Page 1

Gunner

I park my truck and pocket my phone and keys before heading inside.

I can’t say that I’m thrilled to be called over on a free day, but it’s not like it doesn’t happen.

As captain, I’m called in more than the other guys.

Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it and be out of here in no time.

.

.

hopefully.

And then I can get back to the rest of my plans for the day.

My mind runs through said plans.

I need to place my order for groceries and a myriad of other things before I drive to my mom’s tonight.

Speaking of my mom’s, I make a mental note to make her sit down and order a new phone tonight; she’s been putting it off.

Hers is way too old, and she can’t even hear me when I call anymore.

It’s a simple task; I just need her to do it.

I’ll help her and pay for it, but I don’t want to pick it out for her.

I push open the door and head into the meeting room.

I figured I’d be the first one here, since I’m nearly fifteen minutes early.

But I’m not.

Chloe sits at the table with her beloved tablet in front of her, working away.

“Coftman,” she calls out without even lifting her head.

I take in her perfectly styled hair, makeup, dressy blouse.

I can’t see under the table, but I’m assuming she’s wearing one of her usual pencil skirts and mile high heels.

Only Chloe would be dressed to the nines on a Saturday.

“Chloe,” I respond as I take a seat at the table.

I pull out my phone and check my email, not that I need to.

But it gives me something to do while I wait, especially since making small talk with Chloe is not an option.

She avoids me like the plague.

I used to be thankful; lately, not so much.

I’m kind of over it.

I’m too old to play games, not that thirty is especially old; but it sure feels like it in my world.

I’ve gotten my fair share of reporters and fans asking if I’m going to retire now that I’m thirty.

It irritates me, especially because I feel that as good as my career has been, I’m behind the ball in my personal life.

My teammates are marrying off and starting to have babies.

Rico, our goalie, and his wife had their baby last season.

Aiden and his wife are expecting now as well.

And I expect a similar announcement from Sebastian and his wife at any time.

That leaves me.

And Zac, but he’s not as much in our group.

He’s on the line with us, but he’s still young and living his best life instead of doing things like barbecues and game nights, like me and the married guys are doing.

Only, I’m not married.

I scowl and turn my phone over and work at turning off these morbid thoughts.

“What’s the meeting about?” I ask Chloe.

“Stan will tell you in a few, just as soon as he and Coach Seers get here.”

I mentally wince.

If both Coach and our team manager were called in for this one, it must be a big deal.

I wish Chloe would just tell me, so I’m not in the dark.

I hate not knowing what’s going on.

I’ve always hated it, but so much more since I became captain four years ago.

The door opens, and Stan enters, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks.

The guy is always dressed up, even on a Saturday, just like Chloe.

Coach comes in a moment later.

“Coftman,” he grunts at me.

“Hey, Coach.” I watch as he and Stan settle at the table.

It doesn’t escape my notice that the three of them are all on one side, and I’m on the other.

I notice the small things, and this feels like something.

I’m just not sure what.

I sit back in my seat, giving my long legs room and cross my arms, eyeing the three of them.

I don’t say anything but wait for them to start.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly because she’s our PR manager, they both turn to Chloe.

I turn my attention to her as well.

She doesn’t waste any time.

Without looking up from her iPad, she asks, “Mr. Coftman, how well do you know a Jenny Prenderson?”

I blink.

“What?”

She does that thing she does when she’s annoyed—closes her eyes for the briefest second and takes a deep breath—before she starts again.

“I asked how well—?”

“I heard the question,” I mutter, cutting her off.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” I look between her and my coach, but nobody will meet my eyes.

I start to get a bad feeling about this.

Chloe finally meets my eyes.

“Mr. Coftman.” I hate it when she calls me that.

“ It’s a simple question, really. Do you know a Jenny Prenderson?” Her words are slow and deliberate.

I nod, unwilling to give any more until I know what’s going on.

She stares at me, getting exasperated when I don’t say anything.

She sighs, like I’m on her last nerve; I probably am.

“ How do you know her?” she asks just as slowly.

I glance at Coach and Stan again, but neither of them says a thing or makes eye contact.

I settle further back in my chair.

“High School.”

Chloe’s eyes flare just the slightest, like I’ve surprised her.

Nobody else would notice, but I’ve had years to categorize every move the woman makes.

“Are you currently in a relationship with her?” she asks without meeting my eyes.

Dumbstruck, I stare at her.

When I don’t answer, she looks up and raises a single eyebrow.

“What is going on?” I demand.

“Mr. Coftman, if you would just answer the questions, please. This would go a lot easier.”

I’m irritated and annoyed.

“No, Chloe, I’m not going to answer your asinine questions until I have a clue what’s going on here.” I keep my voice low and controlled, even though I’m feeling anything but.

“Gunner,” Coach barks.

“Just answer the questions.”

When I look back at Chloe, she’s watching me expectantly.

“Are you currently in a relationship with her?”

“No.” My answer is mostly a grunt.

Chloe pauses before looking at me again.

Those chocolate brown eyes meet mine, and I force myself not to get sucked in.

There’s a fire in them right now, meaning she’s keyed up about whatever in the world we’re talking about.

Whenever she gets fired up, the tiny gold flecks in her eyes become more noticeable.

It’s one of my favorite hobbies—trying to get Chloe fired up.

Normally, I enjoy it.

Right now, not so much.

