Icing Those Hurts (NOT MY STORY. READ DISC)

Part 31

Phil hears harsh voices as he's coming out of one of the side offices, just finished getting off the phone.

Well, not voices. One voice. One familiar voice.

"Come on now, dear." Phil peeks around the corner, and sees Tommy standing there, shoulders slumped, shadowed over, and his coach standing in front of him, a sneer on his face. "What were you thinking asking me that? As if you're not grateful for the things that you have."

Tommy blinks rapidly, and Phil is horrified to see the tears clinging to his eyelashes. He doesn't try to speak though, he just stands there- listening to all the vitriol that his coach is spitting, all the poison he's pouring.

"Don't push your luck, Tom- you know your place. You know that I can replace you easily. That I don't want you without a medal. If you don't win-"

He doesn't finish, but Tommy shudders, clearly knowing how that sentence ends. And judging by everything Phil is seeing, he doesn't need a vivid imagination to fill in the blanks.

He steps out of the shadows, clearing his throat. The coach flinches, as he should, but Tommy hardly reacts besides taking a little breath. "Sorry, I don't mean to...interrupt, but I was wondering- as the coach of the ice hockey team, I was hoping to catch you to talk about your practice times. I think if we got together, we could really work on splitting them evenly between us- or at least you sharing your rink space with one of the other figure skaters? Just to balance it all out."

"Balance it all out?" He repeats.

"Yeah, I mean, you don't want to work your player to death before the events actually start," Phil says, grinning in that passive aggressive way he's had to learn from his years of doing this.

"I don't like what you're implying."

"There is no implication," he waves. "I'm just stating what I see. And what I see is a crowded practice rink schedule. Maybe it works for you, but it certainly doesn't for me. I would hate to have to go to the officials about this."

He purses his lips in distaste, clearly thinking that through. Whether Phil is bluffing, whether he has an alternative motive. Phil keeps his smile light and easy. Nothing to see here. Just a coach trying to win gold for hockey.

"...fine," the man concedes eventually. "I'll let go of two slots. Early morning and late night. If that doesn't work for you, oh well." He turns without hearing Phil's reply. "Come on, Tom."

Tommy doesn't immediately start following him out though. His hands, which are folded together in front of himself, tighten.

"Tommy?" Phil questions. He's got a million questions, but the most important comes first- "Are you alright?"

"Thank you," Tommy whispers. It doesn't escape Phil's notice that he doesn't answer.

"Tommy...if you need help-"

"I'm okay."

"But if you-"

"I'm okay. Thank you sir."

"Phil, please. Call me Phil, Tommy." He insists. He wants to ask- come on, remember me? Remember yourself? But he can't.

Tommy shakes his head. He doesn't look up. "Sir. I'm sorry, I should go."

"Tommy-"

But he's gone.