Page 66 of Forever Offsides

The team wins. Yay. Go Rebels. I’m a little salty, but I am happy they won. Regardless, I don’t stick around for any of the after stuff. I head up to the booth, say a quick hi and bye to my friends and family, reassure them that the video and photos of Russel and me hugging weren’t anything, and then head home. It’s late, and I have to be at the hospital tomorrow morning by ten, and I want to go for a run first.

I get through half a song before I submit and turn on the radio to the postgame press conference. It’s the middle of Rhett’s interview, and freaking Tamira Braumer is asking him a question because of course she is. I hate knowing she had a thing with him even if it was years ago.

“Coach, this was a big first win for you. Russel caught four passes for a total of thirty-two yards and one touchdown. Crew caught eight passes for sixty-four yards but no touchdowns. Do you feel their ball time will be even?”

“I think Mason did a fantastic job with his ball delivery and reading the defense. Some of those plays were based on what the defense was handing him, and he had to adjust to that. It’s not about even playing time. It’s about what’s best for the team and the right play at the right time. Every player on this roster knows that.”

Shouts ring out from the other journalists, but Tamira persists. “So you don’t think Russel receiving half the passes that Crew did is at all related to the pregame hug and kiss Russel shared with his ex-girlfriend, Quinn Reyes, Crew and Mason’s sister?”

Jesus. This bitch.

“I think it’s easy for you to come up with reasons why a game went the way it did to sell stories and get clicks, but the facts remain that we won this game with everyone’s help. It was a hundred percent a team effort. That’s the only thing that matters to any of us. Off-field situations have no place here.”

“Except it happened on the field for all to see. Is it your position then that Dr. Reyes and Russel are not back together? And do you have any comment on the rumors that he originally ended their three-plus-year relationship four years ago but is now determined to win her back, and that’s why Crew Reyes hit him back in July?”

“Next question.”

“Coach!”

I slam the butt of my palm into the button on my dashboard, shutting off the radio. I don’t want to hear anymore.

A text comes in from my mother, and I have the annoying AI robotic voice read it to me.

Mom: I know this isn’t what you signed up for, but please don’t give up on this assignment. It’s so good for your brothers and your father to have you there. This garbage will blow over. It always does the moment they find their next story. I swear, you’ll learn a lot.

“Do you want to respond?” the AI bot asks.

“Yes.”

“What do you want to say?”

“I’m not a quitter, but I don’t like being the center of scandal or gossip again.”

“Send it?”

“Yes.”

Mom: I know, and I’m sorry. This won’t be like that.

Better not be.

I turn back to my music, more than a little annoyed to hear my name in the press again. One time I can manage, but if this becomes a regular thing, we’ll have issues. There’s a reason why my circle is so small. Why my trust is so thin, and it spans beyond my asshole ex.

I had a close friend. She was three years older than I was, but we trained and made the Olympic team together. She had already competed in the previous games and had won silver. In her preliminaries, she wiped out on two of her three runs, with her last run being mediocre, knocking her off the podium before even getting to finals. When I nailed all three of mine and subsequently won gold, she went to the tabloids and the Olympic committee and told them that I cheated. That I blood-doped to manage the altitude and tampered with her board.

It was a fucking lie, and even though they awarded me gold, it took months for the committee to sort it out and declare me innocent. Now there are no searchable online postings about cheating, thanks to my hacker friend Vander and his father, my uncle Lenox, who’s one of my father’s best friends. But still, it wrecked me.

It made me quit competitive boarding. It had me fading away from the limelight and going straight to Boston College for school.

So the fact that this reporter is digging into my past as she tries to stir up bullshit drama doesn’t sit well with me. I may not be a quitter, but that doesn’t mean I like people poking at my world.

I pull into the garage down the street from my building and coast through it until I find a good spot. The streets are dark and quiet, fall biting at the seams of summer, threatening to tear it open and take us straight into colder weather.

My house is on my left, and just up the street is Rhett’s. I won’t lie and say that every time I leave my house, I don’t cast a glance toward his. I wish he didn’t live right here.

I go into my house and immediately head upstairs. It’s after midnight, and I need a shower, but it’ll have to wait till after my run in the morning. I brush my teeth and slip on a comfortable thong. My bed beckons, and I do all that I can to push aside the annoyance of tonight as I climb in. I have a hip replacement at ten-thirty a.m., and I have to be on my game for it.

Just as my eyes close and my body relaxes, my phone vibrates from my nightstand where it’s plugged in. My eyes pop open, and for a long minute, I debate picking it up. When it vibrates again, I groan, roll over, and snatch it from its holder.