Her body shivers against mine. "Cut thatout."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it," she corrects, but I hear the smile in her voice. "How was the flight home?"
"Quiet."
I think of Beck, staring out the window the entire way, headphones in, not saying a word. He'd been grilled by Darcy post-match, but I was too busy with the media that I couldn't hear what was going on.
"Beck had a rough game."
"I heard." Josie's voice softens. "That giveaway wasn't all on him, though. The whole line was scattered."
"Try telling him that."
"Captain Morrison!"
A loud voice cuts between us, and I turn to find a woman in a sharp blazer, a bright green press lanyard, and a phone raised in my face, ready to record any tiny sound I make. Beside her, apparently caught in the same net, stands Brooke Kessler, holding two jerseys draped over one arm.
"Oh—hey, Dec." Brooke shoots me an apologetic look. "Sorry, I was just grabbing you for the auction. I need your signature on these last two before we close bidding—"
"That's fine," I say, taking the jerseys, grateful for literally any excuse to step away from the reporter's aimed phone.
It doesn't work.
"Susie Wrath, Beachside Ledger," the woman says, thrusting a small recorder toward me as Brooke hands me a pen. "Got a minute? Tough back-to-back on the road. How's the team processing the losses heading into tonight?"
Is she really doing this right here? A media interview in the middle of a charity event?
Fuck. Sometimes the press really piss me off.
Stay focused. Use Josie's training. Deflect. Pivot. And remain team-focused.
"We're a resilient group," I say, signing the first jersey with a quick swipe of the Sharpie. "Two losses don't define a season. We're looking forward, not back."
"Very diplomatic." Susie's smile sharpens. "Speaking of looking forward—can I ask about your relationship with Ms. Kessler here?"
I freeze mid-signature and Brooke's eyebrows shoot toward her hairline.
"My—what?"
"You two dated, correct?" The woman looks between us, clearly getting the reaction she'd hoped for. "Local sources say it was fairly serious for a while. Is that true?"
How the hell does she know that?Brooke and I haven't been a thing in over a year, it was never public. Not really.
"That was a long time ago," I say, keeping my voice level, my pulse absolutely not level at all. "Brooke and I are colleagues. Friends. That's all there is to say about it."
"So you're not concerned about the optics? Team captain, romantic history with staff, and now…" Susie's eyes flick, deliberately, toward the bar. "Rumors of another new hire being awfully close to the team."
Fuck.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
"I think," I say, forcing every ounce of Josie's media-calm into my voice, "the only thing worth talking about tonight is the incredible work our marketing team has done for this franchise, and the money we're raising for kids who need it. Excuse me."
I hand the second jersey back to Brooke, who's still staring at me like she's trying to figure out what just almost happened, and I walk away before Susie-fucking-Wrath can get another word in.
But the seed's planted in the back of my mind. I can feel it, sitting cold in my gut the rest of the night.
