The Locker Room Meghan Quinn Novels & Stories

"Regardless, I'm proud of her." "Thank you," Megan replied. Zain and Coach Maleek left the backstage to continue the audition. Megan tried to walk out, probably to go cheer up her friends. Mr. Trainor held her left hand softly and pulled her back. "Hey," Mr. Trainor's voice cracked with emotion. "You made tonight shine. I am proud of you. Congratulations, there's no doubt you've made it to the Olympics this year." "Thank you." Megan looked at his hand on hers, then gently brought it down. "You know why I'm doing this, right?"

The standard pre-game tracks had been deactivated, replaced by the heavy, deliberate clicks of plastic skate guards against the rubber floor runner. ​I stood near the door of the medical annex, my hands holding the physical paperwork of Rhys’s post-deposition clearance. Without the digital console screens, the small room behind us was a quiet, clinical coordinate. But out here, in the main locker room, the battle was real, near, and highly tactical. ​The Seattle players sat in their designated wooden stalls, their green and white home jerseys pulled over their protective pads. Nobody was talking.

Aurora's POV "She won't be at the house." Megan answers on the second ring. No greeting. No surprise. Just that flat, tired voice of someone who stopped pretending hours ago. "Where is she?" I ask. "The storage unit on Alcott Street. Unit 9. She keeps a locker there under a name that isn't hers." I glance at Sebastian. He is already changing direction. What name?" I ask. "Elena Park, The words hit me sideways, Elena, Park. My mother's first name.

It made me wish we were all back in that locker room. "Heya, Mr. C! Mom said you wanted me to shower over here?" "Sure did." I allowed myself a perverse grin for prodding Megan's daughter with a hand on the ass the same way I had her mother mere minutes earlier. "Say, I thought you said you showered in the locker room."

She chuckled as we walked back to the locker room, “Or else poor Iesha will get suffocated being surrounded by so much testosterone all the time.” The locker room had chandeliers, vanity dressers with makeup and jewelries. It was certainly not an average locker room, but one that smelt like exotic flowers with different musky scents. I smiled along with her and thanked the maid who had already taken the liberty of taking my clothes into the laundry and keeping my guns and knives with holsters in my room. Zain had told me about his suspicions, and despite not telling his wife about it. I knew what I had to do. I needed to make sure who that person was and get answers before something terrible