“You got it. Lift up your left one.” I lifted his ankle, pushing the leg high and straight. He bucked, hissing at me. “Yeah, you are tight. Push back. You need this looser.”
“Argh.” He groaned, doing so. “This ain’t helping.”
“Tough shit, Peter. If you want to nail that field goal, you need both legs loose. I don’t care that you kick with your right. You need your balance and transfer of weight to be smooth. Come on, push back.”
He did. Then, his leg went to both sides, me using my body weight to push down. It had a slight awkwardness to it because I overthought every position. I pushed it away, focusing only on the part of getting him ready to play. I patted his leg, getting up to grab the net. “Now, I want to see three straight run-throughs. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, setting the ball on the ground and going through the motions. He did it, successfully, three times. “It feels shit loads better.”
“Good. You’re gonna sink it.” I held out a hand for a high five. He slapped it before heading back to the rest of the team. I bit my lip, smiling. This was my first live game experience, and I freaking loved it. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling.
Brock joined me in complete business mode. Despite my issues with him, I respected his professional mindset. Game day was game day—no distractions. I needed to model his behavior. Whatever happened with us had no place on the field. I started explaining what I did with Peter. He nodded, sparing me a brief glance.
“Well done, that’s exactly what you should’ve done. How did he look with the net?”
“Smooth. Much looser. He’s been the kicker for two years, yeah?” I asked, still learning a lot about the players and their pasts.
“This is his second year. He’s talented but gets in his head. He thinks he’s injured, and sometimes you need to placate him.” He frowned, squinting his eyes at the field. “Do you see Zach? See how he is favoring his left side more than right? He might have cracked a rib, that dumbass. Go prepare some ice, please. He’ll need it when he comes off. I want you to work with him.”
“Got it.” I went to grab the ice and soon enough, Zach came off the field with his hand on his rib. I ran up to him, handing him the ice. “Put this on it. Stand up straight. Can you make it through the rest of the game, or do we need to look at it now?”
“Shit. I’m not leaving this fucking game right now. I’ll tough it out. Give me that ice,” he demanded, sweat pouring off his face and hitting the ground like rain. I nodded, unsure of my place. He walked like he was in pain, and I had to obey what Brock told me to do.
My palms sweat and heart raced. It was a ballsy move, but I said, “Zach, if your rib is cracked, it’s not worth it.” We had no way of knowing unless we did a scan, but I knew he wouldn’t do it. “You need to sit out the rest of the game.”
“Are you fucking with me right now? You don’t know shit,” he yelled, the exact moment the game became silent, and the people around us all looked our way. With shaking hands, I fisted them at my sides and stood firm.
“I’m not Anderson, but I know my shit, Zach. First off, if you have a cracked rib, then you won’t be playing in any of the next three to four games. And guess what? That freshmen who matches you in size but not experience? He’s going to start all those games. But, the last three minutes of a game that is going to come down to a field goal? Let him play. You need to rest and prevent anything worse from happening because three to four games can turn into the rest of the season,” I yelled, my voice growing more confident as I went on. My hands were no longer clenched on the side, but instead, waving around as I kept talking. “You being pissed at me has no affect. My job is to make sure you are good for the entire season. So, go pout if you want, but until Anderson clears you, you’re out.”
I stopped. I waited. I took two breaths, waiting to see how he would respond. If he wanted to cause a scene, then I would deal with it. His eyes narrowed briefly at me before he nodded. Then, he turned around to slam himself onto the bench. I sighed and turned to see Brock standing next to me with a big ass smile on his face. I raised an eyebrow and shrugged, “What?”
“Nice work, new girl.” The smile, that beautiful smile, met his eyes and danced off his face. He patted my shoulder, like a good dog, and laughed. “Way to stick it to him. You handled that perfectly.”
“Phew. I wasn’t sure,” I said, shaking my head and looking over in Zach’s direction. “I mentally prepared myself for push back, but I get defensive when people question my intelligence.”
“You handled it well. And, if any of the players disrespect you again in any way, you need to tell me. They know it is unacceptable, and he has one day to apologize. One day, and that’s it. If he doesn’t, hah, it won’t be good for him.” He met my eyes, holding my gaze. Little did he know I wouldn’t look anywhere else when all his attention was on me. “That was awesome.”
I smiled, holding out my hand for a high five. He slapped it, squeezing my hand. I felt like a million bucks. “Thanks, I guess.”
He nodded one more time at me with a smile and walked over to talk to Zach, and I was flipping glad I couldn’t hear their conversation. I was okay with backtalk. I got it all the time waitressing. But, don’t insult what I know because mama will grow some claws.
The difference between the bus ride to the game was huge compared to returning home. The players wanted to sleep, so there was no rap music blaring to the point my teeth shook. It was quiet, peaceful, and it even smelled better since they’d all showered. I put my headphones in, put on a calming playlist, and snuggled into my pillow all before Brock got on the bus.
