Page 23 of Forever Defiant
The coach’s fingers tapped on the desk. “Slipped my mind. Hartley — defensive end. Defense gets overlooked by the media guys.”
“Hartley.” Dean Cole nodded. “A sound choice.” He picked up his overcoat. “Miss Peterson, I think we’ve taken up enough of Coach Sutherland’s morning.”
“I’ll be back . . . when?”
“Tomorrow, eight a.m.” Coach Sutherland growled.
Eight?“Absolutely.” I nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Dean Cole walked forward, leaving me no choice but to exit the office. We were just a few feet away when we both heard the sound of something being thrown. I looked up at the dean. He wasn’t very tall; he simply carried an aura of authority that made him seem taller.
“Thank you.”
He nodded slightly. “You will stay in your lane this time, Hadley. No digging. No ‘independent research.’ No creative interpretation of what access means.” We walked down the corridor toward the main reception desk. “You will shadow Hartley, and you will focusonlyon Hartley. You will not stray from your assigned player. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I licked my bottom lip. “I’m just writing a profile,” I reminded him, sounding innocent enough to win an Oscar.
“Good. And you might want to thank your professor for having the foresight to warn me this was happening.”
I gaped at him but said nothing.
At the reception, he put on his overcoat and waited for the receptionist to finish a call. It didn’t take long, and Dean Cole gestured to me.
“Coach Sutherland is aware that Miss Peterson will need to have an access pass to get her through to the training facility only.” He didn’t so much as blink as the woman’s eyes flicked to mine in surprise. “I look forward to reading your piece,” he said to me. “Don’t give the head coach — or me — a reason to regret this.”
“Absolutely not.” I nodded, thanked him, and walked out of the athletic center with perfect poise. Only when I rounded the corner did I breathe again. Because the dean showing up wasn’t an accident. I didn’t know if it was a leash to control me or a buoy to keep me afloat. Possibly both.
This wasn’t going to be easy, I knew that. I expected it. But didn’t they say nothing worth winning was easy? I startedto smile. Instead of feeling trapped, though, something in me clicked into place — steady, stubborn, steel. The dean’s warning still rang in my ears.
Stay in my lane, no digging.
“Oh, I’m definitely digging,” I whispered to myself. “Just quietly.”
* * *
The stadium looked different up close.
It was bigger than I remembered, and somehow louder even though the stands were empty. Now it just looked... hungry.
Or maybe that was just me and my overactive imagination. I clutched my tote bag and wore an expression that said I was totally confident and definitely not dying inside as I headed toward the players’ entrance for day one of my feature assignment.
I had been given a pass when I arrived that morning; it beeped me through to the ‘private’ area, not the office I had been in yesterday. No surprise there, my lips curled into a smirk.
My sneakers squeaked across the white floors. This entire building looked like something out of a bad horror movie. Or a hospital. White everywhere — polished, plastic, and trying too hard to seem clean on the surface, if you asked me.
Coach Sutherland stood near the tunnel with his arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly I was pretty sure he could crack granite between his molars. He looked exactly how I expected him to look this morning.
A piranha in a polo shirt.
“Peterson,” he barked the second he saw me.
Nope, scrap piranha. Pissed-off shark.
“Coach,” I said cheerfully, because I liked to live dangerously, and my nerves were close to making me hysterical rather than the upbeat chill I was hoping for.
He didn’t return the smile. Shocker.
“As we talked about yesterday, you’re getting one of our defensive ends. But not Hartley. Mike Whittaker. Freshman. He’s hoping spring training will see him on the starting lineup for next season.”
