Page 156 of Chasing Headlines
“. . . you pull something like that once you've made the team? Ten years ago, it wasn't that big a deal. These days, the public outcry over violence like that gets ugly fast. Next thing you know he's being arraigned for domestic abuse and we've got a PR nightmare and a hefty suspension on our hands. Can't risk shit like that disrupting the team.”
“Oh, I forgot how much I've missed yours and Dad's crazy leap of nothing-close-to-logical nonsense. Breslin may be a lot of things, but he's doing his therapy sessions. He's volunteering with old people. He can't be out of the game. He can't.”It's completely unfair on the level of crimes against nature. Well, not quite, but still. Itcan't beover for him.
“You called him, what, a criminal earlier? I thought?—”
“I called him amenacebecause he aggravates me to death. He hates reporters. Hates them. And guess what I do?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, so, he makes my job difficult every day. All the other players are fine, even the seniors who think thefreshmanReporter Chica—thanks Antonio—is just so adorable.” I huffed. “They call me short.”
Curt chuckled. “You are short.”
“You're all giants, shut up. Anyway, his current reign as the royal pain in my backside aside, I hate for anyone to be told they can't achieve their dream.”
“Well, he's got three or four years. Who knows? There's a reason they call it scouting and not fortune telling. No crystal balls.”
“But if the scouts and back offices all consider him toxic—He knows he's not on anyone's radar. And he won't be.”
“There is one guy who could help change his fate. He even happens to kinda like you.”
I growled. “Yeah, but he's the same guy who came up with the rule: No baseball for Olivia. And I'm done living by that mandate.”
“Liv . . .”
“Done, Curtis. I'm flat out done.” And with that, I hung up.Suck on that. You and Dad both.
With not many options left, I chose to rewrite my Founders’ Day article featuring Dotty's friendship with Coop—an unlikely pair to be sure. But Dotty didn't mind. She provided me with an excellent quote, a mostly acceptable photo. Dublin cropped and enhanced it a bit. Even provided a caption:The Vachon Family and their Legacy of Chasing Victory.
Was reminded that Dotty's son was a judge in nearby Lubbock. Which meant she knew the sheriff. The real sheriff, not the deputy with the RBF expression I could only dream of possessing.
I wasn't sure what Coop would say about the article . . . Who was I kidding? I knew exactly what he'd say. And how he’d sound when he took out the restraining order, got me kicked off my baseball beat, and generally buried us both in our respective baseball-less coffins.
“If he weren't so damned stubborn . . .”
“If he wasn't, he wouldn't be Coop. And you probably wouldn't like him half so much.” Dotty gave me a cheerful, if smug-looking grin. “More tea, dear?”
And I'd said the thing out loud. “Like him? Pbbft. Did they put the crazy stuff in your tea, again?”
“Oh dear. Seems we're not as grown up as we pretend to be. Emotional intelligence, Olivia. It's the gift that keeps giving.” She sat down and settled a new tea bag in my cup, pouring piping hot water after it. One eyebrow arched high. “You stopped typing my email ages ago.” She tapped the flat of her hand on the table. “And if you want to get that Sheriff to do something useful, you'll need to stop daydreaming about the boy you're writing the letter about. And actually type the damned letter.”
“I'm not daydreaming—Oh, you are a!” I groused at her over my mug. “What did you call Martha last week? That's right, a certified busybody!”
She straightened her shoulders. “I am no such thing. You take that back.”
“I won't.” I placed my mug on the table. “And to top it off, I'm getting you quilting things for Christmas.”
She gasped with widened eyes. “You wouldn't dare.”
“Topped off with quilting lessons. And then I'll provide your schedule to Becca so she can make sure you get there.” I hissed over the top of my laptop. “The very definition of 'captive audience'.” I went back to staring at the email I'd started.
To The Honorable Judge Tyrick:
We are writing to you on behalf of Breslin Cooper, a young man who works at the Senior Center where we live . . .
“Diabolical. You're a scoundrel in tasteful athleisure wear.”
I grinned and stretched my arms. “Isn't this jacket cute? I really couldn't pass it up.”