Page 61 of Honeysuckle
“Clean yourselves up, shower, tomorrow you run a double practice for this bullshit,” Coach said. “Tucker, you gotta talk to the press.”
“Don’t make me,” I almost begged, rolling my shoulders back, but I pushed from my seated position regardless because of the look he gave me.
“You’re the captain—you don’t get a choice. Come on.” He waved me over and tossed his hand around my shoulder. “You’ll be okay. You don’t have to answer any questions about the fight. Deflect them into game tactics and season projections.”
“Easier said than done,” I grumbled, but put a smile on my face as we reached the press room.
“You’re already more likeable than Arlo,” he teased, opening the door for me. The cameras’ clicking and the low buzz of reporters talking amongst themselves were enough to have me turning and leaving, but Coach was blocking the doorway. “Sit.”
There was a small chair behind the desk for me and I pulled it out, the legs grinding loudly against the concrete floor. The sound was obnoxious enough to awkwardly silence everyone in the room.
“Dean Tucker,” I said. A few of them chuckled. “Right. Guess you knew that…”
“Mr. Tucker, what was the fight about today?” The first question came from a slender male reporter with horrible posture and large teeth.
I was in the wolf's den now.
“Unclear.” I shrugged and tried to sound dismissive.
I picked at the tablecloth spread beneath my fingertips to keep myself calm.
“Noah Hudson said something to you that set off Joshua Logan. Care to elaborate?” He pushed and I knew he would, the question had the room in chaos.
“No, I came down here to talk to you about baseball, not politics,” I said just loudly enough to seem brave, but my legs were shaking under the table.
“Baseballispolitics,” the reporter sneered. “Did the fight have anything to do with your activities outside the game?”
“If you’re referring to my private life, no,” I said, the lie was tight on my lips.
“So your pitcher, who has a violent past, jumped a Philly player for no reason?”
“Do you have any questions about the game?” I said.
“Listen, kid—”
“It’sCaptain,” I corrected. The wordkidslipped past my defenses, and I could hear my brother in the back of my mind, teasing me for being too slow, or too stupid to keep up with him. “We went out and played hard. What happened wasn’t a result of anything the Hornets did or didn’t do; at the end of the day, we can’t control what other players bring to the game.”
“So he did say something?” Another reporter got louder.
“You’ll have to watch the Philly conference to find out.” I shrugged. "Do you have any questions about the season?” I asked.
The room went quiet.
Until one reporter near the back stood, I recognized him immediately. He was the reporter who wrote the piece on Ella after Cael’s accident. A reporter who would do anything he could to manipulate a narrative for a rumor mill piece. Whatever came out of his mouth next would be said with the intent to rattle me. I pushed my feet into the soles of my cleats and tried to breathe.
“The team seems to be struggling after your rough season last year? Does it have anything to do with the shoddy dynamics now that Arlo King is gone?” He asked.
Shoddy dynamics.Great.
“The team is solid and ready to work towards a successful season,” I answered smoothly. “Today was a hiccup, but that’s what exhibition games are for.”
“It's apparent that there’s animosity among the team after Cael Cody’s accident. Has this created more strain between the players?” He asked.
He was trying to find loose threads to pull.
He wanted me to unravel.
“We’re finding our groove, and if you give us a few days, we’ll prove just how well we work together,” I said, ignoring his probing about the accident.
