“I’m in the business of coaching a group of elite athletes, not standing around the water cooler gossiping. Do you have a question about the game?”
A smile tugs at my mouth. I like Walker. I’ve spent enough time with him outside of the Rogues facility to know he’s a stand-up guy. The fact Oakley married him within weeks of meeting him says enough for me anyway.
I trust her with my life. I trust her with the team.
The plan was for me to meet more of the players and staff after tonight’s game but I’m pretty sure after Draper’s questions, she’ll be in damage control mode. Which is probably why my phone hasn’t stopped vibrating.
My brain is already running through possibilities to keep this media storm locked down but when I hear the guy next to me say into his phone ‘get me everything you can on Beckett Higgison right down to his time of birth’, I know it’s too late to keep things contained. It’s a matter of battening the hatches and hoping for the least amount of damage.
If anyone knows how to do that it’s me.
I can’t say what the best course is yet, but one thing is clear.
I need to get out of here and find Oakley and Nat.
Beckett
Ducking out of the conference room I scan the corridor, my thoughts consumed by one thing.
Whitney.
I can’t see her in the crowd. Where is she? She’s supposed to be here, waiting for me outside the locker room.
“Beckett.” Natalie Redding, the Rogues General Manager, comes rushing toward me. Grabbing my arm as she passes, she drags me into her race along the corridor—how she moves so fast on her stiletto heels is mind-boggling. “We’ve got her up in the owner’s box. Oakley is with her, and right now we need you out of sight for a few minutes while we clear the arena of reporters and fans.”
“What the fuck?”
“Let’s get out of this echo-y cement tunnel, shall we?” She shoves open the locker room door with one hand and pushes me ahead of her with the other. She’s stronger than she looks and I have no choice but to step into the room or land flat on my face.
Not that I’m protesting. Every instinct I have might be screaming at me to get to Whitney, but I’m not stupid. If she’s in the owner’s box with Oakley James, she’s in good hands.
For now.
It takes me a second to realize a lot of the guys and staff are still here. No wait, they’re all still here sitting around as though waiting for something to happen. “What’s going on?”
“What’s our official statement?” the GM asks.
“Statement?”
“We need to make one and every member of the Rogues from staff to players needs to know what it is before they go out there. I can guarantee you that little shit show is already all over the internet and while securityaccidentallydropped and stepped on that reporter’s phone, I’m pretty sure whatever he had is now splashed across the net.”
Fuck!
I put both hands on my head.
It’s my worst nightmare come to life. I’ve spent almost two decades keeping Whitney and our life out of the spotlight. It hasn’t been easy, and I never planned for it to be a secret but it is.
Whatever the hell happened tonight to reveal her existence happened because in the last couple of years we’ve both relaxed.
I let her open accounts on a few of the popular social media sites because I didn’t want her life to be any more isolated than it had been before she’d started high school.
She promised to be careful and I trust her. Besides, she’s almost an adult. Soon I’ll have no control over what she does and I’m okay with that. I think I’ve done a good job of preparing her for the world outside our little bubble.
In all the years I’ve limited her social interactions she’s not once complained. But homeschooling meant she missed out on those important friendships a teenage girl needs and we’d talked about it repeatedly before I’d moved her to a private high school back in Toronto three years ago.
We discussed the possible move to Baton Rouge and before I even looked at the new contract with the Rogues, we found a local school we were both happy for her to attend.
“Beckett!”
