Page 54 of Delay of Game
A horde of reporters stood outside the locker room, and Mila drew us away from them to a side door. We pushed through into a room, empty besides a young woman with a team badge scribbling on her clipboard. She didn’t look up as Mila skipped to a waiting table of snacks and drinks. Breakers jerseys decorated the walls, and a handful of plush chairs and sofas dotted the room.
Cassie sat down on a red fabric chair and patted the one next to her. “And now, we wait.”
TWENTY
ROB
A few reportersmilled around the locker room, directing questions at any player dumb enough to look up from their locker. I glared at the ones who wandered too close, warning them off with a steely look.
Losing sucked. Missing the running back who scored the winning touchdown sucked worse. Hell, my performance sucked most of all. And having some moron with a microphone ask how I felt would only complete the circle of complete suckage.
I dressed in a hurry, ready to wash off the stench of failure and preparing to greet Mila with as much of a smile as I could manage. Which wouldn’t be much of one.
“Grant.” Coach Simmons popped his head into the locker room, scanning players until he found me. “My office.”
I swore under my breath.
Just what I fucking needed. A meeting with the head coach. The defensive coordinator had only given me a pat on the back and a “better luck next time,” which was almost more annoying than a full-fledged ass chewing. At least with an ass chewing, I knew where I stood with the team. A half-hearted promise that it’d shake out better next time could mean just that…or that the coaches were looking to make a switch at my position.
“You did what you could out there. You stuffed a ton of drives. This is on the offense,” Noa said under his breath, not daring to draw the ire of his teammates.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “Maybe they’ll bench me.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
I shook my head as if a meeting with the head coach after a loss meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t. But I had let a running back through on the last drive. That was on me.
Shoving my dirty clothes into my bag, I hefted it over my shoulder.
“Diego,” I called to our quarterback. “You’re doing the post-game interview, right?”
He nodded.
Good. With Mom absent, Mila would wait in the lobby with Cassie, and if Diego had the interview, I wouldn’t keep Cassie at the stadium any longer than necessary. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Astrid was waiting out there. No, not wondered. Hoped.
I stifled that small spasm of optimism as I slipped out into the door leading to the coaching offices.
Coach Simmons sat at his desk, his mouth twisted into a frown at a piece of paper in his hand. He set it down when I knocked on the door frame.
“Rob, please come in.”
Coach Simmons leaned back in his seat, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stadium illuminating this office. We were the same age, or nearly anyway. But I carried those years in scars on my body while his appeared in stress marks on his face. Early crow’s feet and wrinkles on his forehead. I didn’t exactly envy his position.
I took a seat on the chair opposite him. His frown eased, and he clasped his hands on the desk.
“So, not a great showing out there,” he began. I nodded as he leaned back in his seat. “We’re not going to make playoffs with that kind of performance, and I certainly hope, as captain, that’s not the direction you want our season to take.”
“Absolutely not.” Beyond my own fuck up in the final seconds of the game, I already had a laundry list in mind of issues that led to the loss.
“I wanted to give you a heads up.” He sighed, eyes cutting out to the window. “We’re going to shake up practice a bit. Take some of the free agents we signed this season and put them with the starting line, just to see what will happen.”
My jaw clenched, and I exhaled. “That’ll certainly shake things up.”
“Middle linebacker, too.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, nodding. “Fair enough.”
“Your starting position isn’t in danger,” he said, steepling his fingers on the desk as he leaned forward.
