Page 55 of Tough Score

"Then the championship win this year must mean a lot to you. Would it be farfetched for readers to assume that you're dedicating this year's win to your mother?"

"You could say that."

The memories of my mother aren't what I expected to discuss today when I came down to watch practice. I'm about done discussing them right now.

"Would you say that you believe she's watching down on you?"

She's leading me into the quote she wants in order to spice up her piece but I'm not the puppet for that job and I don't like the idea of her fishing around about information pertaining to my mom.

She'll need to find someone else for her shock and awe. My mother and her struggles won't be splashed around headlines for people to see. She might be long gone now, but I'll still protect her memory. No reporter is going to exploit her pain, or mine, for page reads.

"You're trespassing now, Summers. Get back behind the gate," I tell her, letting know that there are some bits of me I've never let her access.

"Of course, sorry. Occupational hazard. Don't release the dogs on me," she says, her reporter-hungry eyes softening.

"You're in luck, I don't have any dogs."

"Really?" she says. "How about Coach Bex?"

Her eyes turn out to the ice, finding the Coach standing in the middle of the rink going over a new play with the team.

"He's nothing more than a Chihuahua. Yappy bark, tiny bite."

I actually don't mean it. It sounded too funny not to say. Coach Bex has no bark—just bite… and he’ll swallow you whole.

"Can I quote you on that?"

"If you have a death wish…" I warn teasingly.

Because if she puts that out, she and I both will be swimming with the fishes.

"He's not easy to work with, is he?" she asks, an annoyance in her voice, like she already knows the answer.

"He's not that bad really. He's stuck his neck out for me more times than I can count. But if he thinks that you pose any threat to the team, the players, Sam or Phil… he'll go for your jugular," I nod, staring out at the man who helped pull me off the asphalt that night and helped the EMT load me into the ambulance. And if I wasn't mistaken, I think I saw his eyes well right before they closed the ambulance doors.

" I believe you. Because I've seen the "going for the jugular" first hand," she says.

"Now that I think about it, he's more like a T-Rex," I tell her, pulling my elbows to mimic a short arm. "He looks terrifying, but in truth, the poor guy is just pissed that he has short arms."

She breaks out in laughter as I wave my shorts T-Rex arms around.

"Oh God…" she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "Please don't tell him I laughed at that. I have a hard enough time with him as it is."

"Are you kidding? I'd get a bench for a whole season."

We share a quick smile and then she looks back at her notes.

"Okay, fine. Tell me more about your time in Alaska then..."

Now we're getting somewhere good.

I spend the next twenty minutes telling her about all the trouble I got in as a kid. Alaska was as cool of a place to grow up as I could ever imagine, and someday, I hope to move back and raise a family there.

There's some pain in the memories of where I grew up… but love still lives there too.

After practice, I head back to the apartment and spend the afternoon at home.

My phone buzzes with a call from Seven.

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