PARKER
Sutton spoutssome shit about missed goalies and ends her segment by referring to the Courage as the Courageous. It’s an obvious mistake, even to someone like me who doesn’t follow women’s soccer. Kali winces and that jackass Preston smirks, like she’s just handed him the internship on a silver platter.
Hell, maybe she has. He’s far from electrifying on camera, but unlike the rest of us, he didn’t make any obvious mistakes.
My pulse spikes.
Some mistakes were a little more obvious than others.
Missed goalies? No way Sutton thought that was the line.
She fucking blew it on purpose. She was rolling right along and then, suddenly, the train went off the tracks. No way that was an accident.
Sutton’s one of the most focused people I know. She told me once that she had to be. Her exact words were, “You can’t tumble on a four-inch beam or throw a double front”—whatever the fuck that is—“unless you’re laser focused.”
My palms grow damp and my gut hardens.
She threw those lines. I’m sure of it.
But why?
Her interview went well. She was in the clear, nearly finished with her segment.
Yesterday she was worried about being unprepared and today she throws her shot out the window?
It doesn’t make sense.
Unless she did it for you.
No way. We had a deal. Agreed to do our best and let the chips fall where they may.
That was before she watched you crash and burn.
Before dyslexia got the best of me on camera.
The lights go up and my shitty mood descends to a whole new level as Sutton steps off the set and rejoins the group, smiling blithely.
She tries to catch my eye, but I pretend not to notice.
I’m too heated right now and I don’t want to get into it here. Not in front of Mac and our classmates.
“Nice work today, everyone.” Mac smiles at us and though he sounds sincere, I’m not feeling it. “The selection committee will meet to review your film within the next few weeks and we should have an intern offer prepared by the end of the year.” He spreads his hands in supplication. “But for now, you’re all free to go. Don’t forget to turn in your guest badges at the security desk on your way out.”
We thank him and then the four of us take the elevator to the building lobby, where we do as instructed and turn in our badges. No one speaks, not even Preston, which is probably a small mercy because the guy is a jackass.
Just the thought of seeing his face on Sports Stream has bile rising in my throat.
The walk back to the parking garage is swift and silent, but the instant we’re inside, shielded from howling wind and prying eyes, Sutton places a hand on my biceps, stopping me in my tracks.
“Are you okay?” Her words are laced with concern, and her eyes are wary as they meet mine. “You haven’t said a word since your broadcast.”
No, I’m not fucking okay. The woman I care about just betrayed me. Broke her word.
“What is there to say?” I loosen my tie and flick open the top button of my shirt. The garage is cold and damp, but I’m sweltering. Suffocating on raw emotion. “You purposely fucked up your broadcast.”
Her eyes go round and she opens her mouth—probably to deny it—but I cut her off.
“Don’t lie to me, Shorty. I know what I saw.”
