Page 4 of My Secret Bandit

With that, I had what I needed.

Or well, what everyone thought I needed.

“But wait!” the man called out, but once my feet got going, they couldn’t stop.

I fled. Not listening to the end of Sierra’s rant, and barely registering him calling after me.

Over a dozen missed calls and texts from my friends came through by the time I stepped through my front door. I powered off my phone and once my head hit the pillow, the dam broke.

ImovedtoFloridawith two goals: get the fresh start I desperately needed and finish my Sports Journalism degree. Personally, I was still working on a few things, but professionally I’d done pretty well. My final semester recently started, and I was interning at Tampa Sports with Derek, Sierra, and John for the last eight months. Even with them focusing on baseball and me on football, we grew close. We became our own little family, and their concern for me left them all standing by the front entrance of the office, waiting.

Derek stared at the ground. Sierra’s mouth opened only to close without a sound, and John’s heavy hand thumped against my back.

We stood in silence. No one sure of the words needed to lessen last night’s strain. My tension intensified as Kyle Marks, the last intern of our group, sulked up to our circle.

Until a couple of weeks ago, Kyle played as big a role in my transplanted family as Sierra or either of the boys. He felt more like my family than they did, really. Kyle was the first friend I made after my move. Then he became an instrumental piece when he dropped everything to fly to Texas and help me through the worst day of my life. Our whole dynamic changed the day I turned down a not-so-platonic dinner invitation, and he bloodied his knuckles punching through my front door.

Since then, our conversations fell between nonexistent and only when necessary.

The unusual silence drew his brows together. “What’s happening?” The concern laced in his voice left all four heads swiveling in his direction.

The same worry lived on his features, and I felt a pull in my chest. I missed my friend. I missed the lunches and deep conversations. But Kyle wanted more than I could or wanted to offer. I didn’t blame him for pulling away. Sure, I wish he would’ve calmed himself to have an actual conversation, but just like everything else, his patience was thin.

Being a girl with more than a couple of extra pounds and an oversensitive heart, the contrast between me and Kyle’s thin lips, thin body, and even thinner temper, never appealed to me.

I missed my friend, but I was also tired of the pity party he regularly threw for himself.

“Some stuff happened last night. And we’re gonna leave it at that.” John’s eyes shifted to gauge my reaction. “You’d be in the loop, Marks, if you’d start coming out with us again.”

I rolled my eyes.

Since the declined dinner invitation, Kyle had yet to appear at our standing Wednesday night tradition. “It has been a while, huh?” he responded, his hand moving through already ruffle hair, giving me a side-eye that screamedyou’re the reason I don’t.

“Hey!” The new voice startled everyone, grabbing our attention and pulling it toward the front doors. “Kyle Marks and Jamie Flynn, you’re on me. Let’s go.”

When our sights landed on the steely eyed, tan-faced intruder, a collective gasp bounced around our circle.

Jeffrey Hall.

“Sheesh.“ John snickered. “Good luck.”

With heavy feet, I followed Kyle toward the man beckoning us with an irritated stare.

“The rest of you, Brandon Wescott is ready to bore the shit outta you with some baseball bullshit he calls knowledge,” he called out to my friends still watching him, dumbfounded.

With our old mentor retiring, I assumed we’d get a new one before the season started. Never in a million years did I think it’d be Jeffrey Hall! From what I heard, he was a hard ass, had an ego bigger than my home state, and loved to rock the male version of resting bitch face. He was controversial, but he was also one of the best at what he did. Players, coaches, even GMs and office staff loved him. That much was obvious by the number of exclusives he secured just this past offseason. Even with the hard demeanor, Jeffrey’s been an idol in the journalism world for a while. He was the guy to be.

We followed him down the long hall until we came to a stop at the last door.

“So, listen,” Jeffrey started with a groan, bitch face in full effect. “Season starts soon. We don’t have time to jack around, and I don’t have the patience to babysit. Come in ready to work every day and we’ll get along just fine. Got it?”

Mine and Kyle’s heads nodded.

“Good. You’ll both shadow me one game, then I’m setting you free. I’m not a teacher. I’m a journalist. I’ll help you, show you the ropes, but I’m not anyone’s crutch. I expect you both to do the job and do it well. Understood?”

Again, our heads bobbed, and he followed. “Perfect,” he said, waving his dismissal.

Days later and every dream since that night featured the mystery man. I even wasted work hours daydreaming about him thanks to the immense amount of free time laid out for me by Jeffrey. I should familiarize myself with the team. Their stats and everyone that makes them a cohesive unit. But I couldn’t focus on anything without those hazel eyes interrupting every attempt.

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