Since the Wolves headquarters were housed with the practice facilities outside of Seattle, I didn't have to worry about passing Molly's office on the way to see Beatrice. My mind only stumbled slightly as I thought her name, and I had the distinct displeasure of recognizing that my heart did the same thing.
The hallways were a blur of glossy red and black, the Wolves logo everywhere we turned. It was strange how even now, months after I'd arrived, I didn't immediately recognize it as my home team. The press room was still buzzing with activity, our QB taking his turn up at the table, and I kept my eyes on the empty office space where we were headed because I'd given enough sound bites about the game. I didn't want center stage.
My face creased into a frown as I realized it. The thought was there, clear as a bell and just as loud, and I couldn't figure out when that had changed.
But I couldn't pull on the thread any further, not until later, as Beatrice waved us into the room with the phone glued to her ear.
"That sounds great, thank you. Send me a draft of the press release before anything goes live, okay?" Her eyes darted back and forth between me and Rick. "Yeah, bye."
We took the seats across from her as she hung up. Marty took his position in the corner of the room, still filming. Always filming.
Beatrice smiled in my direction first. "Congratulations on your game, Noah."
I nodded. "Thanks."
"Just so you know, we have a press release going out about the record, and we may want to record a snippet we can put up on Instagram thanking the Washington fans for all their support so far this season. We're already editing some footage of Coach giving you the game ball in the locker room."
Again, I nodded.
Beatrice folded her hands and directed her attention to Rick. "I was happy to hear from you, Rick. As you know, I've been salivating for a taste of what you three have been working on, but you've been such a tease."
My attention sharpened, but I kept my face forward.
Rick pulled his laptop out and set it on the desk, angling it so both Beatrice and I could see the screen. "There's a reason for that, as you can imagine."
"I certainly hoped that was the case." Her face was pleasant, but the edge to her voice was clear. "Should Molly be present for this? She assures me that you maintain open lines of communication, and there haven't been any issues since the season started."
My stomach clenched tight, and I fought to breathe evenly. I hadn't been in the same room as her since she left the airplane upon arriving back in Seattle.
"Not just yet," Rick said. When he sat back, he took a deep breath and gave both Beatrice and me a protracted look. "I'd like to make a change in the direction we're taking with Noah's story."
Her eyes narrowed. Mine didn't. Probably because I couldn't bring myself to care much about the documentary anyway. The change he most likely wanted to make was firing my ass from sheer boring footage.
"What kind of change are we talking?"
"An entirely new narrative," Rick said. "And the season would focus solely on him."
Beatrice sucked in a quiet breath. "I'm interested."
I rolled my lips together but kept silent.
"Marty and I found ourselves editing footage every week, and it became apparent to us—pretty much from the very beginning—that the reason we came to film Noah was the not the story that we should be telling." He gave me an inscrutable look. "Noah's nickname is The Machine. Over his young career in the league, he quickly established himself as something more than human. His stats are beyond impressive. His discipline is well-known, and he's respected by teammates and opponents alike for the way he methodically dismantles the competition with his body and his brain."
"All of which we knew," Beatrice supplied.
"We did," Rick agreed. "But nobody knows the very human side of him. He's created his career to mask it. No one questions what's underneath The Machine because the fa?ade is so impressive. And from day one, Marty and I noticed something. Something that had both of us glued to the screens as we went through the hours and hours of footage from your day-to-day life, Noah."
I lifted my chin, mind racing but face implacable. "And what's that?"
His face softened, and there was an apologetic glint to his eye that made me want to clap a hand over his mouth even before the words came out. "We watched her dismantle The Machine with hardly any effort. We watched you fall in love with her. And her with you."
The bottom dropped out, and everything I'd been so carefully juggling in the air crashed down with his simple statements. I hardly registered the way Beatrice sat back in her chair.