34. Eric
ERIC
“C’mon, Eric. Give me three more.”
Slowly, I straighten my knees, my legs shaking with effort. The weight on the leg press is about half my usual. But I’m sweating like a pig in a sauna. And every muscle in both knees is screaming.
This is rehab. It hurts. It’s exhausting. And the results are depressing.
“Two more!” Chip calls. “You’re doing great.”
I bear down and bend my knees again. The shaking is worse this time.
“Breathe,” Chip coaches. “One more.”
I finish the set, but it’s ugly. The plates clang back into place when I’m through. And I’m panting like I just went seven rounds with a grizzly bear.
“How you feeling?” Chip has the balls to ask.
“How does it look like I’m feeling?” I snarl.
But the man is not offended. He’s used to pushing people further than they think they can go. “You look like a man who wants to kill me. That’s how I know we’re done here. Good work today, Eric. Nobody works harder than you.” He tosses a clean towel at me.
I catch it and wipe the sweat out of my eyes.
“Go stretch out one more time. I’ll see you Friday.”
“Thanks,” I grunt.
I limp into the warmup room with all the mats, tossing down my towel and then easing my body down onto it. This is the low point, right? It had better be. I need a shower and some food. Maybe a nap.
Everything seems impossible today. I should be scheduling my other knee surgery right about now. But the idea of doing all this again on the other side makes me want to howl.
I’m asking my hamstrings for a little more stretch when I hear the trainer’s voice just outside the door. “You ever try injectables? They can make you stronger real fast.”
“Yeah? Like, how, man?” And, hell, that’s Anton’s voice.
“Injections right into the muscle. I know a guy. You’ll be unstoppable.”
“Dude, really? What’s in it?”
The young trainer drops his voice, so I miss whatever he says next.
But I’ve heard enough. I struggle to my feet and walk out into the hallway. “Hey.”
“Hey, man,” Gino says. “Need something?”
“Yeah. I need you to stop selling bullshit to a healthy twenty-two-year old. The last thing he needs is injectables.”
“Dude,” Gino says with a nervous chuckle. “We were just chewing the fat.”
“Really?” I challenge. I’m pissed off, now. I’m pissed at my knees. And I’m pissed at the universe. And I’m pissed off that this jacked up muscle head would try to push supplements and drugs on a youngster who’s willing to do whatever he’s told to start his first NHL game.
“Henry!” I call down the hallway. “Are you around?”
The head trainer appears at the far end of the hallway, a roll of tape in his hands. “Right here, Eric. Problem?”
“Are injectable supplements part of your healthy player protocol?”
“No,” the older man shakes his head. “‘Course not. Who said that?”
“Gino. He referred me to a friend of his – a doctor – that’s not on your referral list. And now he wants Anton to look into some kind of supplement.”
Henry’s eyes narrow. “My office, Gino. Now.”
I’m working with Anton on the mats when Henry appears in the doorway.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, because I’m in the middle of trying to get my cousin to stretch his sartorius properly. “The muscle wraps around, see? You have to lengthen the whole thing so you can avoid a strain. Be kind to your groin.”
“Cool, man,” my dopey cousin says. “Speaking of my groin, Drake and I are headed to the Coco Club tonight. He says the women are fine. Want to come?”
“No thanks. I got plans.”
“Is your lady over her snit?”
“Not yet. But soon. What’s up, Henry?”
“Will you drop by my office before you go? I want to ask you something.”
“Sure. Be there in fifteen. We’re done here, anyway.”
After I’m showered and dressed, I retrieve the business card that Gino gave me from my locker, in case Henry wants a look at it.
“Hey,” I say, entering the trainer’s office. “Am I interrupting?” Coach Worthington is in there, too.
“Not at all,” Coach says. “Come in, will ya? Close the door.”
I do, and then I lay the business card on Henry’s desk. “I assume you wanted to see this?”
“Nice catch on that guy,” Coach says. “Who knows what’s in those supplements? Some kids will do anything the trainer tells them. Next thing you know, they’re testing positive for banned substances. And their only crime is trusting some asshole.”
“Yeah.” He’s got it exactly right. “A kid like Anton will do literally anything to make it on this team. Hell, so would I. I know better than to think that injections would magically improve my knee. But the idea is really seductive.”
Coach and Henry share a glance. Henry picks up the card on his desk, makes a face, and then tosses it down again.
“Obviously Gino isn’t going to work out for the long term.
I told him that spotting, stretching, and taping are the only things he’s allowed to do.
I’m going to have to fire him as soon as I can find someone else. ”
“Good plan.”
“But, listen. Have you ever thought about training?”
“Training?” I repeat. I train all the time.
“As a career,” Henry says.
“What? No.” I have a career, my subconscious argues. Although Henry’s serious expression prevents me from brushing the question aside. “No. I hadn’t ever thought of that.”
