Walking into the training facility felt less like showing up for work and more like stepping into a courtroom, and I was already the defendant.
It started this morning, when I went to Cade’s place expecting to ride with him.
No Cade.
Just a folded note on the counter in his terrible handwriting:
Since you’re miraculously well enough to hang out with Kelvin, I bet you can find your way to the training ground just fine.
I stared at it for thirty seconds, debating whether to laugh or set it on fire. In the end, I shoved it in my bag.
By the time I made it to the facility, the place was alive with the sound of squeaking sneakers, bouncing balls, and the low hum of men who’d been up since dawn.
A tall guy in team gear spotted me just inside the door. “Uh, media day’s not today.”
“I’m no