It was lights out within minutes—exhaustion didn’t cover how tired I was, and dreams arrived instantly. My mind floated from football fields to visions of my mom and her wonderful crooked smile. The dream showed me as a young girl sitting in our small living room together. She was braiding my hair—something she did often, and in the memory, I smiled up at her as she tied two bows into each braid. She tugged on the ends and told me I was the light of her life. She pulled me into a soft hug, and a wave of sadness so deep and powerful hit me. It wasn’t fair I’d lost her. I jerked up from the dream, confused and sad at how she wasn’t there.
My eyes stung, and I sniffed at the harsh reality slap. The salty taste of tears touched my lips, and I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe them away.
“Grace, what’s wrong?” Brock’s concerned face frowned down at me.
“Hmm?”
“You’re crying,” he stated, handing me a napkin. “Why?”
I sucked in a trembling breath, fighting the emotions I always tried to keep buried. “I dreamed of my mom. It felt so real. I haven’t had a dream like that in months.”
He nodded and a look of understanding crossed his face. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was the act of him trying to comfort me and give me strength, and that made my heart pitter-patter. “Do you miss her? Shit, that’s a terrible question. Of course, you do. What do you think brought this on?”
“Today. It was all kinds of wonderful. I had a moment where I swore I felt her presence, and I wished more than anything I could call her and tell her about the entire experience.” I chose to look out the window instead of at him. “I miss her every day. Some more than others.”
“I’m so sorry. How old were you when she passed away?” he asked, his voice softer than I had ever heard. He spoke like I would break into pieces. Normally, I’d hate the pity. But, it fit the mood. We were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, and he was offering comfort.
“I had been eighteen for about three months.” I remembered the day, so vividly and so clearly that it was the one day I took off work every single year. It was too powerful, and I needed the entire day to grieve my brutal way into being an orphan.
“What about your dad?” he asked with a hopeful tone. “Are you two close?”
“My dad left my mom and I w
hen I was seven. Haven’t seen him since.”
His body tensed, his grip on my hand tightening. “Jesus.”
“I’m over it. My mom was all I needed.” I stopped hating him or being bitter that he left us. However, no one knew that he was the reason I went through years of physical therapy. That was one family secret I refused to share.
My dad hit me with his car, shattering my leg and our family. Sure, it was an accident, but he couldn’t deal with the guilt, so he left. He broke my mom’s heart. Mine, too. It was a shitty seventh birthday.
“Your mom sounds like a strong woman.”
“She was. She was the bravest, kindest, strongest person I knew.” Another intense emotion flew through me, my throat closing in that awful way when I fought tears. I cleared my throat to help the words come out.
“Losing my sister and my niece almost destroyed me,” he said so softly, I had to lift my head to hear him correctly.
“Oh, Brock.” I now gripped his hand, turning to face him. “I’m so sorry. I heard about it, but events like that are the last thing I want to read about.”
His voice had an eerily, monotone change to it. Like he had to distance himself from it to talk about it. “I had been in the NFL for a couple of years, living life like I always wanted. Leslie, my sister, was my number one fan. More than my parents. God, we were close. I’m pretty closed off, but she had a way to make me open up to the world.” He paused, and his voice got darker. “I needed a ride home one night.”
My stomach dropped, oh my god. Was this the career changing accident? My blood turned to ice, wishing I could change his story.
“It wasn’t even a drunk driver or anything. I was at the airport that was close to her place. She brought Dina with her. On the ride back, a driver hit her side of the car, causing us to spin out and smack into a light pole. We bent around it, trapping me and crushing my arm.” His voice trailed off, becoming rougher and filled with an emotion I was very familiar with. “Her and Dina died on impact. I had to, uh, I watched them remove their bodies from the car.”
“Oh my god. Brock. No.” I wanted to crawl into his lap to hug the sadness away from him. Anything, anything but this. “You don’t have to finish.”
“I want to.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “My arm was trapped in the metal of the car, but I had to get to them. I ripped it out. But, it was too late. They were already gone. If I hadn’t called her that night, they would still be alive.”
I sucked in a breath, shaking my head. Survivor’s guilt. It had the potential to be soul-crushing. “Don’t think like that, you can’t.”
“I lost my best friend, niece, and career in one night. People think I was upset about my career ending, and I was, but it was nothing compared to the despair I had about my sister and Dina.”
“I hate that this happened to you,” I whispered. Shit like this changes a person.
“Every time I’m laughing, or having a good time, I remember, and it goes away. How is it fair if I get to live my life when they lost theirs?” His voice sounded tormented, and suddenly, it all made sense.
People hurting themselves.
The need to care and help others.
The frown lines permanently scarred into his face.
The mood swings.
He felt he didn’t deserve to be happy. My heart broke for this man. I scooted closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder and squeezing his middle. Screw the lines he drew earlier. He was my temporary boss who had suffered a loss. We could support one another.
Greif did different things to people, and when it was shared, even a little bit, it was comforting. So, I cuddled up next to Asshole Anderson, and he put his arm around me, squeezing right back. It was dark, late at night, and felt right.
We stayed like that the entire ride back, taking comfort in each other. Sure, lines were blurred, and things changed, but I couldn’t complain. We had our broken pieces put together, even if just for one night.
