Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(96)

“Yeah. I need you to stop selling bullshit to a healthy twenty-two-year old. The last thing he needs is injectables.”

“Dude,” Gino says with a nervous chuckle. “We were just chewing the fat.”

“Really?” I challenge. I’m pissed off, now. I’m pissed at my knees. And I’m pissed at the universe. And I’m pissed off that this jacked up muscle head would try to push supplements and drugs on a youngster who’s willing to do whatever he’s told to start his first NHL game.

“Henry!” I call down the hallway. “Are you around?”

The head trainer appears at the far end of the hallway, a roll of tape in his hands. “Right here, Eric. Problem?”

“Are injectable supplements part of your healthy player protocol?”

“No,” the older man shakes his head. “‘Course not. Who said that?”

“Gino. He referred me to a friend of his – a doctor – that’s not on your referral list. And now he wants Anton to look into some kind of supplement.”

Henry’s eyes narrow. “My office, Gino. Now.”





I’m working with Anton on the mats when Henry appears in the doorway.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, because I’m in the middle of trying to get my cousin to stretch his sartorius properly. “The muscle wraps around, see? You have to lengthen the whole thing so you can avoid a strain. Be kind to your groin.”

“Cool, man,” my dopey cousin says. “Speaking of my groin, Drake and I are headed to the Coco Club tonight. He says the women are fine. Want to come?”

“No thanks. I got plans.”

“Is your lady over her snit?”

“Not yet. But soon. What’s up, Henry?”

“Will you drop by my office before you go? I want to ask you something.”

“Sure. Be there in fifteen. We’re done here, anyway.”

After I’m showered and dressed, I retrieve the business card that Gino gave me from my locker, in case Henry wants a look at it.

“Hey,” I say, entering the trainer’s office. “Am I interrupting?” Coach Worthington is in there, too.

“Not at all,” Coach says. “Come in, will ya? Close the door.”

I do, and then I lay the business card on Henry’s desk. “I assume you wanted to see this?”

“Nice catch on that guy,” Coach says. “Who knows what’s in those supplements? Some kids will do anything the trainer tells them. Next thing you know, they’re testing positive for banned substances. And their only crime is trusting some asshole.”

“Yeah.” He’s got it exactly right. “A kid like Anton will do literally anything to make it on this team. Hell, so would I. I know better than to think that injections would magically improve my knee. But the idea is really seductive.”

Coach and Henry share a glance. Henry picks up the card on his desk, makes a face, and then tosses it down again. “Obviously Gino isn’t going to work out for the long term. I told him that spotting, stretching, and taping are the only things he’s allowed to do. I’m going to have to fire him as soon as I can find someone else.”

“Good plan.”

“But, listen. Have you ever thought about training?”

“Training?” I repeat. I train all the time.

“As a career,” Henry says.

“What? No.” I have a career, my subconscious argues. Although Henry’s serious expression prevents me from brushing the question aside. “No. I hadn’t ever thought of that.”

“Look,” he says, waving me into a chair. “I know you don’t want my advice. You’ve made it very clear that rehabbing your way back onto the roster is your goal. I respect that. But everyone’s career ends eventually.”

“I know that,” I say. Although, to be fair, I do my best to forget it.

“You have a lot to offer, Eric,” Coach says. “Any G.M. would be thrilled to have you as a scout. Any program would hire you as a trainer.”

“You’d have to certify,” Henry adds. “But you’re so smart that it’d be a walk in the park for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, my face heating. “I’m not ready to think about that yet.”

“We know,” Coach says. “You’re not done with hockey. But hockey isn’t done with you, either. So when you’re ready to figure out your second act, we’ll be here to discuss it with you.”

“Thanks.” I clear my throat, which is suddenly tight. “I’ll remember that.” I glance at the clock on Henry’s desk. “I’d better run. There’s somewhere I need to be.”

“Run carefully,” Coach jokes. “Wear your knee brace.”

“You know it.”





A few hours later I’m doing leg lifts outside Alex’s apartment, when the door jerks open. “Hey, Duff? You want anything from Hunan Garden?”

After her head pokes out of the door, it still takes her a second to find me, since I’m not in the chair, but rather on a yoga mat on the floor. She lets out a surprised little yelp when our gazes collide.

“No thanks, I already ate,” I answer, sitting up.