Page 10 of One on One
“His uncle is the university’s CFO,” Eric says. “He’s new. It was a favor.” He spots the pile of thumbtacks and team paraphernalia on top of the filing cabinet. “Redecorating already? I love it. Tell me, how great was your first day?”
I let out an uneasy laugh. He genuinely thinks this job is the key to my happiness, not a means to an end, and I’m not ready to crush his spirits. “It was a day, that’s for sure. Williams? You could’ve warned me.”
He’s plucking items from the upper edge of the bulletin board, where I can’t reach, and adding them to the pile. “What do you mean? I thought you’d get along with him. He reminds me of your dad.”
“What?” I hiss. “My dad was nice.”
“It’s not that. It’s the tunnel vision.” He switches to a robot voice. “Must. Pursue. Victory.”
“Eric, that’s not even what I’m talking about. There’s a weird vibe here. Some people aren’t being very welcoming.” I don’t mention Ben by name. Eric isn’t known for his discretion.
He unpins a birthday card. “What? No. Everyone is stressed, but they shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Why is everyone stressed?”
He fumbles the pushpin. It disappears, and he drops to his knees to search for it, bumping into the furniture with all his lanky limbs as he crawls around.
“Eric, why is everyone stressed?” I repeat.
He goes still, his upper half hidden under my desk. “Well, funny story. Not ‘ha-ha’ funny. More ‘the universe is chaotic so you just have to laugh’ funny. I did plan to talk to you about it. Maybe after work today?” He pops his head out, looking up at me hopefully.
“No,” I say, my stomach dipping. “Let’s talk about it now.”
He climbs into a sitting position, his back against the desk, and covers his eyes with the birthday card. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“Absolutely not.” I snatch the card from his hand. “Spill.”
His face droops. “There was an internal announcement last week,” he says. “The athletic department is planning a budget cut for after this season. A big one. We’re the only revenue-generating sport, and we haven’t had any standout seasons lately, even though we’ve been improving every year. Ticket sales are down, donations are shrinking…”
A budget cut. Yet here I am, a brand-new employee witha brand-new salary and a closet full of expensive, brand-new gear. I fight the urge to staple Eric to the bulletin board. “Why didn’t you tell me before I took this job?”
“I didn’t know!” he says. “It was clear we weren’tthriving, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. We were still spending money, hiring people. When they told us last week, you were already moving into your apartment.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Look, nothing is set in stone. The team has a lot of potential. And I think you belong here, and you’re going to help bring new energy to this team.”
“But if things don’t go better this season,” I say, realizations piling up in my head, “budget cuts will mean layoffs. And I’m a new hire in a completely nonessential role.” Shit. Another six-month stint to add to my résumé. A heavy weight settles on my chest.
“Maybe,” Eric admits. “I’m really sorry. But maybe not. We won’t get the worst of it, because we’re still the only team that has a chance of pulling in significant money. Coach says they’re planning to take away one position from our staff, so it looks like we’re in it together with everyone else. Other teams will bear the brunt of it.”
“That makes me feel much better. Maybe the field hockey team can play without sticks? When I get laid off, I’ll help the swimmers look for puddles big enough to practice in once they lose their pool.”
“None of it is inevitable,” he presses. “We have a whole season to turn things around and the talent to do it. And even if the worst does happen, the sacrificial lamb isn’t automatically going to beyou.”
“Are you sure I didn’t get hired just so they can fire me when it’s time to cut someone?”
“I’m sure,” Eric says firmly. “Coach wants you here. He believes you can make a difference. Prove him right.”
I pace across the room to my desk, and my eyes land on the staff directory. If I’m not automatically going to be the one laid off, then who else could it be? It won’t be a coach, or the strength and conditioning coordinator. They’re vital. It definitely won’t be Donna. This team needs her more than it needs an actual basketball. Kyle is safe, given his connections.
“Then who…” I say, trailing off when I realize my office door is open. I move to shut it to thwart any eavesdroppers, but someone is coming down the hallway. Half-zip, sculpted hair, dark eyes. Crap, it’s Ben. I try to avoid eye contact but it’s too late, and he stutter-steps awkwardly, like he’d rather keep walking but feels compelled to stop.
“Callahan!” Eric says, hoisting himself off the floor. “Get in here, buddy. Annie and I were talking about her first day back.”
He stands in the doorway reluctantly, a somber pout on his unfortunately still-attractive face. Damn, I was hoping it had just been the flattering October sunlight. Life is truly unfair.
He gestures to the room across the hall. “My office is right there.”
Ten feet away. I grit my teeth, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his chinos. “That’s so great,” I croak. The two of us, stuck together for an entire season.
The two of us.
