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And the least she could do if she was still pissed at me would be to lie and fake pleasantries with me. We’d known each other probably better than anyone else on the planet at one point in time– didn’t that count for something? And ya know what? Maybe I was still mad at her too.
“I failed English for you!” I hollered after her.
And that got her.
She halted and whirled around. “You’re bringing up the sixth grade?!” Her face cracked in disbelief.
“Yes! I am!” I shouted, pointing at her angrily.
“Oh grow up, Duke!” She fixed me with a dark look before hoisting my crutches up and throwing them in the lobby garbage can with a loud thud. She turned on her skate-guarded heel and marched back into the East side rink.
I laid back on the floor and stared up at the lobby’s wooden rafters.
Jesus. This was not the way I thought we’d greet each other after all these years. In all the times I imagined it, I saw us hugging and being happy to see each other. I thought we’d both let bygones be bygones. I even thought we’d maybe be more than friends if we ever saw each other again. But I guess some things never changed…
And one was the fact that I would never understand Claire Kessel.
I sat there on the rink floor waiting for someone to appear to help me, but it was currently the rink’s dead time. The figure skaters were in the middle of a skating session, which lasted an hour, and none of the hockey guys were around because it was that stupid week between the end of the spring season and the start of summer clinics.
Looking up at the clock, I knew I needed to get my ass moving unless I wanted Grey to come in and see me sprawled out like this. No way would that demand respect. You’d think my resume would help earn me some points with the guy. I already had a few seasons in the Big League under my belt, but that wouldn’t phase a guy like Grey at all. He was an All-Star. Before he retired, he was the big shot, the real deal, the one with the C on his chest at almost every NHL team he went to.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position and pondered what I should do. I definitely couldn’t put any weight on my right foot at all yet. The team doc said if I didn’t stabilize it, I’d end up needing surgery… and he told Coach that as well. Coach called me up as soon as I was released from the hospital and basically barked,“If I hear you’re not taking care of that foot, I’ll tie you to a guest bed in my house. We need you to be just as fast as before this injury. No surgery!”before promptly hanging up.I agreed with his “no surgery” order. I wanted to avoid that at all costs because it would only prolong my recovery time.
So… I needed those crutches.
I could get to a standing position and hop on one foot all the way across the lobby to the garbage can, but that sounded like it would make my already nasty headache worse.
My only other option was to scoot my ass across the ground…
So, that’s what I started doing.
I was basically mopping up the lobby floor with my butt, and it was a very slow go.
By the time I made it to the very center of the large lobby, my arms were dead. I took a little break and laid flat on my back for a couple minutes, and that's when Craig finally strolled in.
“Thank the Lord!” I called out. “Help me! Please!” I begged.
He laughed at the sight of me. “Welcome home, kid.”
I eyed him darkly. “Wish your evil daughter would’ve greeted me that way.”
He ran a hand through his close-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair and gave me an amused smile. “She did this to you, eh? Wish I could say I was surprised.”
He promptly moved to retrieve my crutches, then reached a hand down to help pull me up. While Craig was somewhere in his sixties, he had superhuman strength– just like his little daughter.
“She said I wasn’t welcome here,” I told him when I was finally standing.
“Oof.” He stood with his hands on his hips, and I could tell he was trying hard not to crack a smile. “I’ll have to talk to her about that one. C’mon,” he said, ushering me to follow him as he shuffled back to his office.
I definitely needed to sit down and elevate my foot for a bit; I could feel it angrily throbbing in the cast.
As soon as I entered his office, I motioned to his leather swivel chair. “Can I?”
“Go for it.”
I plopped down and lifted my leg up onto the lobby’s open window ledge. I took my hat off and wiped an arm across my forehead. Scooching my body weight across the floor made me work up a sweat.
I was about to start talking to him, when a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia hit me right in the chest, stopping me. Looking out into the lobby reminded me of how much I used to love sitting here as a kid. You could see everything from Craig’s spot– including everyone skating out on both sheets of ice thanks to the security footage which showed up on four mini-tv’s on his desk.
