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Pop! goes the balloon in my chest. Replaced with a rush of cold air.
“Hannigan?” I echo stupidly. Percy Hannigan? But he’s the most recent hire for Toronto. I pretty much trained the guy.
What the fuck.
“Um.” I swallow, then force myself to maintain a neutral tone. “With all due respect, sir, but…do you think Hannigan is qualified? He only recently joined the staff.”
“He already has an existing relationship with Coach Shay,” Ron Farham reveals. “Percy played for him in high school.”
What. The. Fuck.
“We decided they’d make a good team,” Bill says gently, clearly catching the dumbfounded expression I was trying to mask. “And we believe your talents lie elsewhere.”
I frown. “Okay. Am I being sent somewhere else then?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. We’d like to keep you here in Toronto until we find the right position for you.”
Excuses excuses excuses! When he was a kid, my brother Brady used to stomp his foot and shout a litany of “Excuses!” whenever our dad told him he couldn’t go surfing that day for whatever (valid) reason. And now here I am, shouting my older brother’s ancient tantrum mantra in my head, trying hard not to let the words inadvertently slip out of my mouth.
But I know they’re just feeding me bullshit excuses. Uh-huh, I’m sure they’re really hunting for some super-awesome “right position” for me. Meanwhile, Percy fucking Hannigan got the promotion I wanted, because he’s buds with the Barrie head coach.
What in the actual fuck.
The two men keep talking. Keep trying to tell me what a great job I’m doing in Toronto. I know I’m doing a good job, I want to yell. That’s why I deserve a promotion!
I’m not quite sure what I say during the rest of the meeting. Not much, though. But I’m not about to channel my brother and throw a tantrum. I need employment, after all.
But I am not happy. At all. Although I smile through gritted teeth and exchange handshakes with Bill and Ron, I’m seething inside. It takes a lot to piss me off. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m the most chill, easygoing guy you’ll ever meet. I hardly ever lose my temper, and I can count all the times I’ve raised my voice on the fingers of one hand.
And yet I’m practically shouting when I call Wes while exiting the building. “You won’t fucking believe this! Those fucking motherfuckers!”
Dead silence.
“Wes?” I exhale in a rush. “You there?”
“Yeah. Sorry, yeah, I’m here.” There’
s another long pause. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that many expletives in one breath.”
“Sorry.” I shove my free hand through my hair. “I’m just furious, babe. I can’t even believe what just went down.”
“Tell me,” he says urgently, and so I do. I tell him how everything I’ve worked so hard toward for three years was snatched out of my grasp because of an asshole named Percy, and how I get to keep my title of Associate Coach while my superiors travel to Make-Believe Land to find me a better job.
“I mean…maybe they’re not bullshitting you? Maybe they’ll offer you something else?” Wes says in a weak attempt to console me. “It sounds like they’re really happy with your work, and have faith in you as a coach.”
“If they had faith in me, they’d give me the job I applied for. The job I earned.” I release an angry breath.
“I’m sorry, babe. I know this wasn’t what you’d hoped for.”
“You’re fucking right about that. I’m so fucking pissed.” I notice a woman pushing a stroller speed up as she overhears my potty mouth. “Ah, sorry,” I say lamely, but she keeps glaring at me until she’s out of sight.
Hysterical laughter bubbles in my throat. “I just scared a woman and her baby,” I inform Wes.
“All right. That’s it. Go home and pack,” he orders.
“Pack?”
“Yes. You’re coming on this trip with me.”
