Filed to story: Luci Forrester and Easton Reed: Hockey Romance Story
“Go. He needs you,” I tell him as he pulls his jeans back up, the moment between us shifting.
He pulls me into his arms, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll make it up to you later. And I think I have like three more thank yous to cash in on, right?” He grins wickedly.
“Hmm, might be only two,” I tease back.
“See you in class. Sweet dreams, my Luci. Text me if you oversleep or skip breakfast.” He walks backward to his truck, and I smile, feeling a warmth in my chest before shutting the door. Leaning against it after locking it, I reflect on all the little moments that have added up, just as Sydney said. She was right. It doesn’t feel too fast with him.
**Stormi**
As I push the door open, the words “Coach Franklin Humphies?” slip from my lips, a tentative inquiry into the dimly lit office. The moment I step inside, I can hear his voice, laced with irritation, cutting through the air like a sharp knife.
“Yes.” His tone is curt, already tinged with annoyance. Just great.
“I’m Stormi Britton, here from the Kenton Gazette for our scheduled interview.” I attempt to remind him of the agreement we had, hoping to soften his mood just a bit.
“Oh right, the female perspective nonsense. If girls want to watch the game, they can do so without you giving your opinion. It’s not like they need you to validate their interest. Girls can be raised to appreciate sports.” His dismissive attitude is palpable, as if I’ve just asked him about his favorite shade of nail polish instead of discussing his team.
I press on, determined to get something meaningful from him. I pose questions about his aspirations for the team, curious about how he envisions their performance after losing most of their offensive line to graduation. Yet, his responses are begrudging, as if each word is a chore. I had thought I was engaging him with genuine sports inquiries, not some trivial fluff piece meant for a female audience.
“And finally, would you care to share something about your family? I’m sure they’re incredibly supportive of both you and the team.”
At that, his jaw tightens, and his hands clench into fists, a clear sign of his rising anger. “Why the hell are you asking about my family? Did that little b***h put you up to this?”
Confusion washes over me, and I lean back slightly, trying to process his sudden hostility. “I’m sorry? What do you mean? Readers appreciate knowing about a man’s family, especially when he devotes so much time to his career. It often garners the highest responses in our articles, regardless of whether the reporter is male or female.”
“I don’t talk about my f*****g family. You got your damn waste-of-time interview. Now get out. And if you’re smart, Miss Britton, you’ll find new friends. I’ve heard about who you’ve been hanging around with.” He stands abruptly, swinging the door open without sparing me a glance. I scramble to gather my things, my heart racing as I exit. The entire way through the stadium, I can’t shake the feeling of his piercing gaze on my back.
As I make my way back to the office, my mind spins with questions. How does he know about my friendship with Luci? But his harsh words won’t deter me. Luci is genuinely one of the sweetest people I know, and Syd is just as kind. I’ve finally found a group of girls who aren’t waiting for me to trip up, who don’t engage in petty gossip about every other female we encounter. The puck bunnies we often tease, but honestly, they write their own punchlines.
I let out a heavy sigh, contemplating how to write this piece in a way that doesn’t paint him as the jerk he is. It’s going to require far more effort than I had anticipated. All I wanted today was to prepare for the hockey game tonight, to enjoy watching the four kings play alongside my friends and two adorable little boys.
“Was he an ass?” Mike’s voice breaks through my thoughts as I settle at my desk, ready to type up the interview.
“Beyond an ass. What do you even call that? Maybe a rectal toad?” I grimace, the frustration bubbling to the surface.
Mike chuckles softly. “He’s definitely a jerk. What did he say to you?”
“Just the usual sexist garbage. He called me ‘honey’ a few times and even suggested he forgot I needed things broken down for me. I seriously wanted to punch him in the face. He got all defensive when I asked about his family, as if explaining that women enjoy reading about family dynamics is some sort of crime.”
Mike winces, a knowing look crossing his face. “I guess no one’s told you yet. You did just move here.” He stares down at his desk, clearly uncomfortable.
“Well, are you going to tell me now?” I ask, impatience creeping into my voice. “Don’t leave me hanging like that unless you plan to finish.”
