I spot a ball of paper in the corner and move to collect it. Did we miss someone? Or maybe I accidentally gave one of the guys two sheets of paper?
Or maybe it’s a balled-up receipt, and it has nothing to do with the snowball fight.
Out of curiosity, I carefully unfurl the edges and read it.
I’m exhausted.
The pressure is getting to me.
I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it together.
17
AVA
I’m notsure how much longer I can hold it together.
I reread the line, acid churning in my gut. The note is a cry for help, but who wrote it?
It could’ve been anyone. There are twenty-four guys on the team, including Sutter, who’s on injured reserve. He was here today, like always, and seemed to be his usual happy-go-lucky self.
That doesn’t mean anything.
True. Lots of people suffer in silence.
For all I know, Coach could’ve written the message, though I doubt it. I’ve seen his handwriting often enough to feel confident it’s not his.
I pocket the note. I need time to consider my next steps. Without tone, context, or body language, it’s difficult to assess the seriousness of the statements, but I’m not about to write it off.
I do a final sweep of the room and head for the rink to observe practice.
When I arrive, one of the admins is filming B-roll from behind the glass, and Dr. Banks is hovering in the viewing area, dressed to the nines, as usual.
His mouth tightens as soon as he spots me. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Somehow I doubt it. “I was in the locker room, running the team through a team building exercise.”
He glances pointedly at the ice, but drops it.
“I read your weekly update, and I have concerns.”
This is what you get for sending it early.
I won’t make that mistake twice.
If I’d held off sending it until this afternoon, I probably could have gotten through the weekend without one of these delightful visits.
We stare at one another in silence, but of course I break first. “What concerns do you have, Dr. Banks? I’m happy to address them.”
“It’s not just the reports themselves, but what they represent.”
Represent? This isn’t freshman English. They’re progress reports, and they’re as straightforward as it gets. “Oh?”
“Your reports show little improvement and offer even less value. You need to at least make it look like you’re trying,” he whisper-hisses. “Jonathan Towers wants results, and he wants them yesterday. This organization is paying you far too much to get nothing in return.”
Is he joking? I don’t even make enough to rent a decent apartment after paying my student loans, and forget about benefits because it’s a contract position, which Banks and Towers, the team GM, must know.
“Jonathan is looking at the budget for next year and evaluating whether your position should be made permanent.” He sniffs. “As it stands, he won’t be recommending it.”