Page 54 of Forever Defiant
He threw me under the bus again. Just like earlier today. Just like before, when I’d heard from Mike that Dustin told them all we’d hooked up before. He was very good at making sure that the story that was getting told was the one that worked for him.
Didn’t make him any less of a rat bastard, though.
I snorted out a laugh, and he failed to hide his small smile. I pulled my phone out of my bag and opened social media. “Wow,” I said, mortifyingly impressed. “Over a million views.” I looked up at him. I cringed. “Looks a little... eager.”
“Desperate, I believe the caption is.”
I read the caption and then closed the app when I saw some of the comments. “Well...” I bit my bottom lip, glancing at my professor, who was looking out the window. “Um... So I guess I need a new assignment.” He snorted. “Any ideas?” I wheedled.
The look he gave me was definitely that of a man at the end of his tether. “How about a reflective piece on self-growth and self-control?”
A giggle burst free, and then my eyes widened when I saw he was serious. “Oh, come on!”
“No.” He was shaking his head again, looking down at his desk. “Eight days. You lastedeightdays.” He looked up at me. “I really thought you wanted to prove to me, the dean, andyourself that you could be areporter.” He pointed to his phone. “I don’t care what you think you found, or what Dustin Slater said to piss you off, but that is not the way a story gets handled.” He frowned. “Unless it’s tabloid journalism you wish to pursue. Which is fine,” he conceded. “Nothing wrong with that if that’s what you want to do. But you are quite vocal oninvestigativejournalism being your passion.” He tossed his glasses on his desk.
“He was avoiding me,” I mumbled.
“Mmhmm. I can’t say I blame him.”
I shot him a dirty look. “He knows something about that program and—”
“No.” His hand was up, palm facing me.
I sighed, pulled the old spring roster packet from my bag, and dropped it gently onto his desk like it wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire.
“Where did you get this?” he asked immediately.
“Back storage room behind the athletic office.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Why were you in the back storage room behind the athletic office?”
“I was looking for defensive-end history,” I said. “For Mike’s feature.” He looked at me. “I don’t know what the big deal is for spring training,” I wailed. “They’re training like it’s the Olympics or something.”
“That is — technically — reasonable,” he allowed. Then he gestured. “Why is this piece of paper an explanation as to why you’re chasing the wide receiver across the field?”
I pointed to the scratched-out name — the missing evaluation. Then the next page and the next. “I didn’t look for this. I literally opened a folder and it jumped out at me.”
“You didn’t look for this?” he muttered, dripping sarcasm. “You just search for a story in an old storage room you shouldn’t have been in, and you didn’t find a folder dated four years agowith something in it you can’t explain, so you immediately think it’s a conspiracy?” He harrumphed. “No, you weren’tlookingat all.” He glared at me. “That is how trouble starts.”
“Do you know the name?” I asked quietly. He didn’t answer immediately. Which, in itself, was an answer.
Finally, he said, “This is a D1 college. Coaches change. Policies change. Students leave programs all the time. Despite your... belief, the athletic program is a very hard program, and a number of students, players, athletes,kidsfind it very difficult to sustain.”
“I don’t think he left,” I said softly. “I looked.” I ignored the cursing. “There’s no record, he was erased.”
Flannigan’s eyes flicked to mine, sharp with worry.
“Youdropit. I don’t care what happened here.” He saw my look, and he looked at the paper again. “Fine, I care, but Idon’tcare for this... thisobsessionof yours to be the reason they finally have to kick you out. You were on thin ice, Hadley. I thought you’d skate, I didn’t expect you to cut a hole in it and go ice fishing.”
“Lot of ice there, tell me you’re Canadian without telling me you’re Cana—”
“Shut it.”
“Fine.” I sat in silence while Professor Flannigan returned to staring out the window. “You don’t think it’s worth—”
“No. It isnotworth your education.” He leaned forward, voice firm. “Not under any circumstances.”
“I wasn’t planning to—”
