Leslie LaFoy - Blindsided

As always, the gentle voice coming from such a burly body melted her heart. “Maybe we need to think about fighting a lot less and playing a little more, huh?”

He gave her a weary smile. “Coach says I need to get better at the fighting.”

“Consider his directive countermanded.”

“Huh?” His attempt to cock a brow ended in a wince.

“I own the team, Ryan,” she said, “so I get to make the rules. I say less fighting, and I’ll make sure Carl understands that’s what I expect. When you get home, put some ice on that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he promised as she released him and gave him a little pat in the center of the back. She had to reach up to do it.

There wasn’t anyone else right behind him. Cat sighed in relief and stuffed her hands back into her pockets. Four for four. Now all she had to do was make good on her promises.

“You’re good.”

She smiled at the man leaning against her car, both amazed that she’d forgotten he was there and pleased by his approval. “Thanks. Wait until you see me behind the bench.”

“That’s a whole different world,” he countered. “You’re good at parking lot cheerleading. You’d be smart to leave it at that and not push your luck.”

Yeah, well, she’d spent way too many years of her life not pushing and, with one notable exception, she had nothing to show for it but regrets. “Hold on to that thought, I’ll be back to it in a few,” she said, eyeing the round, decidedly bald silhouette coming through the arena door. She went to meet him halfway, calling out, “Carl! If I could have a minute with you, please.”

He paused, barely, turning sideways as though he would walk off at any moment. His smile was the one he always gave her. The I’m-tolerating-you-only-because-you-sign-the-checks smile. The one that set her teeth on edge every time she saw it.

“It’ll have to be quick, Mrs. Talbott,” he informed her as players moved around them. “The bus is waiting.”

“And it’ll sit right there until you get aboard,” she pointed out. “I’d like for you to change the lines starting with tomorrow morning’s practice. Obviously they’re not working as they are now.”

“It won’t make any difference. You can’t make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear.”

Sow’s ear, she silently corrected. “I don’t care. I want the lines changed, Carl. And while we’re making changes, I’ve never been a fan of either boxing or professional wrestling. I’m tired of our games being more a contest of fists than finesse. The fighting needs to be stopped.”

He gave a thumbs-up sign to one of the players walking past while telling her, “Fights are what the fans come to see.”

“Yeah, all six of them,” she countered dryly. “Maybe if we actually played hockey a few more people might be interested in coming to the games and helping to pay the rent.” At his snort, she put her hands on her hips and looked him square in the eye. “And your salary, Carl.”

He stopped smiling. He leaned close. “Look, Little Lady. With the exception of Wheatley, this team doesn’t have the talent to play the grand and glorious kind of hockey you’ve been watching on ESPN. Those guys are the pros. These guys are the ones who couldn’t make it. They’re bottom of the barrel.”

Bottom of the barrel? The boys took beatings for this man? Cat had to count to ten before she could unclench her teeth. “Let me ask you something, Carl. If you have such a low opinion of the boys, of their abilities and their chances, why do you bother to coach them?”

“I like seeing the country,” he answered, edging away from her with a sneer, “from the window of a stinking, belching, rattling bus.”

Cat stepped directly into his path. “I’m serious, Carl. Why do you coach them if you don’t believe in them?”

“I dunno,” he snarled. “Maybe it’s because I don’t have any other hobbies that I can make good money at.”

“A hobby?” she repeated, furious. Passing players stared, but she was too mad to care. “You consider coaching the Warriors a hobby? For these boys, it’s life. It’s their dream. How dare you blow them off!”

He tried to step around her again. Cat planted herself in his way, said, “You’re fired, Carl,” and stuck out her hand, palm up. “I’ll have the keys to the office and the rink, please. You can clean out your desk in the morning after Lakisha unlocks.”

He reached into his pants pocket and yanked out a key ring. “You got it, lady. We can talk about my severance package then, too.”

Standing with her hand out, she watched him find and separate two keys from the others. “This isn’t exactly a spur-of-the-moment decision and I’ve read your contract, Carl. There’s no severance provision. You’ll draw this month’s salary and that’s it.”

He slapped the loose keys into her hand, asking, “Your boyfriend over there sweet talk his way into my job?”

Logan. Oh, God. She’d forgotten him again. What would he think when he found out she’d fired Carl? That she was trying to manipulate him into taking the job? How was she going to convince him otherwise when she’d gladly give him anything he wanted if he’d sign on? Oh, wasn’t that going to be a scene and half. She’d rather set herself on fire.

“In the first place, Carl, he’s not my boyfriend,” she said as she stuffed the keys in her pocket. “And in the second, he’s not interested in coaching.”

“You’re not going to find anyone who’ll be willing to take on this bunch of losers. You know that, don’t you?”

Losers? The son of a bitch. She walked away, refusing to give him so much as a backward glance as she called over her shoulder, “And the horse you rode in on, Carl!”

Logan chuckled as she blew past him, “I take it Spady isn’t all that enthused about the idea to mix up the lines.”

She wasn’t in the mood to face the truth squarely or to tap dance around it. Not right now. She needed time to cool down and figure out a plan of some sort. “What Carl Spady thinks doesn’t matter,” she declared as she yanked open the driver’s side door. “I’m starving. Do you need a lift to your car?”

He came off the front end, his amusement replaced by a look of wary assessment. “I’m parked right over there,” he said, making a vague motion in the direction of the lot outside the chained off area.

“Then I’ll see you at Hero’s,” Cat announced, practically throwing herself into the seat and pulling the door closed. She turned the ignition over and snapped on the lights in the next second, all too keenly aware of Logan Dupree’s frown as he walked away.

“God,” she groaned, as she sagged into the seat and closed her eyes. “I hate frickin’ roller coasters. Just hate them.”

But there was no climbing off now and she knew it. Tom had belted her in and shoved the lever into Go! She had a couple of minutes before Logan got to his car. With a hard sigh, she opened her eyes and reached for the Dummies book in the passenger seat. “Lines,” she muttered, flipping through the index. “Definition and composition of.”

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