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“Then why the cold shoulder?” A quick step forward, phone presented. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I’m gonna be late for practice,” I say. “Why? What’s there to tell you?”
“Why? What have you heard?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
I arch a brow. “Is there something specific you’re fishing for, Ms. Wells?”
Trisha presses her lips together as her eyes search the ramp. “Scandal at Chicago North,”she whispers beneath the sounds on the field. “Rumor has it there’s about to be quite the shake-up in the coaching department. Bye-bye, Coach Thomas. Hello, fresh blood. Do you know anything about that?”
“Why would I know anything about that?” I ask with a shrug.
“Nothing’s been whispered around the dinner table at home?” she asks.
“No.”
“How about the Kirby house?” She juts her chin toward Alex and Ben as she leans in closer to me. “Y’all are close, right? Rose is faculty here. Has she mentioned anything?”
I tilt back. “Not to me.”
She hums lightly. Or is it a growl?
“Trisha.”
“Rats,” she whispers, annoyed by the strong male tone behind her. Then, she throws on a smile and spins around to face the man standing at the locker room exit. “Hunter, darling! How are you? You’re looking very... thick,as usual.”
I bob my head, somewhat thankful for his interruption. “Hey, Coach Novak.”
Hunter nods at me as he crosses his arms, his biceps testing the sleeves of his T-shirt as he eyes Trisha Wells, the tension between them full of history. While I don’t know the full story, I know she was Daisy’s boss back in the day. The two of them worked together on the Home Run Hunter expose for the magazine, an article that became the famous Home Run Baby story the world knows and loves. Violet’s story.
“You’re a little far from Los Angeles, Trisha,” he says.
“The magazine sent me,” she says, then smiles. “Didn’t Daisy tell you I was coming?”
He hums, stiff but amused.
“You honestly didn’t expect me to not fly out here and cover this story personally, did you?” she adds, swinging to my side to wrap an arm around my waist. “The children of arguably the most impressive starting line-up in Chicago North Bearhawk history are taking the field for the first time today! Of course I’m here in person, Hunter. It’s a goddamn historical event!”
I chortle. Laying it on a little thick there, Ms. Wells.
“No one’s taking the field at all if you don’t let the kid get to practice on time,” Hunter says.
“When you’re right, you’re right.” Trisha gives my arm a squeeze before releasing me. “I’ll be in the stands.” She leans in again. “If you hear anything, call me. You still have my number, right?”
Not sure exactly what I’m supposed to be listening for, but I nod politely anyway. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Wells.”
Trisha spins on her heels, offering us a wink as she goes. “You tell my little ballerina that Home Run Baby 2 is still on the table,” she says to Hunter.
“No, it’s not,” he says, firm and protective.
She cackles.“Go, Bearhawks!” she says, her voice echoing over the sound of her shoes clacking on the concrete toward the field.
Hunter bridges the gap between us with a few long strides. “You okay, bud?” he asks me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks for the assist, Coach. I’d almost forgotten how... persistent she can be.”