“Look,” he says, waving me into a chair. “I know you don’t want my advice. You’ve made it very clear that rehabbing your way back onto the roster is your goal. I respect that. But everyone’s career ends eventually.”
“I know that,” I say. Although, to be fair, I do my best to forget it.
“You have a lot to offer, Eric,” Coach says. “Any G.M. would be thrilled to have you as a scout. Any program would hire you as a trainer.”
“You’d have to certify,” Henry adds. “But you’re so smart that it’d be a walk in the park for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, my face heating. “I’m not ready to think about that yet.”
“We know,” Coach says. “You’re not done with hockey. But hockey isn’t done with you, either. So when you’re ready to figure out your second act, we’ll be here to discuss it with you.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, which is suddenly tight. “I’ll remember that.” I glance at the clock on Henry’s desk. “I’d better run. There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“Run carefully,” Coach jokes. “Wear your knee brace.”
“You know it.”
A few hours later I’m doing leg lifts outside Alex’s apartment, when the door jerks open. “Hey, Duff? You want anything from Hunan Garden?”
After her head pokes out of the door, it still takes her a second to find me, since I’m not in the chair, but rather on a yoga mat on the floor. She lets out a surprised little yelp when our gazes collide.
“No thanks, I already ate,” I answer, sitting up.
“You’re not Duff,” she says, leaning against the door frame. She’s wearing yoga pants and a pink maternity T-shirt that says “Loading…” on the belly, with a half-filled status bar running beneath the word.
“I’m not Duff,” I agree with a smile. Her hair is in a messy bun with a pencil holding it together, and I just want to take her in my arms and kiss her.
Which I will, just as soon as she gives me the chance.
“Really, Eric? Don’t you have better things to do than hang around in the hallway in place of my body man?”
“Not at all,” I tell her. “This is the highest use of my time. I can rehab while I look after you. And those are the only two things I enjoy, so…” I shrug.
Her eyes narrow. “It won’t work.”
“What won’t?” I rise from the floor and casually stretch my right quad.
“This little game you’re playing. I’m not going to invite you inside. And then, you know…” She clears her throat.
“Invite me inside?” I clarify in a sultry voice.
“Eric!”
“That’s okay,” I say mildly. “I wasn’t expecting you to.”
“I’m working.”
“You and me both, honey. Let me know when you order that food, so I can intercept the delivery man for you and make sure he didn’t short your order. I take my work very seriously.”
“You’re teasing me.” She tries to cross her arms over that giant, wonderful belly.
“Not at all. Now go and order one of everything and I’ll get back to strengthening my muscles and keeping the bad guys away.”
She gives me one more grumpy look and then shuts the door.
I chuckle.
“I heard that!” she says from the other side of the door.
“Must not be working very hard, then.” She doesn’t reply. I’ve worked my way up to my hip flexors when the door opens again. “Back so soon? Did you miss me?”
“I placed my order. It will be here in thirty minutes.”
“Good to know.” I lift my T-shirt over my head and toss it onto the chair.
Her eyes widen, and then stray down my torso. “Is there a problem with the heating system out here?”
“No problem. I’m just more comfortable this way. Go back to work now, okay?” I bend down and pick up the dumbbell I’ve stashed against the wall, beginning a set of curls. “I’m not afraid to fight dirty, you know.”
“I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then you’ll soon find out. Run along. You’re interrupting the concentration of the security personnel.”
Alex swallows. Then she closes the door and disappears. But I swear it’s not even ten minutes later when that door opens again. “Eric?”
“You do miss me! Just admit it.” I’m on my fourth set of curls.
“I have a problem. I need to go downtown.”
That gets my attention. I set down the weight and grab my shirt. “What kind of problem?”
She waves me inside, where I follow her into the kitchen.
She turns on the kitchen faucet, which is what paranoid people do if they are worried about bugs.
I’m sure my brother taught her that trick.
“Earlier today, I pushed through a contract with a Thai manufacturer who will supply my next shipment of motherboards.”
“Right,” I agree. “The other half of your double order.”
“Well, that manufacturer’s representative just called to say they will be unable to fulfill the contract. Then he said he would like to explain why, but it has to be in person. And would I meet him downtown near his hotel?”
“So you said yes?” I don’t like the sound of this at all. A random nighttime meetup?
“The whole thing is weird, but I really need to know why he’d bail on me. I really liked these guys. Maybe I can still change his mind.”
“Does this sound creepy to you?” I ask.
“Well, it’s weird. But he wants to meet me at The Dutch in SOHO. There’s nothing creepy about that. Nothing bad ever happens at a cute bistro…”
“So you want to go?”
“Of course. Let me just change. Would you warn the doorman that my dinner order is going to show up without me? It’s prepaid. Thanks.” She’s gone again.
I pull out my phone and connect to The Company’s personal security dispatch. “Hey, this is Eric Bayer. Who’ve I got tonight?”
“Your old man,” my father says into my ear. “Got a problem at the Engels place?”
“I’m really not sure.”