Page 34 of The Defender

We don’t love each other

We don’t hate each other either

The three dots reappeared. I stared at the screen, my breath stalling in my lungs. Time slowed to an unbearable pace, but when the dots finally died, they didn’t give way to a new message.

My text was the last one in the thread.

“Who died?”

I jerked my head up as Asher slid back into his seat. “What?”

“You’re glaring at your phone like it personally offended you.” He nodded at my cell. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I quickly moved the device to my other side, away from him. “I was just going through some emails.”

Asher opened his mouth, but thankfully, Adil and Noah returned in time to distract him from further interrogation.

While Adil regaled us with the story of how he’d dared Samson to dance on camera to the Riley K song (which had indeed been playing, thank you very much), I checked my phone again.Just in case.

A red bubble graced my Messages app.

My stomach flipped. I tapped on the notification and skimmed the new text. It was only three words, but it was enough to make me smile.

Brooklyn

No. We don’t.

CHAPTER 11

BROOKLYN

London’s unusually warm weather lasted through Halloween weekend. After that, a flip switched, and November dawned crisp and cold enough to make my teeth chatter when I stepped outside.

Luckily, today’s schedule kicked off with an indoor presentation to the whole team on nutrition. Jones, the club’s head of nutrition and my boss, ran the meeting with his assistant Rory. The other intern, Henry, and I were on hand to assist.

Even though I was the one who’d put the presentation together, I still listened intently while Jones discussed the importance of carbohydrates as fuel, different carb options, and ideal portion sizes. The players should already know this stuff, but it was smart to refresh their memories every once in a while.

“Is it just me, or are the lights in here way too bright?” Henry muttered. “I have the worst hangover.”

I gave him a tight smile but didn’t respond.

“What did you do this weekend? I went to Neon and?—”

“Shhh.” I kept my voice as low as possible. “Not now.”

I tolerated Henry on a good day, but moments like these made me want to bang my head against a wall.

People freaked out when they discovered I was Frank Armstrong’s daughter, but no one batted an eye at the fact that Henry was Jones’s godson. Armstrong was a relatively common last name, so I was able to hide my parentage until I basically got the job. My dad was completely hands-off when it came to my internship. Henry couldn’t say the same. Plus, he had the work ethic of a stoned frat boy, but I was the one who constantly had to prove myself while he skated by on the bare minimum.

Welcome to Blackcastle, home of the Nepotism Double Standard Olympics.

“We have a few more slides. Then I promise I’ll let Coach torture you on the pitch,” Jones said to scattered laughter. “Brooklyn, why don’t you take over this last part?”

I straightened, my stomach fluttering as all eyes turned toward me. Jones hadn’t given me any heads-up that I would be speaking today.

Thankfully, I knew the presentation like the back of my hand. My initial surprise quickly dissolved as I launched into an overview of how to make healthy versions of different foods and how to substitute empty calories with whole foods.

That was my favorite part of this job. I didn’t believe in restrictive diets, and while pro athletes were much more disciplined than the average person, they would be better served if theyenjoyedwhat they ate. Sustainability was an important part of performance optimization.