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1
HARLOW
Isn't it funny how life can turn at the drop of a hat? One minute you can be on top of the world, with everything falling into place. I just watched Ash complete his first practice session with the team after an injury that could easily have ended his career—if not his life, if things had gone differently. I was practically floating on a cloud made of hope and promise and anticipation of what's to come later tonight, when I get together with my guys and to make up for lost time.
We’re together again, and I can't remember a time when I felt happier. At least, I was happy around thirty seconds ago. It could easily have been another lifetime ago.
Because that's all over now. All it took was finding Coach Kozak in my office and facing his... what is it? Is it disgust or disappointment or a combination of the two that's twisted his normally friendly face into a stony mask?
And now I remember every reason I ever told myself to give up my relationship with the guys. Ethics. Professionalism. My future, my license, my reputation. All of it is lined up in front ofme like bowling pins, and the coach just rolled a strike. All I can do is stand here and watch the pins fall.
I have to do something. He likes me, we have a bond. If I can get through to him, if I can wear him down enough that he'll be willing to listen to me instead of making judgments, I might be able to explain it in a way he'll understand. I have to try, at least. I can't stand back and let everything crumble without trying to hold it together.
“Coach...” my voice falters, probably because I can barely breathe. My throat has tightened to a pinpoint and I'm practically wheezing. My heart thuds painfully, my body is trembling and I know this is an adrenaline spike. My fight or flight response has kicked in and it's running on overdrive.
All he does is snort, and the derision in the sound—along with the disdain that twists his mouth into a sneer—makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide forever. He liked me, he really did. He respected me. And I've betrayed him. I've let him down. He's too disgusted with me to give me a chance to speak.
Suddenly he's on his feet, brushing past me without another word. His heavy tread echoes down the hall before fading to silence punctuated only by the rush of blood in my ears and the rapid drum beat of my pulse.
It's over. It's all over. Everything that ever mattered is gone.
Somehow, I manage to drop into one of the chairs in front of my desk before the world starts spinning too fast for me to keep my balance. My chest hurts. It's so tight. I press a hand to it and close my eyes and force my way through one shallow, shuddering breath after another in a desperate attempt to staveoff a panic attack. I need to think now. I can’t afford to give in to panic.
I've never felt so alone in my life. I'm on an island populated by one, in the middle of a stormy sea. I have no idea what's out there. I only know I'm on my own. The guys will keep their jobs—I'm the one who broke the rules. Maybe they'll get a slap on the wrist, if that. The onus was on me to maintain our professional relationship, not on them.
All that work. All the money spent on tuition. The sacrifices I made. It was all for nothing. I threw it away. It's nice that my parents seemed proud of me when I graduated with my doctorate, since that's the last proud moment they'll ever have when it comes to their daughter. Like it wasn't bad enough I was never athletic. I had to go and break every ethical rule in the book.
What happens if news gets out and rumors start swirling? Oh my God, this could get so much worse. I can see it all now, spread out in front of me like a living nightmare. Articles, social media posts. My picture will probably circulate, along with the players involved. All sorts of sordid stories will be born from perverted minds with nothing better to do than create clickbait.
It isn't only my career that's over. It’s my whole life.
My gaze falls on the wastebasket next to the desk and I make a grab for it when my stomach lurches. I'm going to be sick. I prop the can on my lap and fold my arms over the rim, letting my head hang down inside. Nothing comes out, though. It's like my body just wants to punish me for the terrible thing I did. And I deserve it. I even deserve the coach’s cold, hard attitude. I deserve that most of all. He thought the world of me, and I lethim down. When I look at it that way, I'm surprised he didn't curse me out. If I were in his shoes, I might still be yelling.
What am I going to do? Do I pack up my things? Do I go home and give him a day or two to cool off? Maybe I should send the guys in to talk to him? No, that's the worst thing I could do. I shove that idea as far away from me as possible as I raise my head. I'm not bringing them into this. Let him hate me and fire me and ruin my name if he wants to, but I won't make things worse by dragging them in front of him. It's bad enough word is going to spread as it is. I don't need to hasten the process.
Here I am, surrounded by all the symbols of my hard work paying off. My diploma on the wall. My desk, my plants, my books. This is the office of a doctor, an expert, and what did I do with it? I used it as a place where I could hook up with three of the players I'm supposed to be treating. I let my body's needs destroy the trust I've earned.
And there I was, so happy when I walked in here. Ready to go home and get naked. I'm disgusted with myself, maybe even more than the coach is. I let myself down along with everybody else.
And I'm probably going to have to get a job flipping burgers or waiting tables, since that's all I’m qualified to do once my license is stripped away. Hot, desperate tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. I don't deserve the luxury of wallowing in my misery. That can come later. Right now, I need to figure out what to do next. And I'm not talking about the future, either. I'm talking about right now, this minute. What do I do? How do I handle this?
One thing is for sure, I can't walk out of this building without speaking to the coach. When my head hits the pillow tonight, Ineed to be able to tell myself I tried. Something tells me that's the best I'll be able to do, since he is good and furious. I might be lucky if he lets me get a single word out before he tears my head off.
Or worse. He could very easily ignore me and act like I'm worth less than the gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Somehow, I think that would be even more painful than the loudest tirade he could go on.
Either way, I have to try. I have to at least put up a fight if I want to save my future. And that's why even though my legs are jelly and I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter, I set the wastebasket on the floor and rise slowly, a little shaky. I have to do it. Otherwise, I might never get the chance to face him again. Somehow, I know I need to speak to him just once. Just in case there's a chance of getting through.
And that's why I set out for his office, forcing myself every step of the way when what I really want to do is run and hide.
2
HARLOW
His door is open. My apprehension grows with every step. Dread is a lead weight that makes my feet so heavy, I can barely lift them. My stomach is full of ice and my palms are slick with sweat that I rub onto my jeans. I should have brought the wastebasket with me, because I'm afraid I won't get through this without puking all over the place. But it's too late to turn back now—and I'm afraid I won't work up the courage to come back.
He's never been what you would call a quiet typist. It's more like he's attacking the keyboard, pounding the keys with his fingers even when he's in a good mood.
And he is not in a good mood right now, making the keystrokes sound more like gunshots. Who is he typing to? The team's owners? The rest of the coaching staff? The possibilities loom ahead of me but I push my way through them and knock on his door, inching my way into the room a little at a time.