Chapter Thirteen
Summer turned to fall, and while nothing had changed between Brock and I since our shared night in a hotel room, things were fine. We worked together and kept every single thing professional. Sure, when I got him to laugh from time to time, it felt like I’d won a million dollars, but there were no lingering feelings I had for my boss—at least, I told myself that every day.
There was a small break room where a shitty coffee machine sat, and that was where Logan and I had met every day before work the last couple of weeks. Today was no different. I walked in and saw him sitting there with his mug of coffee. “Morning, Grace. I went on a Tinder date last night. I swear, I thought she left, but when I woke up, she was still very much there, and she’d made sock puppet lookalikes for both of us.”
I laughed, pouring myself a mug and joining him. “Did you make her leave when you left to come here? Please don’t tell me you left her there, in your place. That would be a real, real bad move.”
“I’m not completely an idiot. Fuck. But, I wouldn’t put it past her to make a copy of my key in the middle of the night. Should I be worried?” His brows disappeared into his hairline.
“Did you wrap that shit up?” I gestured to his crotch, scrunching my nose in disgust. “If you didn’t, get your shit checked out. ASAP.”
“First, Gracie, don’t call my dick shit. It’s rude.” He rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee. “And yes. Thank you for your concern.”
“You’re a hot mess, Logan,” I said, fighting a smile. He had become a nice ally in the stadium. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, but we’d formed an easy friendship, and for that, I was thankful. Friends were hard to make when all I did was work, so having him was a little perk. “I’m glad we’re friends, but you are a lot to handle.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” He looked way too smug about the fact, too. “Listen, I’m texting you if this chick shows back up. I might need you to pretend to be my girlfriend or something.”
“Let me know. I might be up for it. Just once. Then, you’ll owe me, majorly.”
He rolled his eyes, and I took off to get my schedule from Brock. We didn’t need to meet and talk before my shifts anymore because I knew enough to get started on my own. So, it was odd when I found him sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he typed on his computer. I knocked on the already open door. He looked up, smiling when he saw it was me. A welcome smile for no reason was an odd sign.
“Morning, Grace. Here. Sit down.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk. “How was your weekend?”
I sat, confused as hell. I looked around, making sure no one was around us. “Um, yes?”
“Why the hesitation? Is there something you don’t want to share with me?” he asked, a dark tone hiding beneath the calm words.
“No?”
His eyes narrowed, lips pursing before he shook his head. “You don’t sound confident, but it doesn’t matter.” He grinned, full force at me. It startled me how much his face changed. God, he was outrageously attractive. It wasn’t fair. “Today is going to be awesome.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” I held back questions about why in the hell we were doing small talk when that was something we never did. Ever. For any reason.
“Because we have four thousand dollars to spend on equipment.” He clapped his hands and looked expectantly at me. I raised a fist in the air, waving it around.
“Yay!” I said, sarcastically.
“We are going shopping,” he mocked, making a squeal at the end. It was careless, goofy, and endearing. “This is the best day ever.”
“Your valley girl is showing. Can you tuck her back in?” I joked, earning another grin in response. “Where do we shop?”
“Oh, just you wait and see. You’re going to love it.” He stood up, clad in athletic pants and an old team shirt. God, he made the simplest things look good.
“I don’t enjoy shopping,” I admitted, but he had already left the office. Okay, then. I followed in the direction to the supply closet and let go
of my filter. “You’re more strange than usual today.”
He didn’t reply. He just laughed and opened the door to the closet. “I appreciate the kind words. I really do, but trust me on this. You’re going to freak out.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He ushered me into the room and shut the door, so it was just the two of us. The air cackled. "Uh, what are we doing in here? Don’t get me wrong, I like hanging out in Harry Potter type spaces, but this is sort of dingy.”
“Dingy?” he said, his voice way closer to me than I remembered him standing. “I cleaned it out this summer. It is not dingy.”
“Sort of, no offense. You have one grainy light bulb, and the shelves aren’t organized.” I took a step away from him, grabbing the clipboard from his hand. “Are we doing inventory?”
“Step one is always knowing what you have and what you need.” He stepped toward me again, his arm brushing mine. “Look, this is what we ran out of first. I want you to rank what we need as a priority before a want.”
He pointed, impressing me with his organization and tracking skills. “Doesn’t Jess do this?”
“No. I handle the equipment. She works part-time for me, part-time for the front office guys. I prefer to handle everything. I’m a control freak.”
“Shocking revelation,” I mumbled under my breath, getting a chuckle from him. I looked up, eyes wide at his laughter, and he winked at me. What the hell? Flustered, I shook my head and went back to the list. “Anyway, I think we need gauze, wound wash, Neosporin.” I checked the list and looked back at him. “There isn’t a whole lot we need.”
“Hence, the reason for my excitement. We have fun money.” He clapped his hands again, grinning wildly. “I thought we didn’t need a lot, but I still want to do a full inventory in here before we go. Plus, stores aren’t open for another hour.”
Internship with the Devil (Shut Up and Kiss Me Book 1) Page 12