He glances around, ensuring we’re mostly alone before he pulls his chair closer to mine. “His daughter, Brooklyn, was his princess. Like, she could do no wrong in his and his wife’s eyes.
Rumor has it she was some sort of miracle baby for them. They called her ‘golden girl Brooklyn.'”
“Then why wouldn’t he want to talk about her nonstop?” My curiosity piqued, especially after what Luci had revealed.
He lowers his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Because she died. Three years ago in a supposedly horrific car accident. Actually, her death anniversary is coming up in about a week or two, so you’re lucky he didn’t completely lose it on you. The records were sealed almost immediately. My instincts as an investigative reporter tell me it had something to do with your friend, Luci. She vanished from school for about a month, and when she came back, the football team treated her like absolute trash. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
He slides back to his desk, leaving me to sit there, my mind racing as I take deep breaths to calm myself. Luci had mentioned there was more to the story. I can only hope she will trust me enough to share everything. Or perhaps it’s better to tell Easton the entire situation; he needs to confront Marshall Soames the same way he did with Julian.
**Julian**
“Julian, Dad needs you to print off that photo of him and Mom for some Christmas present. The one where they renewed their wedding vows at the Christmas party. He said it should be in her computer album from three years ago.” Marshall’s voice greets me the moment I step through the door after a long day at class.
“Because your f*****g fingers are broken?” I retort, irritation bubbling to the surface. Today’s practice was brutal, and the entire week has been a nightmare. Coach was particularly irritable today, barking orders and snapping at everyone, including me, which is a rare occurrence. Meanwhile, Marshall is sprawled out in front of the TV, munching on chips. Since arriving home for his bye week, he’s done nothing but lounge around, leaving Mom to cater to his every whim.
He shoots me a look that could kill, but it quickly morphs into something more vulnerable. “It’s from right before the accident, and I can’t bear to see that. You understand, right, Julian?” His voice is tinged with sadness and exhaustion.
“Yeah, I get it.” I mumble, guilt washing over me for snapping at him. I start to share my thoughts about Easton and Reed claiming Luci Forrester, but given how down he is about Brooklyn, I decide against it. Easton could probably take both our asses at once if he wanted to; he’s massive and freakishly strong. All week, he’s glared at me if I so much as glance Luci’s way. The guy must be hooked on her because of that kid, his little brother or cousin, or whatever he is.
I head to Mom’s office and log onto her computer. Searching through the photos from three years ago, I stumble upon one of Marshall and Brooklyn during one of Mom’s holiday movie nights. They’re snuggled together on the couch, their faces lit up with joy. I keep scrolling, a small smile creeping onto my face at their happy expressions. He hasn’t looked the same since that awful month. Mom took a series of candid shots, and I watch them unfold like a movie as I click through. I see him leaning away from her, staring at his phone, a slow grin spreading across his face. His head turns toward Brooklyn, and I catch a glimpse of him typing. It’s strange.
The photos come to an end, and I keep going, hoping to find what I’m looking for. Most of the images are mundane decorations. “Next, next… wait… what the hell….” I mutter, my finger freezing mid-click as I stare at the screen in shock. “No, that’s not… it must be fake, it has to be.” I move to the next photo, determined to prove to myself that my eyes are deceiving me. I keep scrolling, blinking rapidly by the fifth picture, convinced my brain has finally given up on me. I send the first three to myself and print them out. There are so many more.
As I continue, a wave of frustration builds within me, and I feel like screaming and punching holes in the wall. I storm out to find him, and he’s still engrossed in his phone, oblivious to my presence. As I approach, I notice he’s scrolling through pictures of girls on OnlyFans. I can’t believe what I’m witnessing. “Want to explain these, asshole?” I demand, tossing the printed photos down from above him.
His head snaps up, eyes widening as the pages flutter down around him. He grabs them, staring in disbelief. It can’t be worse than the mini-stroke I almost had when I first saw them. “Don’t look so f*****g surprised. I’m the one who was shocked. At least you already knew, judging by the fact that’s definitely you in those pictures.”
“What the f**k? Where did you get these?” He glares up at me, confusion and anger battling for dominance on his face.
“Off Mom’s computer. How about you start talking, you f*****g prick?”