Page 5 of The Longest Shot
The motion is so slight it could almost be accidental, except for the way his eyes glitter with satisfaction, watching for my reaction like a cat with a cornered mouse. But I know that to give in—to say something or pull away from him—will not only mark me as weak but it will also be the death of any chance of funding.
He continues. "That kind of… dedication opens doors, because opportunities present themselves to girls with your particular… assets."
The pause before "assets" is obscene, because we both know what he means.
Girls.
Not women. Not athletes.
Girls.
But I don't pull away. That's what he wants, to see me recoil so he can play wounded.I was just being friendly. You know how they overreact.And, not for the first time, I recall my mother telling me to never let creeps see how they affect you, and instead become the person nobody would dare pat on the hand.
But then, she never learned at seventeen that trust is just betrayal with a longer fuse.
"Well." Galloway withdraws his hand, leaving dampness on my skin. "I'm confident you'll find creative solutions, smart girl like you…"
"But—"
He cuts me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just remember, every empire started with someone willing to play the long game."
As he chuckles at his own wisdom, it's clear he's done pretending to listen and that I'm dismissed. I close my binder slowly, thethwacksharp enough to make him glance up, and for half a second, I let him see it—the fury that could burn this entire athletic department to ash.
Then I smooth my expression back to professional neutrality. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Galloway."
"Call me Art," he says, that awful smile spreading, his eyes once again looking me up and down. "We're all family here."
I walk to the door, and as my hand touches the doorknob, I feel his eyes again. Not looking at me, but looking at my ass and cataloguing the rear view. The sensation crawls up my spine, but I don't run, because there's no way in hell I'll give him the satisfaction.
I open the door with controlled precision, step through, and close it with a soft click. Back in the reception area, Patricia glances up from her desk, her expression a symphony of pity and resignation that I can read like a book, a look she's probably given a million female staff and students over the years.
I'm sorry, honey. I've seen this movie before.
I walk away with my binder clutched against my chest. And, with each step, I curse myself for falling for it, because I knew this would happen when I moved from a small but decent program to Pine Barren for the promise of Division I glory.
I didn't expect the visual molestation or the hand-pat that still makes my skin crawl, but the general shape of it was predictable, the promises evaporating and the resources dangling just out of reach. It's all designed to remind me I'm not a captain or player or person, that I'm just a girl playing dress-up in a man's world.
This is what trust gets you.
The thought comes with James Fitzgerald's face that night, years ago, when his laughter had cut through my question about our future, turning months of connection into a punchline. That was the last time I'd trusted anyone, and it doesn't look like Galloway is going to break the trend.
My team needs the ice time, equipment, and resources that Galloway had promised me when he'd flown to Montana to sell me on the idea of captaining the PBU women's team. But it's clear that Galloway will never give us what we need, because he sees us as accessories rather than athletes.
But I'm done begging.
If Art Galloway thinks I'll smile and simper, playing pretty for the donors and happy to prance around on the ice for a third of the time the men get, he's catastrophically mistaken. Because I built the Montana program up from nothing, and I'll do it again right here.
Without his help.
Without anyone's help, if necessary.
Trust no one,I think.Maybe I should get that tattooed right on my forehead.
My phone buzzes. A message from Amelia "Mills" Ramirez, my number-two:
How'd it go, Cap?
I stare at the screen, because I know she's the vanguard of the two dozen girls who put their faith inme,who trustedme, when I promised we'd build something real. And, as much as I struggle to trust anyone these days, I also won't let down the people who've put it all on the line for me.
