Page 128 of The Wingman

I thought I could do this, but maybe I can’t.

The door swings open and Ward appears. I push off the wall, heart in my throat. “Do you have a second?”

“For you, Darcy, always.” He gives me a quick smile, and my insides clench up again. “Walk with me.”

We walk down the hallway, and he slows his pace so I don’t have to jog to keep up with his long strides. “None of the plays worked tonight and I want to apologize. I’m going to do a full review on my own time of my data and the plays and the game to see where we went wrong. I’ll get to the bottom of this before the next game.”

Please just don’t fire me, I beg silently.

Hesitation and worry are written all over my face, I’m sure, but I’m not ready to give it up. I just got here.

Ward lets out a heavy, frustrated exhale as we round a corner. “Volkov’s injured and he didn’t tell us.”

My jaw drops and my eyes go wide. “What kind of injury?”

“ACL. Apparently it’s been giving him trouble all week.”

He had surgery on it last year. I blink about twelve times, thinking about how I’d factor this in. It changes his plays, I know that.

“The analyst team would have made different recommendations for the game,” I tell Ward. “I’m not trying to sound defensive, I just?—”

“I know. And Walker decided to do his own thing instead of the plays we practiced.”

I missed that, but I would have caught it in my review of the game tape. Irritation singes behind my sternum. That cocky rookie.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already torn a strip off them for that. Those two are going to figure out how to work together if it kills them.” The corner of his mouth tips like he’s looking forward to it, before he gives me a patient look. “You were working on bad data. It’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t screw up. I did the best with the information I had. Relief settles through me, and my blood pressure descends to normal.

“It was a bad game, Darcy.” Ward shrugs. “We learn from it and we do our best, but we’re not going to let one night knock us down. That’s how one game turns into a losing streak.” He holds my eyes. “We fall down, but we get back up and try again tomorrow. Understood?”

Something in his words and the way he believes in not just his team, but me as well, bolsters me. “Understood.”

“Good.” He gestures down the hall. “I’m wanted in postgame press.”

He waves goodbye and I stand there, replaying the conversation. It wasn’t my fault. I did my due diligence. Losing isn’t the end of the world. No one got hurt, and no one’s career is over.

“Darcy.”

I look up to see Alexei standing there, the hard lines of his face arranged in an expression that almost looks like remorse.

That irritation from earlier is back. “Ward said you’re injured.”

He grunts an acknowledgment, and the irritation doubles. He works his jaw, glancing around before he lowers his voice. “My knee. An old injury.”

He probably didn’t let it heal properly and now has long-term issues. The way he played during the game begins to make sense.

“I can’t do my job without accurate data. I could have helped you. Why didn’t you say something?”

He hesitates, blowing out a heavy breath, not meeting my eyes.

In his midthirties, he’s one of the oldest defensemen in the league, and now he’s being paired up with Luca, a fresh young rookie, full of energy and free of injury. Plus, all the comments about his impending retirement.

He doesn’t want the coaches to know he’s injured because they’ll trade him, or worse, not renew his contract. For an older player like him, it’s a career death sentence.

“You want to retire on your own terms. You want it to be your choice.” I can relate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He gives me a tight nod before he starts to walk away, limping a little.

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