After working hard for the past sixteen years to attain a front office position she enjoyed, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay with the Miners in any capacity. She knew that other teams around the league had been dragged into the twenty-first century by the fact women now made up forty-eight percent of the league’s fan base, but the Miners’ front office was resisting this fact with every weapon at their disposal. She hadn’t seen anything like this until she was welcomed into the front office group. A woman in their ranks was obviously more threatening than she had ever imagined. She expected opposition to being the first female executive on their org chart, but she didn’t have to take blatant disrespect and disregard for federal employment laws.
Kendall had made the trip on her own this weekend. Sydney was back in the San Francisco area getting ready for her finals. Drew wasn’t available by phone right now. She could call one of her girlfriends and whine about her situation, but her friends had their own problems. Hers seemed small in comparison to dealing with husbands, young children, and making ends meet when there was more month than money.
She tugged the hood on her Miners-logo fleece jacket up once more and stamped her feet a few times, hoping the blood moving would bring a little warmth. She felt her phone vibrating but didn’t pull it out of her pocket. Seconds later, she felt it vibrating again. She pulled it out and stared at the text on the screen.
DREW IS INJURED. HE’S ON HIS WAY TO THE HOSPITAL IN DALLAS. CALL ME. SYDNEY
Kendall’s stomach dropped, and she felt a surge of adrenaline seconds afterward. She turned and ran into the tunnel the Miners emerged from. Hopefully she’d have some cell bars and even a bit of privacy in here. She held her phone up, twirled around a few times, and realized it was fruitless. No bars. She’d have to get outside again to find cell coverage, and the only way she’d get any solitude for a conversation was to walk out of the stadium and stand on the sidewalk. She was wearing an all-access badge, but stadium security would be less than interested in re-admitting anyone who left the stadium and tried to come back in.
Drew was hurt. The fact he was on his way to the hospital was even worse. If it was something minor, the team would use the on-site X-ray machine in Dallas and patch him up when he got back to Seattle. She darted through the tunnel on her way to the elevators. She needed a place to make a phone call. The fans were in their seats. The media was in the press box. The elevators were deserted as a result.
The media was in the press box. She hit the button for that floor and prayed. If anyone in this stadium had cell and Internet access, it was them. They also had information from every game being played in the league. The elevator stopped minutes later, and she got out. She spied Paul Smith leaning against the wall outside of the press box door, using his smart phone. Paul had been reporting on pro football for twenty years now. Besides being excellent at his job, he’d always been friendly and cooperative when he’d chatted with her for a column or an exclusive on the Miners. She hurried over to him.
“Paul, do you have a minute?”
He grinned at her. “Sure, Kendall. What’s up?”
“Do you have any more information about Drew McCoy’s injury in Dallas today?”
He glanced at his smart phone again and shook his head. “The preliminary stuff I’m seeing on Twitter right now from the game states the team is afraid it’s a labrum tear with rotator cuff involvement. They’ll know more after he’s at the hospital.”
“My assistant texted me.” She held up her phone. He gave her a nod.
“I’m guessing Drew’s not answering his phone right now.”
She let out a breath. “Nope.”
Paul reached out to pat her upper arm. “You realize you just told me the rumors of personal involvement between you and McCoy are true.”
She swallowed hard and gave him a nod. “I’m guessing it’s too late to say this isn’t on the record.” She clasped her arms behind her. “Is it too late to make a deal?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Off the record source information instead?” she said.
Every sportswriter covering professional football was dying for a credible source that would discuss this past week’s fireworks in the Miners’ front office. The Miners’ owner had threatened the job of anyone found to have divulged information. Sometimes it was good to have nothing to lose.
“You’re on,” he said. She reached out to shake his hand. “Let’s see what else we can find out about McCoy until someone at the hospital answers their damn phone, shall we?”