Page 187 of Chasing Headlines

Hilda didn't.

While Breslin slept, I worked on my story covering the team victory using a couple of the captured anecdotes about Coach Schorr. The story about the two brothers Eddie and Luke shed new light on some of the man behind the myth and the curmudgeon.

High-stakes games take more than skill, timing, even training. “The big wins are gonna come down to those qualities, a team’s either got’em or they don’t,” Coach Schorr said.

A groan escaped Breslin’s lips. I moved to his side. His brow twitched and he made some indescribable sounds, something between a moan and a whimper. I brushed my thumb over his cheek, tucked small pieces of hair behind his ear. Heavy breaths fell from his lips, even as the world seemed to pause, balancing a glass-like stillness in the air.

The dull ache in my chest sharpened. “It's inevitable, isn't it?” I couldn't shake the feeling . . . Like my heart stood watching, waiting, for the current of wind that would shatter it to pieces, the shards tumbling down into an impossibly deep canyon called 'being hopelessly in love with Breslin Cooper'.

It was, of course, an illusion. Like I could step back from the phantom edge and choose another path. The reality was much different. The more I was around him, the stronger my desire—to push him against a wall, kiss the daylights out of him, hug him. Rip his shirt off. Press against him and feel his warmth.

Tell him the truth.

But the truth was an illusion killer. And if I told him about my family (also an inevitability), and the family business, what would that mean for this truce, this trusting place we'd found.

For us?

Later that afternoon . . .

I sat on the floor of his study digging through the journalism archives for images of Schorr. The team picture from the final year my brother played leapt out at me, the Strikers' last national championship year.

Curt’s grin was so much brighter back then.

I’d found a baseball in a cup holder, earlier, and couldn’t help but fidget with it, rolling it along the floor with my open hand.

I wondered what it had been like for Curt. I only knew my half of the equation, the distance, the never-ending parade of 'housekeepers', our regular face-time chats where we'd do homework together. I was the one learning to spell and multiply and divide, but somehow he always needed help with something.

“You’ve been quiet.” Breslin's voice pulled me from my memories. “It’s not you.” He held out his hand. I liked the way my palm fit against his as he pulled me to my feet.

“You did say I talk too much.”

One eyebrow quirked up. “You don’t care what I think.”

“Thatwouldn’t be me.” I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from pulling him into a hug. I didn't know where anything 'stood' between us. But I wanted him to hold me—was that wrong?

“You’ve said a lot of words, but, the strange thing is . . . You don’t say a lot about you. All I know is you’re from a Carolina, explains the accent. And you're a Saber's fan.”

“North Carolina. Guess I’ll have to work on the accent.”

“It’s better than the West Texas twang. And even that grows on people.” He shrugged.

Was that Storm Cooper for he liked my accent? Was there a setting on Google Translate? “Supposed to have a neutral-sounding voice for reporting.”

“Why’d you pick that? You don’t seem the type.”

“Careful. You might actually be bordering on a compliment, there.”

He gave me a look—that signature Coop look, with his hair messed over his forehead, eyes narrowed.

I looked away. “I have my reasons.” The gaggle of water bottles spilling off his nightstand caught my eye.It's probablytime for his medication—if he's still having symptoms.I moved to collect the mess, but his hand caught my elbow and pulled me around.

“What if I get asked about my girlfriend? Shouldn’t I be able to answer some basic questions?”

I wouldn't look at him. Couldn't. My whole body was a traitor, and my game face had been knocked out of the game since the night before. “How long do you think we have to keep that up?”

“Dunno. Depends, I guess.”

I glanced up and got caught in his gaze. Warmth crept into my cheeks, hit my neck and rushed through the rest of me. “On what?”

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