Chapter 7
COLE
I need sleep. I have a game in a few days, and my mind and body require rest. But instead of sleeping, I’m lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling and sorting through every detail Ryder laid out.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when she arrived this afternoon, it only took her two seconds to get to work. I watched her inspect every possible entry point, wearing the same stony expression as the day before. It’s clear this will be all business.
She was impassive and blunt and didn’t let her protective guard down for a second. It all made me wonder if Ryder Jones has a personality. If so, she seems hell-bent on making sure I don’t see it.
When I tested the waters with a joke, she was quick to jab right back, but there was no humor in it. That’s when I realized this might not be as easygoing as I thought. These next weeks, or however long, will be exhausting and stale if this woman is unable to emote or crack a smile.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
For the past hour, I’ve listened to the faint rhythmic beat of her feet against the belt on the treadmill. I wondered if it would eventually lull me to sleep, but nope. An hour later, here I am.
When she listed her expectations, I couldn’t help but think this woman spent time in the military. She stands tall, in a commanding way, but not over the top in arrogance. Her response to my teasing question has my curiosity climbing higher.
The thump, thump, thump above me slows.
Ryder and I spent the entire evening reviewing my schedule and the details of my daily life. It sounds like she and I will be attached at the hip, which, unfortunately for her, will prove to be monotonous and boring.
She questioned me, weaving through all possibilities of where these threats could be coming from, and for the first time, the idea of someone wanting to hurt me felt real.
Until now, I’ve tossed these threats aside, ignoring them and doing what I’ve always done—focus on the game. After tonight, Ryder made it clear that avoidance is over.
The thudding sound is replaced by a less rhythmic and more muted bumping.
Giving up, I check my phone. It’s close to midnight. I grab the control and turn on the TV, and after ten minutes of flipping and searching, I shut it off.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and pull on a T-shirt.
I have no idea what to expect, leaving the confines of my room and entering the awkwardness of two complete strangers cohabitating.
At this point, I don’t give a shit. I can’t handle one more minute of spinning my wheels and getting nowhere.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and guzzle it. As the noise continues, I climb the stairs, hearing the dull tones of what is unmistakably “Uptown Funk” between the solid beating of the punching bag.
I observe for only a second, watching her. Her shoulders are rounded, fists raised, and loose strands of hair stick to her face. Every punch carries the weight of her entire body, hitting its mark.
Her head snaps up, her focus breaking when she sees me.
She taps her watch with her chin and takes a moment to catch her breath. “Rule number one.” She swipes at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Don’t ever sneak up on me unless you want to have to explain broken bones.”
Her eyes are intense, and there’s still not even a hint of tease in her tone.
“I thought the first rule was to do what you say and not ask questions.” My mouth curls upward but it quickly falls when I see. . .nothing. She stares at me, not even blinking.
Ryder told me earlier that if she sensed I was in danger, I was to do exactly what she said and not ask questions. It was her number one rule. Apparently, there are two.
She doesn’t move.
Well, this is fun. What the hell was I thinking?
“I’m sorry. I. . . ”
Shit. I what? I couldn’t sleep, and I came up here thinking we could. . .chat.
I rub my forehead because I’ve got nothing.
She unwinds the wraps from her hands. Her sweat-soaked tank top reveals her muscular shoulders, arms, and stomach. After seeing what she can do on the bag and knowing she has the power behind it, I’d be hesitant to test her warning about breaking bones.
She turns to grab her phone off the weight rack, and I see—
“Shit!” I move quickly, then stop when she whips back around, her fists up and eyes wide and wild.
Bright red blood is soaked through the back of her white tank from her shoulder to her waist.
I stay perfectly still, my hands raised and open. Her gaze is fierce, but in the next blink, she eases.
“What the hell? Are you ok?” I step forward, reaching to help, but she dodges me, quick as lightning, bumping into the weight rack.
I remain still, knowing there’s a lot to dissect, but it’ll have to wait until she’s not bleeding. “Your back is soaked through with blood.”
She peeks over her shoulder. “Aw, dammit.” She pulls her tank to the side, and in the mirror behind her, I see a wound that looks like her flesh was sliced wide open.
She drops her tank back in place with a huff like it’s a minor annoyance and gathers her things.
“Ryder.” I stop her. “What is that? What happened?”
She busies herself, rolling her hand wraps. “A little boo-boo. I’ll put a Band-Aid on it. It’ll be fine.”
I let out a little laugh in fucking astonishment as she turns to face me. Something tells me she isn’t kidding, but there’s blood all down her back.
She brushes past me.
“Ryder.” I stop her again, wondering if this is how it’s really going to be. The two of us living together, avoiding all conversation as well as anything and everything personal. That idea pinches a tender spot under my rib cage, which I ignore.
