Protecting The Quarterback. Kristina Knight

That was their deal: she got the interview after he got publicity for his camp.

      Kent watched her for another long moment and then shrugged, mumbled something about being paid whether or not their footage hit the air and began tearing down their equipment. Brooks breathed a sigh of relief that her colleague hadn’t pushed. She could easily tell him about the deal she’d made, but then he’d ask why, and she didn’t know him well enough to trust him with her intuition about Jonas’s injury. Kent’s reputation was solid, but everyone wanted their fifteen minutes of fame.

      While the cameraman finished cleaning up, Brooks turned back to the field. The coaches were picking up discarded paper cups while the boys refilled the big water coolers. Jonas and the kid were still apart from the rest of the group, and the football he’d thrown lay at his feet. He’d folded his arms across the chest and said something to the boy who trotted across the field toward the makeshift dorms. Jonas bent down and picked up the ball, tossing it lightly in the air a few times.

      Kent tapped Brooks on the shoulder and waved. “Nine tomorrow morning?”

      “Make it ten. Like you said, there is only so much of this footage we’re going to need.”

      Kent shouldered his camera and tripod. He’d left the tent up for the next day. “For what it’s worth, I get it. Nash has charmed a lot of people.”

      “I’m not being charmed,” she said without thinking about it. “I report on facts, not innuendo. If you don’t like that, this isn’t the job for you.”

      “Sooner or later you’ll have to report on the injury.”

      “I know that, but right now there is nothing to report.”

      Kent left. Brooks focused her attention on the field. She knew it. That’s why she made the deal, or at least part of the reason. But Jonas Nash was more than a piece of football news. In total, she’d spent less than a day with him. Fifteen minutes at the awards show, another thirty in the locker room and then Earl’s office. An hour or so the day before and five minutes this morning.

      From under the tent, she watched the last of the boys file inside the dorm area. They would have free time until six when the caterers brought in dinner, and then they’d break into small groups to work on team-building exercises. Earl knotted the top of the trash bag and put it into a receptacle and then waved to the other coaches as he left the field. One by one everyone left until it was just her, standing under the tent, and Jonas, tossing the ball on the sidelines.

      She’d reported on worse injuries from the sidelines, with even less information available to her, and never felt guilty about doing her job. Less than a day. She’d known Jonas for several months, but had spent less than a day in his presence. So why was she so reluctant to go on the record about his injury without his input?

      And why couldn’t she bring herself to leave the field when he was still there?

      * * *

      JONAS CHECKED HIS watch and then quickened his pace. It was just before seven on the third day of the camp and so far he had the track to himself. The boys would start wandering out of the dorms soon, and he wanted to get another mile in before they did. Even if his shoulder wasn’t one hundred percent by the time training camp began in a few weeks, the rest of him would be in top form.

      He heard another set of pounding feet and turned his head to find Mark, a boy who had kept his distance from the rest of the guys so far, pacing him.

      “Good morning.”

      “Yeah,” the kid said. Sweat left darker streaks in the kid’s brown hair, and his face was red as if he’d been running much longer than the minute or so it would have taken him to catch up with Jonas from the dorm area, and the track had been empty when he pulled up.

      “You left the campus this morning or are you just getting back in?”

      Mark shot him a sidelong look. “That grounds for sending me home?”

      Jonas was no psychologist, but he would swear there was hope in the question. As if the kid wanted to be sent home. Not surprising, given how standoffish he’d been for the past two days. “Not unless you left to buy alcohol or drugs.” Jonas slowed his pace slightly and Mark fell in beside him as if he didn’t notice the change. “You didn’t, did you?”