Page 6 of The Assist
“We’re? You still got another year.”
“Yeah, but it isn’t gonna be the same without you and Z. This feels like the last year of something great. Something none of us will ever forget.”
Shit. He’s right. The season is shaping up to be the best year of our lives, and I’m itching to get out of this damn boot. It’s making me cranky.
“Yo, Shaw.” My voice booms across to the pool, and he lifts his head slowly, taking his damn time. A chin tilt is the only acknowledgment I get.
“Get me a beer.”
Joel cackles. “My man, you don’t even drink during the season.”
“Rookie doesn’t know that.”
* * *
“No. No. No. Come on, guys. That’s sloppy.”
Sitting in a plastic chair on the sidelines with my booted foot propped on another, I bounce the ball back and forth under my knee. Back and forth, back and forth. I can’t tell if it’s making my nerves better or worse. I don’t need to be here. It’s torture, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. This is my team. I may be injured, but they’re still my responsibility.
“Fifty free throws and two miles on the treadmill and call it a day. We have a big week coming up. Talent only goes so far. Focus. Repetition. Heart.
Already having about a gazillion shots in for the day, I head to the weight room. I can’t remember the last time I did leg day, and I’ve never wanted to squat and dead lift so much in my entire life. I pass Mario and a few of the baseball guys leaving as I enter.
Athletes have our own weight room, but we share it between all the different sports. It’s huge—easily big enough for three or four groups to be in here at any one time, but we’ve all got our own styles. Football guys can’t be in here without grunting and talking smack. The swimmers spend more time gossiping like old ladies than lifting. The basketball team likes the music turned up so loud there isn’t much of an option to chat.
“Reynolds. Still gimping around, huh? When’s the cast come off?”
Mario’s guys keep going with a nod in my direction.
“Three weeks. Can’t freaking wait.”
“Thank the fuck. Those chicken legs of yours are getting damn near embarrassing.”
I take his jabs in jest. Mario and I have been leaving our blood, sweat, and tears in this room for four years, and we both know I have fucking great legs.
“Give me a few weeks, and I’ll be squatting your pansy ass under the table.”
“We’ll see.” He wipes his forehead with a towel and tosses it on his shoulder. “We’re having a party at the house next Thursday. Be cool if you guys stopped by, haven’t hung out in a while.”
“Yeah, I’ll let the guys know. Speaking of the guys, how’s Shaw doing? Team’s worried about him splitting his time. I am, too, if I’m honest. We’re gonna need him to sub in some this year. Need him to be ready.”
“I hear ya. I don’t like it, either, but he’s the best damn relief pitcher we’ve had in years. I’ll keep an eye on him as best as I can while he’s with us.”
“Ditto.”
Fucking freshman has two babysitters and almost fifty teammates between the two sports, and he’s still shaping up to be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve seen in my four years.
3
Blair
Three daysout of the week I work at the small campus café in University Hall. In addition to the café, University Hall houses the university bookstore, a mini convenient store, and a sub shop. Untying my blue apron, I lean on the counter completely exhausted after the lunch rush.
Coffee and a pastry totally counts as lunch in college making it our busiest hour. College kids - we’re nothing if not lazy creatures of convenience.
“Hey, Katrina.” I let out a sigh as my replacement arrives, signaling the end of my shift.
“Rough day?”
