Page 20 of Campus Muscle

Once again my grip on my notebook tightened. It was already late afternoon, and I was heading to the field with quick, purposeful steps. If the conversation had done anything, it had convinced me to do the opposite of what he’d asked for. It wasn’t going to stop me because nothing could. I was going to use it as fuel to drive me forward.

Practice was already underway when I arrived. The sharp blast of the whistle cut across the field, and it was followed by the dull impact of bodies colliding in drills. Voices overlapped, and some called out, others corrected, and a few were laughing, showing that there wasn’t exactly as much effort as there would be in a game.

I stayed near the edge of it all, but I wasn’t writing anything down. It wasn’t time for that yet. This time I wasn’t watching the plays or trying to get an interview. I was watching everything that was happening around the players and their game. The things that weren’t immediately obvious.

I was looking at who spoke between the reps. Who lingered in the background or kept their distance, and who was drawing attention without actively trying to. There were patterns in everything, and I was trying my best to find them because that was where the truth lived.

Ethan moved through the drills with controlled precision, and his focus was locked in. Malik anchored the defense with his steady, unshakable body. Lucas kept the energy up by being loud and magnetic, pulling attention even when it wasn’t his turn.

My gaze passed over every single one of them and then stopped at the odd one out. Frank Delaney stood near the sideline, not at the center and not inserting himself. He was just making his presence known as he watched. I stilled slightly as the pieces started coming together.

He didn’t need to be at the Curry game, and he didn’t need to be here now. Yet he kept showing up consistently. My pen hovered over the page, but still, I just kept watching.

I noticed the way Coach Harris acknowledged him in passing but didn’t stop long enough to invite a conversation. The players noticed him even when they pretended not to. There was a subtle shift in posture when he moved closer to the field, and it wasn’t casual interest. It was influence.

My gaze moved over to Trace, and I noticed that he moved differently today. His movements were sharper and more deliberate. The plays seemed to bend toward him more than before, even in practice. It wasn’t obvious unless you were looking for it, and I was definitely looking.

The whistle blew, signaling a break. The players peeled off, grabbing water, shaking out tension and raising voices as they fell into loose conversation. Delaney stepped back from the sideline, and I realized he was going to leave. I didn’t hesitate, moving in immediately. I had to cut across the edge of the field and adjust my pace to intercept him, but I reached him before he got to the exit.

“Mr. Delaney. I’m Dakota Hayes and I have some questions,” I said, showing him my reporter patch.

Up close, he looked exactly how I expected. He was composed and measured, the kind of man who didn’t rush because he didn’t have to.

“Okay,” he said hesitantly.

I met his gaze, keeping my own steady and direct. “Why are you so interested in Trace Prescott all of a sudden?”

There was a slight pause, but he squashed it before it became obvious. “Is that what this is about?”

“It’s what I’m asking about right now, and I’d appreciate an honest answer.”

He studied me for a moment, weighing something I couldn’t quite see, but I wasn’t going to back down. No man had ever intimidated me before, and he was no different.

“I take an interest in promising players,” he finally said.

“That’s a bit vague.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

I gave him a tight smile. “You don’t strike me as someone who does anything without a reason.”

“And you don’t strike me as someone who asks simple questions.”

His lips curled slightly, showing that he was playing with me, but I didn’t mind. It made him feel like he had the upper hand, and he could feel whatever he wanted if it meant that I could get my answers.

“Simple questions usually have complicated answers.”

“Or unnecessary ones.”

This time I didn’t play into his hand. “You were at the Curry game.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

Oh, he was really good, but not good enough. I had a knack for getting what I wanted, so his useless responses didn’t faze me at all.

“And you’re here now. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious, especially considering that he just started playing?”

He shrugged casually. “No.”