that, Grimson turned on his heel and strode away.
The truth landed like a gut punch. This wasn’t a mistake.
It was sabotage. Toby had known exactly where Sam was and lied to Grims, costing Sam his chance at the bonus.
Sam stormed into the PT lobby on a trajectory leading him straight to Angie’s table.
“Mr. Durbin, you need to wait in reception,” Celia clipped, startling him and making him pivot in place, his bad ankle taking the brunt of the movement.
As he clenched his teeth and fired off a string of curses inside his head, Attila the Bun continued her crisp admonishment.
“Miss Rossi will be with you as soon as she’s done with her current patient. ”
Christ, why was everyone treating him like a stupid little kid?
Sam managed a head bob and tried not to hobble as he made his way to a chair that gave him a partial view of Angie’s table.
Picking up a magazine, he flipped pages without looking at them, instead straining to catch sight of her lithe figure as she moved around the table.
Angie’s patient, a good-looking dude, appeared shortly after at Attila’s desk, ready to check out.
The guy’s looks annoyed Sam further, but he let it go when the severe office manager told Sam he could go back.
Tossing down the magazine, whose title he didn’t even know, he made his way back to Angie as she was sanitizing her table.
“Sorry to keep you late,” he said.
She winked at him covertly. “No problem.” She patted the table’s padded surface. “Climb aboard. Let’s get you fixed up.”