Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Scout
My eyes feel like someone rubbed them with sandpaper. I need coffee before I can form complete thoughts.
I stumble to the kitchen and start the pot brewing. While it gurgles, I check my phone. Three texts from Jessa asking if I'm alive. One email from Juliet.
My stomach flips.
Scout, just wanted to remind you about the proposal. It could be a really exciting addition to the team. Let me know if you need any resources or access to medical files. - J
Two weeks. I have two weeks to prove I'm more than a mobile coffee cart. Two weeks to convince coaches who barely register my existence that I actually have a brain.
No pressure.
The coffee finishes and I pour a cup, dumping in enough oat milk to make it barely qualify as coffee anymore. My hands shake a little. Lack of sleep, obviously. Not terror. Definitely not terror.
I take my coffee to my bedroom and open the proposal document. In the harsh light of morning, it reads like a fever dream written by someone with imposter syndrome and a thesaurus problem.
This needs a complete rewrite. I need to sound confident and professional. Someone who deserves to be in that room.
Fake it till you make it, right?
A knock on my door makes me jump. Jessa pokes her head in, concerned.
"Are you okay? You look like death."
I smile. "Thanks. That's exactly the look I was going for."
"Seriously, did you sleep at all?"
"Define sleep." I gesture vaguely at my laptop. "I was up late... working."
Working is code for sexting a man I've never met while questioning all my life choices, but Jessa doesn't need those details.
Her eyes flick to my screen. "Is that for the Havoc?"
"Maybe." My cheeks heat. "Juliet found out about my kinesiology degree. She asked for a mobility program proposal."
"Scout! That's amazing!"
I downplay it. "It's just a proposal. They might hate it."
"Or they might love it and you'll finally get to use that expensive degree." She grins. "Either way, don't work yourself to death before lunch."
"Right back at ya!"
I shower fast and throw on my uniform. Black yoga pants. Gray team polo. Hair in a braid that's already staging an escape attempt. Minimal makeup because I'm too tired to care about looking human.
I grab my bag, my travel mug of coffee, and head out.
The drive to the arena's quiet this early. The sun hasn't fully risen yet and the streets are mostly empty. I count red lights out of habit. Five between my apartment and work. The same as always. The predictability's comforting.
When I arrive, the parking lot's nearly deserted. Just a few cars belonging to early staff and maybe one or two players who couldn't sleep. I recognize Silas's car in his usual spot, perfectly centered between the lines. Of course he's here.
He's got this stubborn streak that pairs well with his self-denial.
His strict routine, his devotion to being first at the rink every single day, his near-obsessive relationship with preparation.
These things make up the core of who he is.
I've watched him arrive before dawn for months now, always the same time, always the same parking spot.
Most people would call it discipline. I think it's closer to fear of what happens if he stops controlling everything.
But I don't want to think about Silas right now. Then I'd have to remember the way he looked at me last night after the game. Cold and dismissive. Stay in your lane. Like I'm a child who needs to be reminded of her place. Ugh.
I push through the staff entrance and head to my tiny office. It's more of a closet with a desk, but it has a door that closes. And right now, that's all I need. I drop my bag and pull out my laptop, opening the proposal document with a sick feeling in my stomach.
The introduction's weak. The methodology section's incomplete. The budget projections are based on guesswork because I don't actually know what anything costs. I have no idea how to make this sound professional when I feel like a fraud.
My phone buzzes. A message from the dating app.
StatMan12
Good morning. Did you sleep at all?
I stare at his message, taking my time before answering.
Yoga4Lyfe
A little. You?
StatMan12
Not much. My stupid brain won't shut off.
Yoga4Lyfe
What's it saying?
StatMan12
I'm not good enough, I'm failing. Everybody's laughing at me. The usual.
My chest tightens. I know that voice. It's the same one that's been screaming in my own head since I woke up.
Yoga4Lyfe
Those thoughts are liars.
StatMan12
Knowing it and believing it are different things.
Yoga4Lyfe
Yeah. They really are.
I want to say more, to tell him I'm sitting here staring at a half-finished proposal and wondering if I should just give up now before I embarrass myself. That feels like too much vulnerability for someone I've never met.
StatMan12
What are you working on today?
I hesitate. My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Yoga4Lyfe
A project that might change things for me professionally. Or it might blow up in my face. Hard to tell which yet.
StatMan12
Tell me about it.
So I give him the basics. Not the whole story, just the outline.
StatMan12
Sounds important.
Yoga4Lyfe
It is. That's what makes it terrifying.
StatMan12
What's the worst that could happen?
I stare at the question. The worst that could happen? They say no. Coach Cross tells me to stick to coffee runs and copies. I prove to everyone, including myself, that I don't actually have anything valuable to offer.
Worse, I stay invisible forever.
Yoga4Lyfe
They say no. Then I'm back to square one, except now I know for sure that I'm not good enough.
StatMan12
Or they say yes. And you get to do something that matters.
Yoga4Lyfe
That's a nice thought. Not sure I believe it.
StatMan12
I get that. For what it's worth, I think you can do it.
Yoga4Lyfe
You don't even know me.
StatMan12
I have strong intuition. You're good people, Yoga Girl.
His words settle warm in my chest, but they don't quiet the panic. I thank him and close the app. I need to work. I need to make this proposal something I'm not ashamed to present.
Sighing, I force myself to focus. StatMan might be nice, but he doesn't pay my bills. I'm deep in a section about injury prevention when my door opens without warning. I jump and nearly spill coffee all over my keyboard.
