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“Got a minute?” Coach asked.
I nodded. Suddenly, I wanted out of that locker room. I wanted away from that locker full of my friend’s things. My hands itched to get a box, throw it all in there, and tuck it away.
When I joined Coach Freedman in the hallway, he had a serious look on his face. But then again, he always did. It was why he and I got along so well. His seriousness was rooted in age and a life spent dedicated to the sport we both loved. Mine was simply because I was an asshole, and somehow people seemed to like me for it.
“How’s everyone doing?” he asked.
I crossed my arms and sighed. “Okay, I think. Might be time to clean out his locker.”
Slowly, his gray eyebrows rose. “You sure about that? There’s no rush, if the guys aren’t ready.”
But what he really meant was ifIwasn’t ready.
“They’ll be ready soon,” I said, voice a touch harsher than I intended. “Last thing we need is to keep staring at his goofy-ass smile all the time and thinking about his horrible fucking jokes.”
Coach smiled, sad and understanding. “I miss him too.”
I cleared my throat. “Is that all you needed?”
“No.” He scratched the side of his face, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I got a phone call patched through the front office. They were looking for you.”
“Who?”
“Chris and Amie’s lawyer,” Coach said quietly. “He needs you at his office as soon as you can get there.”
My stomach hollowed out, but I didn’t drop his gaze. “What for?”
“He didn’t say. But it sounds important. He found some documents relating to Chris and Amie’s will. He said he tried the number on file but couldn’t leave a message.” Coach gave me a knowing look. “I didn’t tell him what happened to your last phone and that your voicemail box has been full for months.”
Finally, I broke his gaze and stared down at the floor.
Kind of him, really. Considering I’d smashed my cell phone against the wall of the conference room where they’d told us about the car accident. Followed by a chair that I’d hurled at a TV screen.
But none of that destruction had helped much. That’s the thing about helpless rage. There’s no place you can put it where it lessens the toll on your body. I still felt it churning in my bones and my blood, with nowhere to go. It was stuck under my skin, day in and day out.
Wordlessly, Coach handed me a slip of paper. On it were the name of the lawyer and an address.
“He said if you can be there at three, he’d appreciate it. Apparently, this can’t wait.”
The longer I stared at the paper, the more the words blurred, and I refused to look into Coach’s face until I’d willed back any hint of moisture in my eyes.
“You sure you don’t know why he wants to see me?” I asked. “Because if you know, tell me now so I don’t feel fucking ambushed in some stuffy office with some stuffy lawyer.”
The side of his mouth hooked up in a smile. “Trust me, if I knew, I’d tell you. I make it a point not to send you into situations where you feel backed into a corner.” He smacked my shoulder. “Call me later if you need to talk about it. Whatever it is.”
I glared at the piece of paper, then shoved it into my pocket.
Fifteen minutes later, I was driving into downtown Denver with a sinking feeling in my gut that whatever the lawyer had to tell me ... I wouldn’t like it.
Chapter Two
ZOE
One of the weirdest things about life is how you change without even realizing it’s happening. Change comes in such tiny increments, water dripping slowly into a bowl, and before you know it, everything is overflowing. The mess materializes before you realize you’ve got something to clean up.
It’s not always like that, of course. Sometimes you’re stuck in a situation where some cosmic asshole cranks the hose on full blast, and you have no choice but to try not to drown in the wake of what’s been unleashed in your face.
I’d experienced the first kind of change throughout my failed marriage and the years that followed, where I had to figure out who I really was.
