Page 24 of The Session

“Of course. I love being on the field. I love seeing a player get an extra few yards out of what they thought they could do. I love seeing people win. I love being part of it. I love running down the tunnel onto the field. I love all of it. I like working with the kids too. Watching the most uncoordinated kid in the world finally connect a bat to a ball and send it across the field. It’s great.”

“Then don’t get too caught up on the shape or form of it. Just focus on the experience. When you talk to those guys at Florida Atlantic College again, maybe it’ll work out, maybe it won’t, but just be open.”

“Yeah,” said Mark. “If I get the chance to talk to them again.”

“Didn’t Frank Cox’s people call you to set up another meeting?” Coach asked.

“Another meeting?” Mark repeated. “I just had the one.”

“Yeah, the shit show,” Stevenson confirmed. “Cox told me all about it when I called him.”

“You spoke to Cox?”

“Yeah. After you told me what happened, I was pretty pissed off. I went and checked my email, made sure I’d sent it. I did. And I called him up. Apparently, he’s not the only one who handles that email account, and he says one of his assistant coaches may have accidentally deleted it. My ass. They saw some competition and got scared. Point is, next time you’re down there and you want to talk, he’s willing to talk to you. He’s pretty high on you now,” Stevenson said with a wink. “Just so you know.”

“Are you serious?” Mark asked.

“Are you asking if I’m having a delusion?” Stevenson replied. “Check,” he added, pointing to his iPad. “Read the email yourself. I did that ‘bcc’ thing to myself and you this time.”

Mark pulled out his phone, scrolled through his email, and saw a message from the day before from Coach Stevenson that he had assumed was his sporadic sending of dirty jokes or news clips he found interesting. Instead, it was a follow-up to the original email he had sent, with a response from Cox saying he apologized for the mix-up and would love to speak with Mark again.

Coach Stevenson watched Mark. “Of course, given that fuckup, I don’t know if that’s really the right place for you, to be honest. You can do better.”

Mark laughed at that. “Thanks. We’ll see. I really appreciate it. I gotta admit, I kind of needed this right now.” He sighed. “Byron finished the paperwork on selling the ambulance service. Tonight’s my last shift. I haven’t heard back yet from the other company about whether they’re going to take me on. Worst case, I can pick up some shifts at one of the assisted-living facilities.”

“That’s great,” Stevenson replied. “Just not here. I don’t want to pass out and wake up to you giving me mouth-to-mouth. No offense, kid.”

The graveyard shift had been relatively uneventful for Mark and Devon. They had only two calls: taking an overweight asthmatic man who feared he might be having a heart attack to the hospital, and responding to an all-night diner where a distracted cook managed to pour the contents of a fryer onto his foot.

Their last shift together for the ambulance service ended an hour after sunrise, with Mark dropping Devon off at home.

They sat in the ambulance parked a few doors down from Devon’s house, neither knowing exactly what to say about the closing of this chapter of their lives.

“Byron tell you anything about FirstMed yet?” Devon asked, referring to the company acquiring the ambulance service.

“No,” Mark replied. “I guess they’re still getting things in order.”

Devon glanced at the side-view mirror. “They’re taking me on.”

“Well, that’s good. That’s great,” Mark replied. He had suspected that Byron had cut side deals for Devon and his other cousins.

“I’m sorry, man. Byron loves you, but I don’t think he could get them to take on anybody else. I feel terrible,” Devon said.

“Don’t,” Mark told him. “Everybody knows I was just doing this until the next thing came along. And I’m just glad he looked after you. You’ve got Renee and your kid to worry about. Me, I’m fine. I don’t know if you know this, but Holly’s not exactly hurting. So I think everything’s going to turn out great. Besides, I forgot to tell you: Coach Stevenson managed to get me another interview with Florida Atlantic College. It was like you said—somebody there decided to accidentally delete the email.”

“Really?” Devon asked. “You mean the old guy didn’t make it up?”

“Nope,” Mark replied. “I saw the follow-up email and Coach Cox’s response myself. If I make it back down there, they’re ready to talk. No promises, but hopefully it would be a better meeting than the last one.”

“If?” Devon asked. “You sound a little cold on the idea. What changed?”

“Other than completely face-planting my first time, not much, but I’ve just been trying to think more about priorities.”

“Man, you didn’t face-plant. You walked into a trap. One of those assholes wanted to make you look bad. That was it. Don’t take it to heart. It looks like that’s been straightened out.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the case. Anyway, don’t you have some Pop-Tarts to burn?” Mark asked.

“That happened once. I’ll catch up with you later today, after I find out what the situation’s like at FirstMed. There’s got to be a way to get you shifts,” Devon promised.