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It’s only after a full minute that I finally move.
I spot a white piece of paper on the floor, the one she stormed in here with. I pick it up examining the word on it.Warning.
Did she write that for me?
I toss it in the trash can, and head back to the treadmill, harder than I've ever been in my life.
Tough shit, I tell myself. You're just going to have to run her out of your system because kissing Mia is a mistake that I can’t afford to make again.
* * *
I’mon the ice a week later when I get the call.
It's odd because even in high school, I was never the type to think that hockey was my entire life. It was a sport I was good at, and at the time, it didn't distract me from my other hobbies, so I went along with it. Plus, my dad was the hockey coach at our high school so it only made sense for his son to be the star of the team.
And then when I went pro, hockey made me a lot of money, and enabled me to travel, which I loved.
But even early on, I knew I wasn't going to do it for very long. Not because I thought I’d get injured, but because I knew I’d get bored of it eventually. I'm the type to lose interest in things easily, and hitting pucks eventually got old. Still, I stuck it out until I made enough money to comfortably attempt other investments.
Everyone thought I was crazy because I retired at the height of my career, when they were offering me tens of millions of dollars to stay.
But now, having made over ten times that in the last few years, I knew I was right to leave. After all, I wouldn't have built and patented a successful design if I hadn't.
Regardless, even though hockey isn't my life, I do miss it occasionally. Which is why a few of the guys from high school, who happen to be in town, and I, gather on the ice and play a friendly game for a few hours.
A game I'm currently winning.
That is until the goalie, Jason, yells, “Luke! Phone!”
I nod my assent and glide over to where my clothes are, ruffling into my pocket to find my phone. I frown at the unknown number and almost decide to let it go to voicemail but then slowly answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Mr. Hardy? This is Grace Jones, from the head of the Little League Pomona district.”
“Yeah?” I hold the phone with my shoulder as I take off my gloves. “How can I help you?”
“We’ve received word that there have been several violations from your team when it comes to the code of ethics.”
Wait, that’s a real thing? I halfway thought Mia just made that up.“Is that so?”
"Yes. I’m afraid that we will have to investigate the matter and I’m just calling to inform you of that and apologize in advance for any inconvenience caused.”
“No that’s cool,” I say. “But just out of curiosity, what happens after you investigate?”
“Well, depending on the severity of the violations, you're looking at either a fine, suspension, or ban, if it's found that you've repeatedly and knowingly gone against the code of ethics."
“Right." Fuck. I thought this whole thing was a joke at first, but it actually sounds serious.
Can they do that?
That was the last thing I wanted. Not because I’m so enamored with coaching the team, but because if I lose the team, I don’t know how Mikey will interact with kids his age.
And I also don't want the other kids to lose out on playing the game either. I remember their happy shouts as they won the last game. And now, I might have ruined it for them.
"You'll pay for this."
The memory of Mia's warning reverberates in my mind. She did this. She fucking reported me and thenthishappened.
