First Down, Second Chances (The Love Playbook #7)

Chapter 1

Charlotte

Who knew today’s outfit of choice would end up being so hideously wrong?

Also? Who knew I’d end up getting fired from the Early Childhood Center today?

Moisture gathers under my beige silk blouse as I huddle around a computer screen with my coworkers.

Along with my wide-leg brown slacks, I’ll admit it’s colorless and dated.

These clothes are a couple of steps above I stopped caring what I look like about five years ago.

And honestly, the blouse isn’t real silk.

It’s “silky,” which I’m pretty sure means it’s one hundred percent acetate.

But that’s neither here nor there because I’m being fired right now.

A cursory glance around the office turns into a longer stare.

The off-white walls. The low, popcorn ceiling.

The thick, gold, corduroy curtains flanking either side of the slightly tinted window are all suddenly sealed up in my mind.

With a jolt, I realize I won’t be coming to this place for much longer.

“So, yeah…” Displayed on the screen, my boss, Ron, pauses his sad speech, his face etched with agony.

The agony is probably caused by him having to break the bad news to us and because he broke both of his arms.

Ron fell off a ladder repairing his roof a few days ago and had to have surgery. He just got home from the hospital and won’t be back into work for a while.

So, we’ve been leaderless for a few days, and now most of us will be jobless.

My co-workers—Willa, Skyler, and Tracy—are stock still. No one’s saying anything, just facing the little laptop screen in silence. The air drips with sadness, so I clear my throat.

“This is a shock.” My laugh is a honk. “But, not really, considering the nature of university-funded centers. We’ve been living on borrowed time for a while now anyway, right?

” Even as I say it, my throat goes dry. I’m trying to put things into perspective, but Willa, my best friend, is staring at me like That’s not helping.

Willa just got engaged to her soul mate, and something inside of me lately has me wondering when I’m going to find someone to be with. Seems hard when my limited dating consists of nothing but first dates.

“The work will go on,” Tracy says sagely, a line of importance creasing her forehead. “All will be well.”

That’s easy for her to say. As the assistant director of San Antonio University’s Early Childhood Center, she’s losing her staff, but her own job is fine.

Sweat continues to pool under my arms. If I’d known I was getting fired today, I’d have worn something else. Maybe my tie-dyed “Whatever, Dude” sweatshirt from junior high. It would have been the perfect response to this situation.

“I just signed a new lease on my car,” Skyler says, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think they do take backs?”

Willa snorts. “Like ‘just kidding, I actually can’t lease this car?’” She shakes her head. “No. My uncle went back the very afternoon he signed a car lease, and they wouldn’t let him out of it. My aunt was so mad.”

“Oh, your aunt from Austin?” Tracy brightens. Her greying brown pixie cut shifts slightly as her brow rises. “She stopped in once.”

“No, the one in Tulsa,” Willa says.

“I have an aunt in Tulsa!” Tracy says.

Willa’s mouth drops open. “No way! You also have an aunt in Tulsa?”

“In some cultures, ‘auntie’ is a term of endearment for any woman of influence in a person’s life,” Skyler supplies.

“I know,” both Willa and I say.

Is the “auntie” thing Skyler’s fun fact of the day? He’s a know-it-all, so there may be more coming.

“Your aunt from Austin is a hoot,” Tracy places a hand on Willa’s arm. “She loved my earrings the day she came in. Remember that? I ordered some for her because she was such a nice lady.”

Willa inhales with recognition. “And then I took them to Thanksgiving, and she—”

“Can we get back on topic here?” Ron says through the screen. “I imagine you all have clients coming in soon.”

“Sorry,” Tracy and Willa say at the same time.

And Ron’s right, we do have clients coming. As occupational therapists in early intervention work, our clients are children from ages zero to six. We always need to be at our best for them, but right now for me, it’ll take a Herculean effort to put this new info on hold.

What’s going to happen to these kids when the center closes?

Ron offers a sad smile. “Again, I’m sorry about the grant not being renewed and the university reallocating our funds.”

“Reallocating, my foot,” Tracy whispers her retort.

Ron gives a look that means to be reprimanding, but we all see through it.

Ever since the university got a new president last year, there have been talks of a “reallocation of funds” for some of the smaller programs like ours.

Really, it’s just the university saying our program isn’t flashy or sexy enough to garner the big bucks.

Prevention, even when we’re talking about kids, takes a back seat to the programs that bring in the fancy donors, like sports. Allegedly, sports are flashier.

“Like Charlotte said, It’s the nature of programs like ours.

” Ron chews on his lips. They look dry, which makes me wonder if he’s dehydrated from his surgery.

“And to be clear, the university isn’t cutting the program outright, they’re just…

not renewing us.” But from the look on Ron’s face, he knows the difference is a fine line.

Silence settles around us and I shift, wishing I could go back to the time before this announcement.

Tracy’s right,” he says. “The work we’ve done will continue and the impact each of you’ve had can’t be overstated.

She and I will regroup.” He looks down at his casted arms, tries to raise them, and then winces, setting them back down.

“I just apologize that this leaves no more funds for your salaries. I will vouch for each of you. There are other OT jobs on campus and in the community, so I’ll do all I can to help you get settled into something else as quickly as possible. ”

“So we have about two months?” Willa asks, her face pale. “Til the funding runs out?”

Ron nods. “June first is the expected closure date.”

His eyes brim with tears under his thick glasses, and I have to fight back my own.

“If you end up getting a job, obviously, no need to stay until June first,” Ron adds. “We’d love to have you until then ,if possible, but we understand when you get something else, you can’t always wait to start it.”

“Two months!” Tracy’s got her “rallying the troops” look on her face again.

“We’ve got two months to end things on a high note!

” I’ve seen the look in staff meetings, when we’re brainstorming over a particularly difficult client.

Or at our Christmas parties, when she tries to take a non-existent budget to make something nice for us.

Usually that involves homemade treats and a highlight reel of all the photos she’s taken throughout the year.

With a dash of pain, I realize there won’t even be a Christmas party this year. By the time Christmas rolls around, the center will be long gone.

“What about our clients? They’re getting the shaft, too.

” I lean back in my chair, the urge to fight this thing threatening to take over.

I think of MJ, one of my favorite kids. I just worked with her this morning.

She’s got sass, spunk ,and strength—and a case of Developmental Dysplasia of the Hip so severe she needs to have surgery.

At five years old, she has to go under the knife because her symptoms were initially so mild that no one noticed. Her case flew under the radar until she presented with hip pain and came here.

The first day I worked with her, I was afraid this would happen.

And this morning, they confirmed it. The brace we tried didn’t help, and she’d finally gotten in to see the surgeon, who wanted to schedule right away.

In tears, her mother begged me for a second opinion, an alternative to the open reduction with pelvic osteotomy.

I couldn’t give her one. I know that, in the long run, the surgery is best. But that also means weeks in a waist-to-heel cast. And then more bracing in a harness.

It’s brutal.

I know because I’ve been there. I was four when they did the open reduction—cut bone, screws, and months in a spica cast.

I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially not MJ.

That was when everything changed.