Juliet stands in the doorway, perfectly put together as always. "Morning. Didn't expect to see you here this early."
"I'm always here early." I close my laptop quickly, paranoid she can somehow see how bad the proposal still is. "What can I help you with?"
"Walk with me." Again, she's already moving. I have to scramble to follow, even though she's a tiny woman and wears four inch heels. She struts like she owns the building, like everywhere she goes is a catwalk. I envy her confidence.
We head through the empty hallways toward the training facility. The lights are still half off and our footsteps echo.
"So, regarding Mobility Mondays. I forwarded you some injury reports from last season. Soft tissue issues, missed games, recurring problems. Use them for your proposal."
"Thank you. That's really helpful."
"Also, Coach Cross agreed to meet with you. Next Tuesday at ten a.m. Preliminary conversation about your program."
My heart stops. "Next week?"
"Too soon?"
"No. No, I can do it." My voice sounds strangled.
Juliet stops walking and turns to face me. Her dark eyes are sharp and assessing. "Scout, I'm giving you this opportunity because I think you have something valuable to offer. You need to act like it."
"I know. I will. I just..."
Her expression softens. "You just what?"
I swallow hard. "What if I'm not ready? What if I mess this up?"
"Then you'll learn from it and do better next time.
" She tilts her head, her eyes kind. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're going to mess it up.
I am worried about you walking in there apologizing for breathing.
You have to believe in yourself. You need to tell them how you're going to revolutionize their hockey program and save them money.
At the moment, you seem... unsure of yourself. "
The words sting because they're true.
"I don't mean to do that," I say.
"I know you don't." Her voice softens slightly. "You have a degree from a good school. Right?”
“Right.” I nod nervously. “Not the certifications, though. Or any relevant experience whatsoever.”
She squeezes my hand. “You have knowledge these players need. Stop acting like you're lucky anybody lets you in the building. Start believing you belong here. You’re a badass bitch, Scout."
I bark a laugh. "That's easier said than done."
"Most worthwhile things are." She checks her tablet. "I have to meet with Ivy. Keep me posted on your progress. And remember that you're better than you think you are."
She walks away, leaving me standing in the dim hallway with my heart pounding and my stomach churning.
I head back to my office and stare at the proposal. Tuesday. I have less than a week to make this perfect. I'll have to sound confident when I feel like I'm drowning. I'm convincing coaches who barely remember my name that I'm worth listening to.
By the time other staff start arriving, I've rewritten the introduction four times and I hate all of my attempts. My coffee's cold. My back hurts from hunching over the keyboard. My eyes burn.
My phone buzzes. Jessa asking if I want lunch.
Jessa
Want lunch?
Me
Can't. Too much work.
Jessa
You have to eat, Scout.
Me
I'll grab something later.
I don't grab something later. I work through lunch, through the afternoon, through the early evening when most people go home. And I'm still there when the parking lot empties and the building goes quiet around me.
My phone buzzes again. The dating app.
StatMan12
How's it going?
Yoga4Lyfe
Not great. Everything I write sounds terrible.
StatMan12
I'm sure it's not as bad as you think.
Yoga4Lyfe
Maybe.
StatMan12
Take a break.
I stare at his message. He's probably right. I've been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes and it feels like the words are written in Greek. Stopping feels like giving up.
Yoga4Lyfe
What do you do? When you're stuck like this?
StatMan12
Honestly? I keep pushing until I break. It's not healthy but it's all I know how to do.
Yoga4Lyfe
That's terrible advice.
StatMan12
I know. That's why I'm telling you to do something different. Take a break. Watch a movie. Cook some dinner. However you disassociate the best.
Yoga4Lyfe
You first.
StatMan12
Fair point. I'm not really any better.
Eventually he tells me he has to go. He has an early morning tomorrow. I reluctantly close the app and look at my proposal one more time. It's still not good enough. It might never be good enough.
I'm too exhausted to keep working.
I save the document and pack up my things. The building's dark and quiet when I leave. My car's one of three left in the lot.
Jessa's asleep by the time I get home. That's fine by me because I don't need her seeing me spiral.
Food seems challenging at this late hour, so I eat handfuls of sugary cereal straight out of the box.
It's not the best food for me and contributes no protein or fiber to my diet. But it's satisfying in a soul-deep way.
I should work more on the proposal. Or maybe I can practice what I'm going to say. Whatever I do, it should be something productive.
Instead I curl up on the couch and open the dating app again. My brain isn't working, so I barely know what I'm typing. He already said he was going to bed, so I'm just talking to no one.
Yoga4Lyfe
I made it home. I’m still freaking out but at least I'm freaking out somewhere comfortable.
I use the camera to send a selfie of myself on the couch. The lighting is terrible, but that’s okay. I don’t want him to see the bags under my eyes or judge my wild hair. It just feels right to send a quick snap.
Hell, maybe he’ll start getting comfortable and send something back.
A minute goes by. I put the phone down because even my sometime-sexting buddy deserves a little downtime. I sigh. Should I just go to bed?
When my phone lights up, I pounce on it. It's a message from him. My chest fills with warmth.
StatMan12
That's progress. Sort of.
Yoga4Lyfe
Thank you for talking me off the ledge tonight.
StatMan12
Anytime. We disasters have to stick together.
Yoga4Lyfe
Goodnight, StatMan.
StatMan12
Goodnight, Yoga Girl. Talk to you tomorrow.