46: Start Talking
Stormi
“Coach Franklin Humphies?” I ask as I push the door open when he calls out to come in.
“Yes.” Great. He sounds testy and grumpy already.
“I’m Stormi Britton, here from the Kenton Gazette to interview you. We have an appointment.” I try to remind him he consented to this.
“Oh right, the female perspective bullshit. If girls want to watch the game, they can. Not sure why they need you to give your opinion. Girls can be raised to appreciate sports.”
I ask him questions about his hopes for the team. How he thinks they will fare after this year when they lose most of their offensive line to graduation. He answers begrudgingly the entire time. Here I thought I was asking real sports questions and not some fluff female piece, but
his attitude acts like I inquired about his favorite nail polish color.
“And to end, would you like to tell our readers anything about your family? I’m sure they are
very supportive of you and the team.”
His jaw clamps together as his hands ball into fists. “Why are you asking about my family? Did that little b***h put you up to it?”
“I’m sorry? What are you talking about?” I lean away and show my confusion. “Readers like to
know about a man’s family when devotes a lot of his time to his career. It gets some of the highest responses in our articles when male or female reporters write about it.”
“I don’t talk about my f*****g family. You got your damn waste of time interview. Now get out. And if you’re smart Miss Britton, you’ll find new friends. I heard who you’ve been hanging around with.” He stands up and opens his door without looking at me. I hurry to grab my things and get out. The whole way out of the stadium, I’m glancing over my shoulder. On the way back to the paper office, my mind is racing about how he knows I’m friends with Luci. Not that his words are going to stop me. She’s the sweetest person and Syd is too. I finally found a group of girls not waiting for me to fall on my face and they aren’t catty about every other female we see. The puck bunnies we make fun of, but honestly, they write their own jokes.
I sigh as I think about typing up that asshole in a favorable light. Going to be a lot more work than I was hoping for. All I really wanted to do today was get ready for the hockey game tonight to watch the four kings play with my friends and two sweet little boys.
“Was he an ass?” Mike asks me as I sit down at my desk to begin typing this up.
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46: Start Talking
“Beyond an ass. What would you call that? Maybe a rectal toad.” I say with a grimace.
Mike snickers. “He’s a jerk. What did he say to you?”
“Sexist drivel, called me honey a few times and even said he forgot he needed to break things
down easier for me. I wanted to punch him in the face. He got all defensive when I asked him
about his family, explaining to him that’s something women like to read about.”
Mike winces. “No one’s told you, I guess. You did just move here.” He stares down at his desk
awkwardly.
“Well, are you going to tell me now?” I finally ask with impatience. “Don’t set me up like that
unless you plan to finish.”
He glances around and sees we’re mostly alone. He slides his chair closer to mine. “His
daughter, Brooklyn was his princess. Like, the girl could do no wrong in his and his wife’s eyes.
Rumor has it she was some kind of miracle baby for them. They called her golden girl
Brooklyn.”
“Then why wouldn’t he want to talk about her nonstop?” I was curious after what Luci
revealed.
He ducks his head and sighs before answering almost like we’re in some spy thriller. “Because
she died. Three years ago in a supposedly horrific car accident. Actually, the anniversary of
her death is in like a week or two, so you’re lucky he didn’t completely go postal on you. The
records were all sealed about it within days. My investigator reporter instincts tell me it had
something to do with your friend, Luci. Because she disappeared from school for like a month
and when she returned, the football team treated her like absolute s**t. But you didn’t hear
that from me.”
He slides back to his desk and I sit there, my mind racing as I take deep breaths. Luci said
there was more to it. I can only hope she’ll trust me enough to tell me the whole story. Or
better to tell Easton the entire thing. He needs to beat Marshall Soames’s ass like he did
Julian’s.
Julian
“Julian, Dad needs you to print off that photo of him and Mom for some Christmas present.
The one where they renewed their wedding vows at the Christmas party. He said it should be
in her computer album three years ago.” Marshall tells me the minute I walk in the door from
class.
“Because your f*****g fingers are broken?” I ask with irritation. Today was a rough day at
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46: Start Talking
practice. All week has been shitty but today Coach was extra pissy. Barking and snarling even at me which almost never happens. Marshall’s sitting on his ass in front of the TV, eating
chips. He’s done nothing but lounge since he showed up on Monday for his bye week, letting
Mom wait on him hand and foot.
He gives me a go–to hell look, but then it changes to pain. “It’s from right before the accident and I can’t see that. You understand right, Julian?” Now he sounds sad and weary.
“Yeah, I get it.” I mumble, feeling bad for getting upset with him. I start to tell him about Easton
Reed claiming Luci Forrester, but considering he’s in the dumps about Brooklyn, that’s
probably not the best idea. Easton can probably kick his and my ass at the same time if he
wanted to. Dude is massive and freakishly strong. All week he’s glared at me if I so much as
glance her way. Dumbass must be hooked on her because of that kid, his little brother or cousin, whatever he is. I head for Mom’s office and log on to her computer. Searching through
photos three years ago, I come across one of Marshall and Brooklyn at one of Mom’s holiday
movie nights. They are snuggled on the couch together. I keep scrolling, smiling a little at their
happy grins. He hasn’t looked the same since that horrible month. Mom took burst photos and
I watch it like a movie as I click. He begins leaning away from her and I see him staring at his phone, slowly grinning. His head turned towards Brooklyn before it shows him typing. Weird.
Those photos end and I keep going hoping to find this fast. Most are boring decorations
photos. “Next, next….wait…..what the fuck….” I mumble. My finger freezes mid–click as I stare
at the screen in shock. “No, that’s not…must be fake, gotta be.” I move to the next photo intent
on proving that never happened. My eyes have to be deceiving me as I keep scrolling. I blink a few times by the fifth picture, thinking maybe my brain finally quit on me. I send them to myself and print the first three off. There are lots more. As I keep going, I want to scream and punch holes in the wall. I storm out, finding him scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t hear me as he stares at pictures of girls on Onlyfans I note. I am such a f*****g i***t. “Want to explain these asshole?” I say as I toss the pictures down from above him.
His head snaps up as the pages flutter down. He grasps them and stares in disbelief. Yeah, it can’t be worse than the mini stroke I almost had. “Don’t look so f*****g surprised. I’m the one that was shocked. At least you already knew judging from the fact that is definitely you in those pictures.”
“What the f**k? Where did you get these?” He glares up at me.
“Off Mom’s computer. How about you start talking, you f*****g prick?”
