10. A Quick Menty B
A Quick Menty B
Kodi
“What in god’s name made you think it was okay to chew Kean out on the field like that? In front of everybody? In front of the coach?” Hansen shouted at me when we rounded the corner to the back halls behind the field.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just trying to talk to him about —” I tried to explain, my stomach in knots.
I fucked up, I really fucked up. While Hansen was in charge of all the hiring and admin shit that comes with a team and a stadium, that didn’t mean much compared to the coach of the team.
Sure, Boyd wasn’t the boss, he wasn’t even that great of a coach, but the owners would listen to him over Hansen.
And interrupting practice to — from his point of view — yell at a player could sure as hell get me fired if Boyd complained to anyone.
I’d just gotten so … livid about Renee and her stupid kid and then Kean and his …
whole fucking attitude. I just couldn’t let the socials thing go.
It’d help his career so much and all he’d have to do was talk to me a little.
That’s it. Just fucking talk to his assistant for a few minutes a week.
He literally said he didn’t want to talk to me.
How the hell was I supposed to work with him like that?
“Look, I know Kean can be a pain in the ass, but harassing him on the field is out of the fucking question.”
Shit, this was bad. So fucking bad. I got the impression that Mr. Hansen doesn’t curse a lot. So the fact that he was doing it now was a bad sign.
“I’m sorry, sir. I promise it won’t happen again,” I said, head low, shoulders closing in.
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” Hansen said, running his hands through short gray hair. He sighed and looked back at me, shoulders softening. And there was something in his eyes, something empathetic, that hit a nerve.
He was going to treat this as an inexperienced kid acting out. But I wasn’t a kid, I wasn’t inexperienced. Which made that look hurt all the worse.
“Look, Ms. Davey, the owners aren’t looking to take any risks.
Problems will get cut quickly, quicker than I can cover for.
I know you want that social media position but …
maybe forget about it for now and focus on being a good PA.
I’ve seen your wrap-ups over the past few days, you’re doing well. Just … focus on that.”
“But, sir, I —” I tried to say, tears stinging in the corners of my eyes. But Hansen put a gentle hand on my shoulder and I went quiet.
“I know it’s not what you want. But sometimes we have to settle for things as they are.” He patted my shoulder twice. “No more fighting with Kean, all right?”
“Uh-huh,” I choked out and Hansen gave me a sad smile before walking off.
Once I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, I went a little farther down the hall, leaned up against the wall of the laundry room, and sank down to the floor into a little ball. I had just enough sense to reschedule Kean’s internet setup before fully breaking down.
It was so fucking stupid to get worked up the way I did.
To let Renee’s comments rile me up, to let Kean’s behavior egg me further into lunacy.
What the hell was I thinking? There was no way I’d get that position now.
Fuck, it’d be a miracle if I kept this job.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Kean sent me an email after practice saying I was fired.
Fuck him. I hope Lunez does get him benched. The Dastards need somebody with a following to boost ticket sales, somebody who’d raise viewership.
I really wanted to be that somebody. But I just had to go and flash my tits five years ago and ruin my future.
Was this some sort of bad karma? Did me flashing some folks when I was drunk mentally scar somebody and now I was punished to never know happiness? Were my tits that bad? That was probably the best they’d ever looked, minus the soccer ball paint.
Honestly, with the paint, nobody could even see my nipples. So what was caught on camera wasn’t all that graphic. It was a victimless crime, if you really think about it. So why was I being punished?
Fuck, my crying had turned to hiccups, which echoed down the hall. I needed to get up, wipe away my tears, and get back to work. Otherwise, I was bound to be caught like this, crying in a dark hallway like a kid who’d just been scolded.
I’ll give myself just a few more minutes. A few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity and then I’ll get up and do my job.
If I still had a job.
Fucking damn it.
“Kodi?” a soft, hesitant voice called.
“I’m fine,” I said, voice muffled by my knees. Whoever it was, they didn’t need to see my mascara-streaked face. I was doing them a favor.
But apparently, they didn’t see the blessing I tried to give them and instead knelt in front of me.
