Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bianca – Present Day
The baggage claim in the Colorado airport smelled like burned coffee and sweat.
It hadn’t changed in all the time I’d been away.
I stood by the carousel with my weight evenly distributed and my shoulders back as other passengers from my flight lined up.
The moment the carousel finally groaned to life, people surged forward, pushing and shoving.
It was like they believed that being closer to the carousel might somehow speed up the process and that their bags would magically appear first.
My phone buzzed against my hip.
DAD: Sending a car, should be outside in fifteen.
I swore my father still thought I was seventeen. I rolled my eyes and typed back quickly.
BIANCA: Already have my rental. I will see you at the Lair at two.
Almost immediately those little dots bounced.
DAD: I was sending a car because I thought it would be nice if we grabbed lunch first. Thought we could get caught up, talk like we used to. It’s been a while.
I let out a sigh. Nothing had been the same between us after I’d ended things with Tyler five years ago. Dad had had it in his mind that I was going to marry him, and I’d probably thought the same until he betrayed me and my trust. I typed back.
BIANCA: This is a professional employment-related meeting at your office. I will see you at two as planned.
I silenced my phone before he could respond and shoved it back into the pocket of my tailored black dress pants. The ones I’d chosen specifically for today because they screamed sports medicine professional without whispering coach’s daughter.
I watched the carousel, finally spotting my sensible black hardshell suitcase with the pink ribbon come down the chute.
It was large enough to contain three weeks’ worth of clothing but still small enough for me to manage on my own.
Last month I’d agonized over what I would move back home with me, and while I’d fit all my clothing into this suitcase, I’d packed the rest of my life into seven boxes and shipped it to my father’s house ahead of time.
The rest of my things I’d sold or donated.
The drive from the airport to the Lair took me exactly forty-three minutes.
I’d made this drive more times in my life than I cared to count, plus I’d spent the last two weeks calculating the commute times and traffic patterns with the same attention I’d applied to my rehabilitation protocols.
If anything, I paid great attention to detail, and I didn’t want to be late.
I’d lived almost my entire life here in Colorado, and it amazed me how different it looked now. Maybe it was because I was looking at it through adult eyes instead of teenager eyes, but the city looked exactly as I remembered, except for a few new buildings that had popped up.
The moment I made the last bend, the Lair appeared.
It seemed to rise against the overcast sky.
The building was impressive, with its black steel panels that overlapped one another like scales.
I remembered when the team had moved into the Lair and how it had been the talk of the area.
I could also still see my father’s face and how proud he was to be the head coach for a team closer to home.
I’d expected him to be just as proud when the team offered me the position of head athletic trainer and rehabilitation specialist four weeks ago, only days after my interview with them.
Only, when I called him to tell him the news, he didn’t seem happy.
He sounded annoyed, and as our conversation went on, he became more annoyed with the changes I wanted made to the contract.
“While I am excited to start, there is something I want added into the contract.”
“Let’s hear it,” he barked into the phone, his tone exactly the same as if he were speaking with the players and not his own flesh and blood.
“I want to have full freedom over all medical decisions, and I also want the final authority on player readiness after an injury, regardless of team standings or playoffs. I’d also like my compensation to be measurable on outcomes, injury prevention rates, recovery timelines, and return to play success. ”
“Bianca, that is ridiculous!” he yelled, but I stopped him.
“I don’t think so. Dad, I want to be evaluated and compensated for the things I can control, not on the things I can’t. So with that said, I do not want to be compensated based on the team’s performance.”
He was quiet, and I listened to nothing but his breathing on the other end of the line for a long while, until finally he cleared his throat.
“So, what do you think?” I questioned.
“Bianca, I think you are making a mistake with your demands. However, I know they are adamant about wanting you here, so I guess we will see you three to four weeks before the start of the season. Keep an eye out for the revised contract.”
He’d slammed the phone down before I could say anything else, leaving me with the feeling that perhaps I’d made a mistake by accepting the position I’d worked hard for.
As I pulled into the underground parking of the Lair, I still had that sinking feeling.
My father’s office was on the second floor, a beautiful, large corner office with windows that overlooked both the practice rink and the main arena.
I had only been in this office one time before, which was during my interview with the team’s general manager and the ownership representatives a few months ago.
My father had recused himself from that meeting and interview, even though I was pretty sure that everyone in the room figured I wouldn’t have been there without him.
I glanced down at my watch, and the moment it flashed two, I knocked.
“Come in.”
My stomach flipped at the sound of his bark, and I opened the door and stepped inside the office, looking at my father as he sat behind his desk.
He had been handsome once, before the stress of coaching all these players etched lines around his eyes and silvered his dark hair. Now he just looked tired.
“Bianca.” He stood, and for once, smiled.
For a moment, I saw him hesitate, unsure how he should greet me. Initially, I suspected it was because he was unhappy about my presence, and then I understood it stemmed from the circumstances. In our current situation, he was two completely different men: the coach and my father.
