Page 92 of Waiting for Her

“I’m not really sure. How does anyone find out anything anymore? Nothing is sacred online, you know? Maybe Bri posted about it years ago.”

“Not possible. She didn’t even have social media again until recently. Next,” I say, daring him to continue lying to me.

“There’s always someone, that one asshole who doesn’t give a shit, you know?”

“And?”

“Once she knew Bri’s name, Kennedy did some digging. Found an old boyfriend. Trent, I think his name was. She got it out of him.”

Of course it was that asshole. “What the shit?”

“I know, man. I’m sorry. None of this is okay.”

“Fuck me. How the hell did she even find out who Bri is? The only announcement we made to the press was the story would not be released to anyone exceptSI,but we made sure no one knew Bri’s name.SIand the school didn’t wantwhowas doing the article to overshadow the story itself. It’s one of the reasons why we’ve managed to stay under the radar of the press all this time.”

“I have no idea how she found out her name. Probably wasn’t hard for someone determined enough. It might get a little worse, though.”

“How?”

“She found out you two used to be a couple.”

“Fuck.”

He nods his head, eyes sad. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Not your fault.”

My phone chimes with a text and I look down, seeing Coach Bales’s name on the screen.

Bales:You need to prepare yourself.

Me:I heard.

Bales:My guess is you’ll be called in and she’ll be pulled from the story.

Me:Thanks for the good news.

Bales:Sorry. Didn’t expect this.

Me:Me either. Thanks for the warning.

I look across the field, Bri’s got the attention of all the players around her, they’re all captivated by her presence, and I wonder how I’m going to break it to her.

I see her look down, reach into the back pocket of her shorts and pull out her phone. Her face scrunches in confusion as she reads whatever’s on her phone and my heart pinches in my chest.

I watch her type out a response then she slowly lifts her head, her worried gaze finding me immediately. I close my eyes, frustrated and pissed off but sad.

I throw a thumb over my shoulder, and she nods.

When we get to my office after a quiet walk side by side, I take her in my arms and whisper apologies and what I hope are encouraging words.

“Simon wants me to call him,” she tells me through tears.

I don’t know what to tell her, so I tighten my arms around her.

“What did his text say?”

She shows me her phone.

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