Page 31 of Safety Net
“Loved the heads up.” I pulled off my helmet. “Always looking out.”
“And we won’t need your assistance today,” he said to Henrik, who was at my elbow, equally confused. “But feel free to stick around if you want to learn something.”
“Thanks,” Henrik said. “I think I will.”
He was a better man than me. I was practically salivating for an excuse to get out of practice and work on some things for Celeste. Her expressed admiration still reverberated in my brain, sending shockwaves of excitement through my veins.
“Alright, let’s get to it.” Anthony finished writing down one more thing before getting up and leaving the arena.
Henrik and I exchanged looks before we started removing what we could, then followed him. Anthony led us to the office section of the building. I usually didn’t come here unless a coach or trainer had some bad news to share or it was mandatorycheck-in time. So, my associations with the cold air and burnt cheese smell toggled between not fun and rather dull.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Anthony’s suggestions all sounded like orders.
Henrik and I slowly sat in two chairs placed in front of the desk. Everything in the office looked new, from the sparkling glass desk and empty bookcase to the photo frames that still had placeholder shots of random families hanging on the walls.
I wondered if all those families were actors. Or did those companies buy actual family photos? Were the images being licensed out by photographers? Or did the families offer them to companies themselves? Was there such a thing as a family photo agent? Someone who only offered contracts if the family was a packaged deal. A company either took on all of them or none at all.
“Do you have something to write with?” Anthony pulled a laptop out of one of the desk drawers.
I snapped out of my musing to look at Henrik, who somehow, someway, already had a pocket notebook and pen out.
“What the hell?” I mouthed. “How?”
He shrugged and clicked his pen, at the ready.
“Well?” Anthony’s stern gaze was on me, judging and waiting.
“I have my phone.” I fumbled to get it out of my back pocket.
“Too distracting.” Anthony gave me a disapproving frown and was quiet for a second. What did he want me to do? Conjure up loose-leaf paper?
“Here.” He reached into the drawer again, grabbing a legal notepad.
“Thanks,” I said. “Just need?—”
Henrik offered up a fountain pen. The thing looked like it cost more than our rent.
“Where are you getting this stuff?” I accepted this pen, looking him up and down for some hidden bag.
“Alright, eyes on the screen,” Anthony said as he pulled up a video. I didn’t have to look at the paused image long to realize it was of one of our games. I winced. I hated seeing myself in motion. Everything on the ice felt epic when I did it, only to turn out looking like desperate flails and last-minute splits. Somewhere on the official Mendell Hawks social media page, there was a compilation of all my flubs edited to what I can only describe as chaos clown music. Whenever I thought about it, I reconsidered every decision that led me up to this point.
“Lincoln, I want you to tell me everything you did wrong,” he said.
“Got out of bed this morning, for one,” I muttered.
“Huh?” Anthony gave me a look that told me he'd heard me perfectly.
I cleared my throat. “Sure, boss. I’ll take notes of my many flaws. Thought you’d never ask.”
“Figured you might appreciate the break,” he said flatly. “From the way you’ve been dragging yourself through practices, sitting seems more your speed.”
Well, damn. I hadn’t been on my A-game, sure. But who was in the summer when everything else besides work was appealing? I’d literally watched videos of paint drying (in my defense, it was a DIY channel and bonding time with Naomi and Finn) before I even considered doing the extra drills and conditioning Anthony wanted me to do outside of practice.
Anthony clicked play on the video, and almost immediately, Henrik wrote something down. I leaned over to see what he possibly had to critique so early, stopping when Anthony glared at me.
Right.
Focus.
