Page 10 of My Wife
In my dictionary,helpis a dirty word.
Then again, I’m not sure I’ve heard right because the guys are clapping, realizing now that this isn’t a joke. They congratulate me as I make my way to the door to join Vohn.
Yesterday, I was an underdog. Now I’m the top dog.
It hardly seems fair.
This also means that Redd must’ve turned in the “C.” He has a few rugrats and I think his wife is pregnant again, so being captain was probably too much with his schedule.
The reality that it’s going to be impossible for me stops me in my tracks. Vohn notices I’m not beside him and stops. “Is there a problem?”
Yes. No. Both.
I grunt, which is admittedly, my response to most things.
Keeping pace with Brandt through the hall, he’s quiet, but that’s no surprise.
Outside Coach Badaszek’s office door, he says, “If you’re wondering whether you deserve this, you don’t.”
“I’m well aware.”
So why did Coach give me this honor and responsibility?
For the second time in about three weeks, I’ve been blindsided. First, when a toddler that I didn’t know existed appeared in the lobby of the Old Mill building with a note taped to his shirt from his mother—my ancient history ex.
Now this.
Vohn tips his head, indicating I enter the office where Cara Arsenault, one of Badaszek’s triplet daughters and his assistant, will get my paperwork squared away.
“I’m missing training,” I say, trying to delay this.
“You missed two weeks of training.”
“I hit the gym.” Sort of. I mostly had the kid sit on my back while I did push-ups. Bringing him to the building’s new workout room was too risky.
“Why did you walk me to the office like a child?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He snorts. “Because I refused to believe Badaszek named you captain until I saw it with my own eyes.”
Ignoring what sounds like a rude comment, I nod in agreement. Vohn and I are more alike than not, shooting from the hip.
“If you think someone else would do a better job …”
“Still so cocky even after getting benched.” He shakes his head and starts to walk away.
But that’s not how I meant it. More like he should nominate someone else. Anyone but me. I can’t handle this right now. Not that I’d ever admit it.
Entering Cara’s office, I expect to catch a whiff of failure, because that’s what this feels like, or more accurately, failing upward. Instead, a candle burns with a label that readsEgg Nog on Ice by Candlegram. Must’ve been a holdover from Christmas.
I practically stumble. It’s eleven months away, but does Santa visit the kid? Do I have to wrap gifts? Put up a tree? I brush my hand across my forehead.
“Good morning, Captain,” Cara says, saluting me with a cheerful smile.
I grunt.
“That kind of day, huh?” she says, reading me.
More like that kind of month.