She faces me again and exhales. Her stiff posture softens slightly. “I had a little run-in with a knife. It’s not a big deal. It’d be healed by now if. . . ” She doesn’t finish, evaluating if she wants to say more. “It’s fine. It won’t be a problem. It looks worse than it is.”
She thinks I’m worried about how this affects her ability to protect me?
“It looks like your back was slashed open with a sawtooth blade. Your shirt is covered in blood.”
“I just busted a stitch or two. Damn thing bleeds like crazy. I’ll lay off for a few days, and it’ll be fine. Actually,” she glances over her shoulder. “Do you have any superglue?”
I frown. “Superglue?”
She heads down the stairs as if this conversation is over. I follow, still in shock that she’s so casual about this. I have a medical team and physical therapists at my disposal. Her back needs severe attention.
In the kitchen, she sets her phone and hand wraps on the counter like everything is normal and she’s not bleeding.
She tugs open the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. “So, do you? Have any superglue?”
I stare at her from the edge of the island. “You’re serious?”
She guzzles half the bottle and then sucks in a breath. “Yeah. I need to close it up.”
“I really think you should have someone look—”
She makes some kind of snorting sound. “I just need the glue.”
Ok. She’s really serious.
I open the junk drawer, which is mostly things left behind by previous owners, and rummage through it. Luckily, I find a tiny tube and hand it to her.
“Thanks. Did I wake you?” She inspects the miniature tube, and I can’t imagine squeezing that into an open wound.
I brace my hands on the counter, still watching her stand here like blood isn’t seeping out of her body. “Nah. I couldn’t sleep.”
She nods like she understands. “We’ll get ‘em. Whoever they are.”
My eyes find hers, and different than before, there’s a subtle, gentle sympathy to them.
So, there is more in there than stone-cold fierceness.
I run my hand over my face, deciding to take the lead in letting guards down. I’m a team captain; leading is what I do.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk around, wondering if everyone I come in contact with wants to kill me. Especially the guys on my team. My management. All the people I do business with.”
She said everyone is a suspect until we have more information.
“It was frustrating before, but now. . . ” I stare at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
“What do you mean ‘before’?” Her tone is sharp, and I draw my head up to see her expression.
It’s fiery, daring. We are right back to locked-down, work mode.
I didn’t get into the specifics of my issues with T-Bone and his gang. He’s just a punk, and I really don’t think about it. From Ryder’s posture, I can see that it was a mistake.
“Some of my teammates have made it clear that they’re unhappy about me being on the team.”
She sets the glue on the counter along with her water. “What’s their problem?”
She lets that hang for only a moment and apparently decides the answer is irrelevant.
“You’re on the inside. If this bastard is wandering around your locker room, then you’re within close proximity.
They likely think you’re unbothered by these threats.
I won’t be with you, so I need you to watch, listen, and study.
We have to figure out who’s willing to go to jail over you being on the team. ”
She pauses, and I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. But that’s exactly the problem. There’s no room in my life for playing detective. This won’t be another losing season.
She places her hands on her hips. “These threats. . .they could be coming from anyone.” She pauses. “The super sweet cheerleader could be slashing tires and wallpapering her closet with pictures of you with your head meticulously burned out of each one.”
My entire body sags. We went through the entire list of everyone I regularly come into contact with. I steer clear of the Stingrays’ cheerleaders.
“I don’t think this is a cheerleader,” I offer again, but by her blank stare, I can tell Ryder isn’t letting that group off the hook.
“People who do this kind of thing are cowards. They’re quiet until they hit their breaking point. I don’t think we’re there yet. They’re warning you. Testing you. You can’t feed into it or be naive. Cole, you need to keep your eyes and ears open at all times. With everyone.”
It’s the first time she’s called me Cole. I hear the seriousness in her tone, loud and clear, but I don’t think she quite understands what doing that could cost me.
She grabs her things from the counter, holding onto the superglue.
“We’ll take this one step at a time. I don’t promise it’ll be easy, but you have to let me do my job, and I need you to do your part.
” She stops beside me. “Get some rest, big football player. Whoever is doing this is going down, and tomorrow, I’ll start checking out all your contacts for myself. ”
For the first time, I see what might be a hint of a smile, but it’s gone so fast I’m not sure.
I huff a laugh. She’s so calm and in control of the possible danger lurking around me. Her confidence offers each of my muscles a dose of relief.
“Do you need help with that?” I point to the glue between her fingers.
She shakes her head. “No,” she says sharply, but it’s quickly followed by a soft, “Thank you. I can handle it.”
Something tells me this isn’t the first time she’s used an adhesive on a wound.
She heads to her room, and I hear the click of her door. I lean on the counter, trying to let it all sink in.
She’s here to protect me, so I guess I can at least smile and pretend everything is fine while monitoring everyone. Maybe that will help get to the bottom of this, and I can get back to focusing on the only thing that’s expected of me. Winning.