Page 2 of The Closed Off Captain

“Then would you be willing to explain this to me?” Chloe slides her tablet to me. I catch it easily and look down at the screen. It’s a picture of Jenny; I recognize her, though I haven’t seen her since high school.

I look back up at Chloe. “It’s a picture of Jenny.”

She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath. “Look at the photo again, Coftman.”

I look at it again and this time notice the jersey, spotting the C in the right corner. “She’s wearing my jersey.” I put the tablet back down. “A lot of women wear my jersey.” She scoffs, and I realize how my words sound. But I don’t back down. I’m not being a jerk; it’s just the truth. You get used to it after a while. Chloe’s cold expression could cut glass.

“Read the post,” she grits out.

I look back at the tablet and scroll down until I can read what Jenny Prenderson wrote. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m reading. I don’t even finish reading it before scoffing and sliding it back to Chloe. I make sure I meet each of the three sets of eyes watching me. “She’s lying.”

Coach sits back in his chair, looking relaxed once again. “See, I told you,” he says to Stan. “We’re done here.” He starts to stand up.

“Not so fast,” Chloe says, halting his progress. “Our good captain here may plead innocence, but it doesn’t matter because she posted this to the public.”

“Chloe, people post nonsense all the time. You know that,” I tell her.

“I know,” her fiery eyes meet mine. “It’s my job to fix those kinds of problem. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Fix. The. Problem.”

It’s quiet a moment, and then Coach pushes in his chair. “I’m out of here. Thanks for fixing it, Chloe.” He’s out the door a moment later.

Stan stands up as well, and Chloe turns her gaze on him. “You’re out too?”

He nods. “This is what we pay you the big bucks for, Chloe. Do what you do best and make this go away.” His words seem to bounce off the walls, even after he’s gone.

Chloe takes a deep breath and then gets out her stylus for her iPad. “All right, Mr. Coftman. So, whatisthe story with Jenny Prenderson?”

“There is no story,” I say in a calm, emotionless voice. “Never was, never will be.”

“Then let’s start at the beginning. How do you know Jenny?”

“I already told you. High School.”

“Did you date in high school?”

“No.”

“Did you date after high school?”

“No.”

“Did you—”

I lean forward and cut her off. “I have never dated Jenny. She called me once out of the blue a few weeks ago. I didn’t answer. She left a message. Don’t know how she got my number; don’t care. She left some message. I glanced at it, saw it wasn’t important and deleted it.”

“Did she call again?” I hesitate on that one and then nod. She crosses her arms. “How many times, Coftman?”

I refuse to feel guilty with that look she has pinned on me. She stares at me. “Lots.”

“Did you tell her to stop?”

“I just didn’t take her calls.”

She stares at me. “Gunner! We have protocol for stuff like this.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I knew her in high school; she seemed nice enough. I didn’t want to make a big deal.”

“You didn’t want to make a big deal,” she repeats slowly after me.

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