Page 59 of The Home Grown
“I guess you could say that, yeah,” I say.
“Honestly, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Greer says, stretching his arms above his head. “Hey, what’s going on with that gossip mill then, Betts? Any idea who it is?”
I scoff. “Well, I think so, but can’t prove anything.”
“Honestly, some people have nothing better to do. But at least there’s someone on your side now. Have you seen the hashtag they’ve got going? ‘Justice for Bettsy’?”
He smirks, as my jaw drops open.
“What?”
“Have you not seen?” Greer moves back to his cubby, telling me he’s going to grab his phone. He wades back over moments later, his eyes fixed on his screen. “See, here it is.”
He extends his phone and I pull my right hand out of my glove, taking it from him.
There’s a new post from Rochelle, but it’s one of the replies to that post which has my attention.
Posted by: StrugglingtoSleep1
Subject: RE: Bettsy the Playboy
Wow. Incredible journalism. Really compelling evidence. A man who eats plain pasta with ketchup? Unforgivable. Someone call the food police … immediately!!!!
I mean, I get it. He’s a hockey player, not a Michelin-star chef. But let’s be honest—this whole post screams ‘bitter ex with a vendetta’ more than ‘public service announcement’.
What is your problem? He told you he wasn’t looking for a relationship and then you got mad when he didn’t commit?
Make it make sense.
And you’re telling me Bettsy, a guy who literally plays for a living, watches hockey highlights of himself to understand his opponent? Groundbreaking stuff. Honestly. Next, you’ll be exposing him for owning multiple sticks and drinking protein shakes. The horror!!!
If Bettsy’s such a ‘walking red flag’, then why are you still obsessing over him? Do you have nothing else do to?
I urge people to consider the integrity of this post and the poster … where is the evidence? Because all I read was a compiled pile of crap.
#JusticeForBettsy
A grin slips over my face—I can’t help it, it’s brilliant … aside from the fact there’re people out there who think I like ketchup, let alone with pasta.
I read over the last paragraph several times, revelling in the moment, though a small part of me wonders who it is and why they feel compelled to jumpto my defence.
I skim over the replies, but before I can read those properly, the door to the dressing room opens and Greer whips his phone away in a flash.
The coaching staff file in and the chatter dies down as every single guy looks in their direction. They stand in a line, each surveying the room in turn.
Coach Harris catches my eye. He jerks his head in the door’s direction, gesturing for me to follow him. The amusement of the forum reply dies quickly, replaced with discomfort.
What does he want? Why do I need to be singled out?
I let all the possible outcomes cycle through my mind before realising he’s waiting for me, and with a nudge from Danny, I force my legs to move.
Chapter Twelve
BETTSY
I wasn’ta troublemaker in school, I just didn’t listen.
I was more interested in making people laugh and keeping my friends entertained. They used to feed off me, join in with my jokes—that sort of thing, which used to cause an influx of laughter at the back of the classroom. Most of the time, that behaviour earned me a free trip to the headteacher’s office for disturbing the peace.
