Page 67 of Offside

I groan over the ambush and flop back against the uncomfortable gurney mattress.

“Hey, everyone. As you can hear, I’m fine.”

“You’re fine because you’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Coach grumbles. “This is not your first rodeo and these hits obviously haven’t knocked any sense into you. Which is why we are putting you back on the IR list for the next four weeks.”

“Fuck,” I shout loudly, drawing the attention of the poor EMT dude, who startles in the confined space. I mouth, “Sorry,” and close my eyes, trying to calm my frustration.

“Ballas, it’s Jerry. We’re drafting the press release to say it’s an upper-body injury with a week-to-week evaluation. The only thing you’ll be doing, my friend, is getting some rest. No ice time. No workouts. No games.”

It’s a crushing blow to hear it stated with such finality.

It brings back my discussion with Karis, who has remained silent through all this. I don’t blame her. I was an absolute asshole to her and said things that were hurtful that will need some serious apologizing to rectify.

For Karis, I want to be that man for her. That is, if she gives me another chance to try and prove myself. So far, I haven’t scored on that penalty.

“I can’t say it’s not disappointing,” I say, my voice softens with agreement. “I know you are all acting in my best interests and I appreciate that. Thank you.”

The EMT removes the pulse ox monitor from my finger and slides the banded oxygen mask fully off my head, then gives me a thumbs-up.

“Hey, it looks like I’m just about done here and can get a ride home from Ax.” I lift my brows at him standing by his car and he gives me a wave. “But Karis, if you wouldn’t mind, can I speak with you privately?”

She’s quiet for a moment but then speaks up. “I’m glad to hear you’re okay, Ballas, and that you don’t need to go to the hospital. I can make time first thing tomorrow morning if you’d like to come by.”

I accept the invitation but decide tomorrow is far too long to wait. As soon as I’m given the all-clear and a now very sober Axelrod drops me off at home, I’ll be calling an Uber to take me to her place.

Technically, itisafter midnight, so by definition it is in fact tomorrow morning.

And what I need to tell her is best done in the privacy of her home, not at the office.

31

Karis

I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch and sifting through work emails, player updates, and stats to the background noise of the late-night news.

The minute I got home after the game tonight, I kicked off my shoes, changed into leggings and a cropped T-shirt, and tied my hair up into a messy bun at the top of my head.

That hairdo has gotten a whole lot messier from all the tugging and pulling I did when Coach Thomas called me about Ballas’s incident.

I was so afraid something like this would happen and worried that his pride would land him in this type of situation. But I couldn’t force him. He’s a big boy and it’s his life and career.

But it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about him endlessly. It’s been weeks since he stormed out of my office. I licked my wounds and waited for him to decide the direction he wanted to take. I buried myself in my work to stop myself from calling or texting.

Ballas is a smart man with nearly two decades of experience in his professional career. I have no doubt that he’ll come to the right conclusion.

Unfortunately, this latest incident is probably the nail in the proverbial coffin. The choice for him to continue playing is now likely out of his hands. If he doesn’t call it, then the team will be forced to keep him on the long-term injured reserve list and maybe put him on waivers. Retirement would look a whole lot better than a man of his skills being sent back down to the AHL affiliate.

I stretch my arms overhead and yawn, standing up from the couch, when I notice the clock reads after twelve-thirty. Knowing Ballas wants to meet first thing tomorrow morning, I should get some sleep in preparation for whatever that discussion will bring.

My phone screen suddenly lights up and my building security app pops open with a video of someone requesting entrance. I can only see the back of a baseball cap, their face turned away from the screen. It’s probably some drunk person with the wrong apartment number.

I’m about to call down to security when the man turns around and his face comes into view.

Ballas.

What the hell is he doing here?

I click the speaker button. “Ballas?”

---