Page 33 of The Home Grown
“I’ll make this quick, Betts,” Mr Lopez says, taking a seat on the bench and gesturing for me to do the same. “I read the first post, so I don’t need any detail, but what I need to know is if there’s any truth to it.”
I swallow, wishing my bottle of water was in reach, not shoved into the pocket of my rucksack.
“Sir, I—no. Absolutely none. For the record?—”
He holds a hand up and on cue, I stop talking.
“I can’t pretend that this isn’t an issue. I’ve had conversations with the leadership team over at the Team GB office. You know how it is. They want dependable players, on and off the ice. They need someone who’s committed and not getting themselves involved with unnecessary drama. It causes a distraction from the game, and it causes distraction from your personal development.”
“Sir, I?—”
“I know it’s bull, Betts. But Team GB—they still want you to attend camp next week, but they’ve told me thattheir expectation of you is higher than the other guys. So do with that what you will. And for the love of Christ, rein it in.”
I try to muster a response when the GM’s phone pipes up with a call that apparently can’t wait.
“I’ll leave this with you, Vicky … but remember, Betts. Focus next week. I’m keen to see your name on that roster, so do what you need to do to make it happen.”
He presses his phone to his ear as he edges towards the door, disappearing into the tunnels, leaving me alone with Vicky.
I want to let out an enormous sigh of relief, but I can’t. It’s as if my lungs don’t work.
I will myself to relax, but the GM’s words float through my mind:focus … rein it in… distractions… drama…
What if Rochelle is only the beginning of the online slander? What if Ellie joins the party? Not that I think she’s that type of person, but my mind is whirling.
The feeling of desperation that’s rising in my chest has me speaking without thinking.
“Hey, Vic—what if I told you I was, I don’t know, married or something?”
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, then she bursts into laughter. “Marrying Paul Hutchinson in a Vegas-style club night does not count.”
“No, I mean—” The dressing room door opens, and Hutch himself pops his head around the frame.
“You coming, mate?” he says, holding the door open for Vicky to slip past him.
“I—” I look up at the clock and consider if it’s too late to call Ellie because the GM is right—I can’t risk anymore drama. I need to apologise to her. Explain that I had no idea. “—yeah. But I don’t think I’m going to travel back home tonight. I’ll check with Coach, but I figured I’d pay my folks a visit whilst I’m here.”
It’s bullshit, but it’s all I’ve got to save telling Hutch any more than I need to tonight.
He wrinkles his brow. “That makes zero sense. You’ve got to drive up here tomorrow for prelims. Can’t you see them then?”
“I’ll get my dad to drop me home and get my stuff,” I say. “Honestly, I think my mam is a little worried so…”
“Right, well, I guess you know what you’re doing,” he says.
And a pang of guilt ripples through me as he takes the lie at face value.
Damn, I really am a dick.
I follow him through the tunnels, focusing on the path ahead as we make our way out the back exit to the coach. The transport is loaded, and several of the guys are mulling around outside, waiting until the very last minute to board, but I don’t see Johnny.
“Anyone seen Cap?” I ask no one in particular.
“The GM wanted a word with him or something,” Ryan says. “I don’t think he’ll be too much longer.”
I nod, deciding that updating Johnny on my conversation with the GM can wait, since he’s probably hearing it directly himself.
Instead of following Hutch onto the bus, I take the opportunity to find Coach Adams instead, who’s standing towards the rear of the bus with Springy, the assistant coach. They have their heads together, laughing about something and since I don’t want to spoil their fun, I lean against the side of the coach, waiting for them to come to a natural break in the conversation.
