“You bet. Just make sure you give yourself a proper warm-up tonight before you jump the mound and start throwing one hundred mile speedballs, okay? That’s how you get on the list for needing a new shoulder before your thirtieth birthday.”
Watson acknowledged me with a grunt as I headed for the coach’s office. I didn’t have a clue what Coach wanted to see me about, but it wasn’t uncommon for us to have trainers’ meetings with him if he needed to be brought up to speed on a player’s status. Those were scheduled though, and never held a mere few hours before a big game.
When I stepped inside the office, I found I wasn’t the only one Coach had rounded up. Shepherd; the team’s doctor, Dr. Callahan; and Turner, the physical therapist, were all circled around someone sitting in a chair across from the coach’s desk.
Luke.
He didn’t divert his attention toward me when I entered the room; he kept his gaze on Coach and his expression conventional. He was in a pair of jeans, a snug-fitting white tee, and had his team ball cap on backward, sending the ends of his hair curling out around the rim of it.
Even being in a room packed with other bodies and neither of us really acknowledging each other, I had a difficult time staying unaffected. The air became a little thinner. My heartbeat a little louder. My breaths a little shorter.
“What do you have to say about this, Eden?” Coach stood behind the desk, already in his uniform and windbreaker, pointing straight at Luke.
My throat constricted at the same time the air rushed out of my lungs. All the eyes in the room, except for Luke’s, turned on me, all of them waiting for my response. Had someone found out? Is that what this unscheduled meeting was about?
My mind went blank as the silence continued.
“Am I speaking in gibberish or something?” Coach grunted, staggering his hands across the desk as he leaned across it. “You’ve spent the last two days with Archer. Start talking.”
My pulse felt like a drumbeat in my throat as adrenaline and anxiety flooded my system. Coach’s stare was unyielding, and the longer I stayed quiet, scrambling for something to say, the more imaginary steam seemed to blow from his ears.
Shepherd’s forehead was drawn together, appraising me with a look that indicated he thought me quite inept. Dr. Callahan's and Turner’s expressions weren’t that much better. Archer was the only one not looking at me, but as my silence stretched on, he shifted in his seat.
“My leg.” His voice filled the room. “How do you think my leg’s doing?”
When he let his head turn just enough in my direction so our eyes connected, I relaxed. This wasn’t a meeting accusing Archer and me of having an inappropriate relationship—this was a status meeting about his leg.
My lungs went from two limp, sagging balloons to bursting. “It’s a stage two pull, as you all know,” I started, having to look away from Archer in order to speak intelligibly. “We continued to treat it through the night, alternating ice and heat, every three hours. The plan is to continue the same through tonight, start some massage and stretching tomorrow, and take it from there.”
Coach was whirling his hand like he was waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t add anything else, he threw his arms in Archer’s direction. “Fantastic. But what does that have to do with tonight’s game?”
“Tonight’s game?” I felt my eyebrows pinch together as I glanced at Archer, still perfectly stoic-faced in his chair, almost like he was waiting to be read a sentence in court.
Coach grumbled something, his cleats clinking on the floor as he started pacing behind the desk. “Yes, can he play or not?” My eyebrows stayed together as he continued, “I’ve gotten everyone else’s opinion on the matter, and now I’d like yours. If it wouldn’t be too big of an inconvenience for you to give it, of course.” Coach shot me a look.
I stood quietly confused for another moment. Waving at Archer, the only one sitting in the room, and ripe from ice and heat treatments, I felt like the answer should have been obvious. “No.” My voice seemed to fill the whole room. “He can’t play tonight.”
I didn’t miss the way Archer’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing just enough to give away he wasn’t as removed as he was letting on. I also didn’t miss the rest of the bodies in the room shifting. Shepherd huffed under his breath as his head shook.
Coach didn’t seem to notice any of it—he just kept watching me like he was challenging me to change my answer or something. I wouldn’t though. With this kind of injury, playing a game less than forty-eight hours later shouldn’t even be open to discussion. Archer was out for one game at least, if not a few. It was difficult to say for sure since with an injury like his, you had to take it day by day.