Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Look, man,” he says softly, as if I were a caged animal. “If things went south, I get it. Been there, done that. But you have to get your shit together.”
I say nothing.
“If you can fix it with her, fix it,” he says.
I flinch at that, a visible sign that he clocks and steps closer to me. “I took Simone’s patience and I ground it down for a year before I got my head out of my ass,” he says. “She’s a remarkable woman and she never once made me feel like a clock was running. But there was a point in time where I understood that what I was protecting wasn’t worth what I was losing.” He taps a finger to my chest. “You’ll get there or you won’t. But tonight’s two minutes becomes next week’s ten and next month’s suspension, and Rowe will have no choice and you know it.”
With that, he spins on his heel and leaves me.
I stand in the corridor under the hum of fluorescent lights and let what he said settle. I try to figure out what I’m really feeling.
It’s different from a week ago.
The anger at Livia is mostly gone. It burned through in the first week, the hot version of it, anyway. What replaced it is less definable but somewhat self-directed and shameful.
She pushed too far.
She pushed beyond an agreed boundary using my past.
But she did it because she cares.
And those are things I’m having a hard time reconciling. That is why I’m really angry.
I can’t figure this shit out.
Chapter 28
Livia
Locke’s name isn’t on the sign-in sheet, but I’m not surprised. We’ve been doing a good job of avoiding each other.
All my instincts want to continue to push him, but he asked me to leave it alone, so I’m going to abide by that.
No matter how much it hurts.
I tuck the clipboard under my arm and move to the center of the turf. “All right, five stations. You know the drill.”
Boss raises his hand. “Is there a prize this time?”
“The prize is the same as last time.”
“Not dying of cardiovascular failure,” Rome says.
“In the third period,” Arch adds.
“See?” I say with a bright smile I don’t feel down deep. “You’re learning.”
The men disperse to various stations and I call the first rotation. For the next forty-five, they sweat and bitch and moan. Boss beats his sled time from two weeks ago and announces this fact to everyone within a hundred-foot radius. There are high fives and tired smiles when we’re done, but most importantly promises to come to the next session.
And well, that’s at least progress.
I collect the agility ladders and do a brief scan to make sure everything else is picked up. I pack everything away in the locked gear boxes and head inside. It’s been a long day, and I want to go home to a hot bath and hopefully another full night of sleep that will put me one more day away from Locke Donovan and the way he broke my heart.
I’m just locking up my office when I turn and see Patrick walking down the corridor with one of the assistant coaches. He sees me and lifts a finger, indicating he wants me to wait.
I do so, not with impatience, but fatigue. I really want that bath and then my bed.
When he finally reaches me, I note he’s in training gear—dark track pants, a fitted long-sleeve charcoal colored shirt, running shoes.
“I was hoping to get in on your circuit training, but meetings ran long. Maybe next time.”
I blink at him in surprise. “I’d love to have you anytime.”
“I’ve heard they’re a bitch,” he says as we start walking toward the staircase. “You headed home?”
“Yeah… long day.”
“How are things going?” he asks as we start down to the lobby. “Generally.”
I don’t know that I’ll ever feel settled given how things ended with Locke, but I put on a cheerful smile. “The program is running smoothly, individual work’s been productive. It couldn’t be better, frankly.”
“And how are you finding the job? Outside of the operational. Are you happy here?”
The question is simple. He asks it the way he asks everything—like he wants a real answer.
I open my mouth.
And what moves through me in the half second before I speak is a feeling I have yet to process. I’ve been circling it at two in the morning when I can’t sleep and the most honest version of myself shows up.
I didn’t reach Locke professionally.
I have two sessions of real material and a third session that detonated, plus the man who was supposed to be the measure of my effectiveness in this role. That man is currently pretending I don’t exist in the corridors of the building I work in.
What’s worse is I crossed every line I swore I wouldn’t. I let the personal and professional blur past the point of recovery, and the outcome is that I failed at both simultaneously.