I just wish somebody would tell me what’s going on.

“Were you recently in a relationship with her?” Chloe continues her ridiculous line of questioning that’s sounding more and more like an interrogation, rather than simple questions.

“No.”

She gives me a look of long-suffering.

“Were you in a relationship with her in any way shape or form?”

“No.”

She huffs out a sigh of exasperation.

“Maybe I’m not asking the right questions. Let me rephrase.” She meets my gaze head-on.

“Did you sleep with her sometime in the not-too-distant past?”

I go still and look between her and my coach and the team manager.

Part of me is expecting at least one of them to crack a smile, but none of them do.

“What is going on?” My words are slow and deliberate.

“I’m not answering one more question until I know what the actual—”

“Gunner,” Coach says, cutting me off.

He gives me a look.

“Just answer the questions.”

I resist the urge to grind my teeth.

I do lean forward, however, and place one elbow on the table.

“I’m not sure what this line of questioning, or interrogation is,” I say pointedly to Chloe.

“But let me set the record straight. I have never dated, had sex with, or had any kind of relationship with Jenny Prenderson.”

“Then would you be willing to explain this to me?” Chloe slides her tablet to me.

I catch it easily and look down at the screen.

It’s a picture of Jenny; I recognize her, though I haven’t seen her since high school.

I look back up at Chloe.

“It’s a picture of Jenny.”

She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath.

“Look at the photo again, Coftman.”

I look at it again and this time notice the jersey, spotting the C in the right corner.

“She’s wearing my jersey.” I put the tablet back down.

“A lot of women wear my jersey.” She scoffs, and I realize how my words sound.

But I don’t back down.

I’m not being a jerk; it’s just the truth.

You get used to it after a while.

Chloe’s cold expression could cut glass.

“Read the post,” she grits out.

I look back at the tablet and scroll down until I can read what Jenny Prenderson wrote.

It takes me a minute to realize what I’m reading.

I don’t even finish reading it before scoffing and sliding it back to Chloe.

I make sure I meet each of the three sets of eyes watching me.

“She’s lying.”

Coach sits back in his chair, looking relaxed once again.

“See, I told you,” he says to Stan.

“We’re done here.” He starts to stand up.

“Not so fast,” Chloe says, halting his progress.

“Our good captain here may plead innocence, but it doesn’t matter because she posted this to the public.”

“Chloe, people post nonsense all the time. You know that,” I tell her.

“I know,” her fiery eyes meet mine.

“It’s my job to fix those kinds of problem. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Fix. The. Problem.”

It’s quiet a moment, and then Coach pushes in his chair.

“I’m out of here. Thanks for fixing it, Chloe.” He’s out the door a moment later.

Stan stands up as well, and Chloe turns her gaze on him.

“You’re out too?”

He nods.

“This is what we pay you the big bucks for, Chloe. Do what you do best and make this go away.” His words seem to bounce off the walls, even after he’s gone.

Chloe takes a deep breath and then gets out her stylus for her iPad.

“All right, Mr. Coftman. So, what is the story with Jenny Prenderson?”

“There is no story,” I say in a calm, emotionless voice.

“Never was, never will be.”

“Then let’s start at the beginning. How do you know Jenny?”

“I already told you. High School.”

“Did you date in high school?”

“No.”

“Did you date after high school?”

“No.”

“Did you—”

I lean forward and cut her off.

“I have never dated Jenny. She called me once out of the blue a few weeks ago. I didn’t answer. She left a message. Don’t know how she got my number; don’t care. She left some message. I glanced at it, saw it wasn’t important and deleted it.”

“Did she call again?” I hesitate on that one and then nod.

She crosses her arms.

“How many times, Coftman?”

I refuse to feel guilty with that look she has pinned on me.

She stares at me.

“Lots.”

“Did you tell her to stop?”

“I just didn’t take her calls.”

She stares at me.

“Gunner! We have protocol for stuff like this.”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I knew her in high school; she seemed nice enough. I didn’t want to make a big deal.”

“You didn’t want to make a big deal,” she repeats slowly after me.

I shrug.

“Yeah.”

She taps her stylus on the table faster and faster.

I'm half expecting it to take flight. “Well, Mr. Coftman, she has now publicly declared on your fan page, of all places, and on the team page that she is carrying your child. Thousands of people have already seen those posts and have weighed in.”

I scoff. “People don’t believe that kind of—”

“They’ve started voting on baby names,” she continues as if I never said anything.

“Gunny, Jenner, Puck, Cap, Genny with a G.” She looks at me. “Should I continue?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She doesn’t listen. “Ginger, Junner, Junny, Gunjen.”

I scowl. “Those are stupid names.”

She puts her tablet down on the table. “The problem exists in that the names exist. This woman has called you out as the father of her baby.”

“It’s not true,” I remind her.

“Have you learned nothing in the last four years of me being here? I tell you guys all the time. It doesn’t matter what’s true; what matters is what people believe is true. Right now, there’s a woman out there that has made a lot of people believe that you are the father of her unborn child.”

“But how? I haven't seen her since high school.”

Chloe sits back in her chair, and I watch as her expression softens just the slightest bit for the first time since I walked in here. “She did her homework well, Coftman. She really knows you.” She leans back in her chair. “Shoot, I even believed the woman.”

“What’s she got on me?” I ask, almost dreading to hear the answer.