I walked over and hugged him, noticing the brief and careful interaction as his hand rested between my shoulder blades.
“Welcome home,” he whispered, hugging me tight before he let me go.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping back, trying to maintain the professional distance I’d worked hard to perfect. “I really appreciate you making time.”
“You know, you could have let me send a car. It would have saved you the rental fee.”
“I know and I appreciate it, but I needed to have my own vehicle. I know I can’t be relying on you all the time until I get my own car. Besides, you’ve always told me that independence matters here, so I’m starting off on the right foot.” I smiled.
“You mean independence matters here, in my domain at the Lair.”
“In the workplace, yes,” I said, sitting down, crossing my legs at the ankle and folding my hands in my lap.
“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” my father asked, taking a seat behind his desk.
I swallowed hard. “Well, I wanted to discuss the department transition along with my expectations for the department.”
My father looked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to argue and try to shift the conversation into something warmer, maybe even more paternal, but my father hadn’t built his reputation by missing cues.
“Of course,” he said, picking up a pen and grabbing a notebook.
“Before you start, I want to let you know that I have scheduled introductions for you with the full roster over the next few weeks. Training starts in four weeks, and you’ll need to hit the ground running so we are game-ready. You will have a lot of work to do.”
“That won’t be a problem.” I nodded. “I’m ready for the challenge.”
“Good, I’m glad. Now let’s get on to business.”
The training suite occupied the entire east wing. Treatment room, rehabilitation gym, hydrotherapy pools, and my large corner office with windows overlooking the practice rink. Everything I’d requested and some things I hadn’t known existed, and I couldn’t be more excited.
I walked the empty corridors, my footsteps echoing against the polished floors.
I couldn’t believe that in another week this place would be chaos with treatments, assistant trainers managing schedules, and the constant motion of professional athletes.
Although, right now, in late August, it felt like I was walking through a museum and not an arena.
This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. Full control, respect, and a chance to build something that matters. You got what you asked for. Don’t mess it up.
As I walked the halls looking at photographs of past players, I remembered how I got to this point.
I stopped, staring up at a photograph of Marcus Grant, my mind instantly moving to his career-ending injury.
I often wondered what became of him. Then the memory of Tyler Conroy’s betrayal danced through my mind, along with my mother’s departure, when I was only ten.
Every single person in my life, aside from my father, that I’d thought valued me as a person, always had an ulterior motive.
It had taken me a long time to accept this and learn how to function around the pain of this hurt.
I’d learned to translate the pain and loneliness that came with these betrayals into being so competent that no one questioned anything about me.
It also taught me to be closed-off to anyone who may want to get close.
I smiled as I walked into my office, taking in the scent of fresh paint.
The boxes containing my medical texts that I’d sent to the Lair lined one wall.
Then I looked over at the other wall. My father had told me he had my degrees hung for me.
I looked at my bachelor’s from Boston University, my master’s in sports medicine, and the certificates I’d received after working for three years in the Minor League.
It was all proof that I’d earned this position, even if I never escaped the whispers of others.
I took a seat behind my desk, getting a feel for my new space, then got up and looked out the window.
I could see my father on the rink below, running through plays with his assistant coaches.
Even with the distance between us, he commanded attention, which was what made him brilliant at his job and difficult in all other aspects of life.
My mother had called his actions “consuming.” She had been an Olympic figure skater who believed that love could survive anything, even someone whose true love didn’t lie within their marriage.
I was only ten years old when she left us on that frosty January morning.
The note said nothing more than I am sorry.
I am not strong enough to compete with your love of hockey.
My poor father hadn’t seen it coming. I think her leaving him had ruined him in ways, but now, as I stood here watching him and understanding what it had taken me to get to where I was, I could see what she’d meant. It hadn’t dulled his love for the game, though.
My phone buzzed, pulling me back to the present.
DAD: Dinner tonight? Non-negotiable dad time, not coach time.
I stared at the message. I wanted to connect, but I also feared the cost. I had sworn I’d never be like him and allow hockey to consume me. Instead, I found a different way for it to devour me.
I saw so much of myself in him, I often wondered if I too would be alone for the rest of my life.
I was almost certain that there wasn’t anyone in the world who would ever understand my passion.
Plus, I was pretty sure I’d worked so hard at building my protective armor so thick from those who had always been seeking something other than a relationship that there was nothing left of the loveable Bianca I used to be underneath.
The one who could laugh at the drop of a hat and knew how to have fun.
BIANCA: See you at seven.
I set my phone down, stepped away from the glass, and returned to unpacking, building the professional space that would be the ground I proved myself.
Right now, the only thing that mattered was making myself happy.
The actual test would begin when practice started, when I needed to prove to everyone that I belonged here and earn their respect, but for now I stood in my empty office, occasionally peeking at the rink below, watching my father command his coaches while I unpacked my things.