Page 84 of The Coach

Fuck.

I keep my expression blank. Drew continues.

“So imagine my surprise when I find out”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“they’re not influencers.No socials. No brand deals. No sponsored content. Nothing. Just two random women from nowhere sneaking into the players’ tunnel.”

I finally stop walking and turn to face him. "Drew. Focus on the game. And your fucking job."

He lifts his hands, grinning. "Oh, Iamfocused. But you know me, Coach. I like my job. I also like knowing what the hell is going on with my boss. The one who preaches to the team that a solid foundation ofcharacteris the most important part of being a team player?”

“I’m only going to tell you this once. Stay the fuck out of my personal business. Understood?”

Drew doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. Instead, he just grins wider, like he’s already won.

Drew lifts his hands, still grinning. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

I watch him walk away, feeling a sharp pulse of irritation.

The guy's a pain in my ass. But he's not totally wrong.

It doesn’t feel good to be hiding something. But this is more complicated than just black and white. I drag a hand down my face, my mind already spinning.

Drew is starting to ask questions.

What happens when everyone else does too?

I get back to my place, kick off my shoes, and throw myself onto the couch.

I should be reviewing plays.

I should be prepping for San Francisco.

Instead, I’m scrolling through my phone.

Through her messages.

Through the picture she sent of her small-town train station, captioned:Back to the real world. Small towns do have their charm, though.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Typing. Deleting.

Typing again.

Finally, I just say fuck it and hit send.

Jackson: Hey. How’s your night going?

Ivy: Nothing too wild. Had dinner at my parents again tonight. You?

Jackson: They know you’re pregnant, right?

Ivy: Yes.

Jackson: Do they know who the father is?

Ivy: Not yet.

Jackson: You waiting for the right moment, or just keeping me a secret?