“Huh?” She sounds confused, and probably doesn’t have the brain capacity for my teasing right now.
“Because I’m calling you about that. About what to do next.” I take a breath. “One of our physios, who’s pregnant has been having problems, and has been given orders due to complications with her pregnancy that she has to stop working.”
“Oh no, is she okay?”
“She will be. Just bed rest,” I explain. “Management is starting to look for a temporary replacement. Maybe permanent, depending on if she comes back.” Silence on the other end. “They’ve asked around if we know anyone and I suggested you.”
“You did?” She gasps.
“So did Pierre and Felix. They’ve mentioned you’re one of the best physios they’ve ever worked with. And not because you’re family. That you’re brilliant. Professional. They talked up your stats at the rugby club.”
“They did?”
“Yeah. And um ... they looked you up and are interested,” I tell her.
“Lettie ...” she gasps.
“I know it’s a lot. But I wanted you to know. If you’re interested, you should apply. With Pierre and Felix’s endorsement, you’d have a real shot.”
I can practically hear her brain working overtime through the phone.
“There’s also a spare bedroom with us at the apartment. We could be roomies again,” I add, and I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice because the idea of having my sister here, in New York, down the hall from me, is everything.
“When would they need someone?” she asks.
“Sooner rather than later.”
“Shit.”
“I know. But think about it. Better pay. Better facilities. Closer to family.”
There’s a long pause.
“Send me the details?” she says.
“Already done. Check your email.” Because obviously I sent it before I even called her. I’m not an amateur. “Jo? You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Look, I’m not trying to pressure you. But I miss you. We all do. After what happened with that promotion, maybe this is a sign for a fresh start.”
“Let me think about it. Tell the boys thank you for advocating for me.”
“Of course. But don’t take too long. They’re interviewing candidates next week.”
“I’ll let you know,” she tells me, but I can hear it in her voice, she is seriously thinking about it.
“Good. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and stare at my phone.Please say yes.Having my brothers here has been amazing, but having Jo? That would make New York feel like home.
The season kicks off,and suddenly, time stops being a thing that exists. It becomes game days and travel days and edit days and no days, an endless rotation that I can barely keep track of without the content calendar Zara has color-coded to within an inch of its life. Red is game day. Blue is travel. Green is content creation. There is almost no white space. I stare at it everyMonday morning and feel a specific kind of tiredness that only exists in professional sports.
But also, and I will not say this out loud because I refuse to be that person …I love it.I love the pace of it. The way the arena smells different on game nights, like something electric in the air that you can’t manufacture. The way the guys transform between the locker room and the ice, all that banter and noise goes quiet and sharp right before they go out. The crowd. The noise. The moments that happen in real time that no content calendar can plan for. I love my job. I love this city. I love that I’m good at this.
The day in the life series is my idea, and it is, objectively, a genius one. Pick a player, follow them through a full game day from morning skate to final buzzer, behind the scenes, unfiltered. Real access. The kind of content that builds an actual connection between the fans and the players, not just highlight clips and interview sound bites. I pitched it to Renee, our boss, and she signed off on it in thirty seconds flat, loving the idea.