I hesitate. It’s not in my nature to see someone hurting and not help.
Even if it is the competition.
“When you go for the reverse, check your strong-side shoulder first. You’re opening too far, and that leaves you exposed behind the net. Tighten your turn and keep your eyes up, and you’ll be in more control.”
Hall nods, his gaze looking far away, like he’s trying to understand. Then he nods again. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try that. Thanks, Coach.”
“You gotta stop calling me that,” I tell him, tugging my mask back down.
Hall grins. “When you stop knowing all the answers, I’ll call you something different.”
I almost hate how likable this kid is.
He goes out there, and on the very next play, he nails the next two reps.
Trevor claps. “Good work, Hall,” he says. Then more quietly, he mutters. “He’s coachable.”
“At least with the right coach,” Otto says.
Trevor snorts.
I want to spit.
I’m the guy that coached him.
And I can’t stop.
After an intense 3x3, Trevor blows the whistle, and our second day is done.
The guys are hyped, yelling over music while I take a plunge in the ice bath. The cold wraps around me like it’s finally found a friend, someone who understands what it means to be silent and overlooked.
I overhear Griggs say, “Next time, someone needs to score on O’Shannan. That guy’s falling asleep out there.”
The words make my nose sting.
Another joke about how old, how irrelevant I am.
I put in my headphones, listen to a motivational podcast Kayla’s tried (and failed) to hook me on, and tune the rest of their conversation out.
Fifteen minutes later, I go to change and see Hall filming a locker-room story for his socials. I’m relieved I’m wearing a towel (not a given in locker rooms).
Hall’s still shirtless, a towel tied around his waist, too. “There he is!” Hall tells his followers.
Crap.
Is he live streaming this?
“Y’all don’t even know, but this guy right here is the real deal. Sean O’Shannan. Memorize that name. Future coach. Current beast. Say hey, Coach.”
I nod vaguely in the direction of the camera, but keep my head down.
“Seriously, people. This man is goals. Hot wife, hot life.”
I chuckle in spite of myself. I’ve never had a hype man before. If it weren’t all for social media, I might even like it.
“Enough, you chucklehead,” I mumble, and this only makes Hall laugh as he turns to highlight the next player.
I give everyone a quiet wave when I leave and go eat at the cafeteria downstairs in silence.