“What happened?” they asked, fingertips brushing over my knees before they pulled away. Not wanting to be a dick to this concerned citizen, I finally lifted my head up, prepared to brush this all off as a bad day or PMS or a sick grandma.
But those lies died on my lips when I realized who it was.
Kean.
Kean crouched down, looking at me like I was an abandoned puppy on the side of the road, soaked from the rain. His face was wrinkled with concern and his hand still out stretched like he wanted to comfort me but knew better.
“What happened?” I choked, sitting up straight to press my back against the wall and get farther away from him. “I got caught yelling at my boss and management chewed me out. What the hell do you think happened? Hansen just yelled my name for fun?”
He winced, pulling his hand back.
“I’m sorry. I’ll explain to Hansen that …
it was my fault.” He shifted his feet to sit on the ground and pushed back so he could lean against the wall.
I watched him closely, vision still blurry from the tears.
Kean looked so unnatural in this moment, hunched over, shoulders slumped, limbs folded in to make himself small.
God, it pissed me off to see him like that. How dare he act all remorseful like this? How dare he look genuinely regretful when all I wanted to do was yell at him?
“Well, a sorry isn’t going to fix this,” I huffed, kicking at the ground in frustration. “He thinks I’m just some unprofessional kid, one more fuckup, one more scene, and I’m out of here. I haven’t —”
“Absolutely not. I won’t let him fire you,” Kean said, leaning so far forward that he had to brace himself with one hand on the floor.
“What?” I asked, just sort of blinking at him. Because where the hell did this attitude come from? Just a few minutes ago he was acting like he couldn’t bear to talk to me.
“I just mean …” He settled back against the wall, fingers tapping against his knees. “I caused the problem, so I’ll fix it.”
“Ha. Like you’ll fix your chances of being benched?
” Kean immediately rolled his eyes and I straightened, energy renewed.
I shifted forward, hands to the ground. “I’m serious, Kean.
This could make or break your long-term career.
Social media is how fans and other team managers see you.
And right now all they see is a grumpy asshole not willing to make time for anyone else.
That won’t sell tickets and it won’t make you easy to trade if the owners do decide to go with Lunez. ”
Kean stared at me for a long while, eyes lingering on the tear stains on my cheeks. I must look like a hot mess. And as pathetic as it was, I didn’t care. There were so many ways I could be out of a job, but Kean getting benched shouldn’t be one of them.
“If I give you thirty minutes before every practice, would that be enough?” he asked and I shot forward, taking his hand in mine.
“Seriously?” I asked, eyes wide, tears returning for a completely different reason.
Kean’s eyes went wide too, focused on my hands, his jaw tightening. “Will it make you stop crying?”
“Probably,” I answered through a laugh, letting go of his hands and sitting back on my feet. “But I promise, this won’t affect any of the PA work you need done. And I’ll work on a strategy that doesn’t disturb your schedule either.”
“Uh-huh,” Kean murmured, staring at his hands that were still in the air where I left them.
“Do you have anything set up? Like an old account you don’t use?”
“No. I don’t use any of it, never have.” He dropped his hands into his lap before looking back up at me, head tilting ever so slightly. I let him have a second to think, maybe give some input on what kind of account he wanted or set some boundaries. But he didn’t say any of that.
Instead, he leaned forward and brought a hand to my cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear line.
“Just don’t cry anymore, all right?” he whispered, voice so much softer than I expected a man like him to be capable of.
“I’ll …” My voice caught in my throat, caught off guard by Kean’s attitude shift.
The guy was definitely trying to be nice here and it felt …
good. It didn’t feel like he was creeping on me or would ask for favors later or any of that kind of shit.
But it was so different from how he tried to run from me on the field.
And if I’m being completely honest, the softness of his hand, the warmth of it, did a little something to me. It slowed things, made me feel fuzzy and safe. It felt a little like nostalgia.
“I’ll do my best.”
Kean’s eyes focused on mine, searching for something. And since he was looking for something, I tried to do the same. But all I saw was a shiny green that reminded me of baby palm trees.
“Okay.” Kean pulled away and stood up. He took a deep breath before bending to hold out a hand for me. I took it and he yanked me to my feet like I weighed nothing, making sure I was settled on my feet before letting go. “See you tomorrow, then.”