Chapter 8
RYDER
I arrive at The Oasis and head straight to the kitchen, hoping there are leftovers from breakfast in the fridge. I find Hope dumping a cup of flour into a large mixing bowl.
“Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” She turns the mixer on low while I peek in the refrigerator and snatch a bagel and cream cheese.
“Yeah, I checked in with Track. I thought I’d come here to do some research rather than sit at a desk.” I drop my bagel in the toaster and lean over her shoulder. “What are you making?”
“It’s Sandy’s birthday. Chocolate is her favorite.”
Oh, I could go for a giant piece of chocolate cake right now.
The minimal food in Cole’s apartment needs an overhaul.
Besides a large stash of what looked like homemade cookies in the back of his freezer, I’m not sure what the man eats.
The smoothie he drank on the way to the practice facility might have been remnants from the garbage he’d blended on high and called protein-filled.
I need to find out what he survives on. If it involves DoorDash, those days are over, and his kitchen will come alive.
Hope dumps in some cocoa and turns on the mixer again. What started out as social work has become a lifestyle for this woman.
Hope loves, and she takes every opportunity to demonstrate it. She’s a cheerleader, no matter how small the success. A hugger and a listening ear, even when there isn’t a nice word being said. Other times, she’s making a birthday cake, which some have never had.
She shuts the mixer off and turns to face me as I smear a thick layer of cream cheese on my bagel. “How was your night?”
After a long, hot shower, and working to squeeze glue into the top half of my wound, then trying to hold it closed, I should have slept like a baby. But that never happens.
Instead, I mentally walked back through Cole’s apartment, searching for anything I might have missed and weak spots where the enemy could gain access. After I exhausted that effort, I pulled out my computer and started my Cole Matthews investigation.
I read every article I could find about the star athlete. The son of the former great, Tim “The Rocket” Matthews, appears to have achieved every award a high school and college athlete could dream of.
I learned he funds a nonprofit organization set up by his dad that helps underprivileged youth gain access to sports programs, including a camp Cole runs during the summers.
I also found pictures of his sister, Maggie, and her husband, Shane Carter, who used to play professional football. The retired player is now the head coach for the University of Colorado, where Cole’s family lives.
I chew while Hope waits for an answer. “Strange room, strange bed, strange noises.” I try to talk around a large bite. “Strange man across the hall.”
She smiles. “Yeah, that’ll take a little getting used to, huh?” Her tone is understanding and sympathetic. “How’s he?”
Interestingly, personal information was sparse.
Cole’s social media accounts are filled with sponsored products, game coverage, stats, or updates about his nonprofit work.
All of which his agent’s firm monitors and maintains.
There weren’t any pictures of him with girlfriends, family, or friends other than a few with teammates.
He could have deleted them, but something tells me Cole understands and values privacy.
I believe there’s a hidden side to Cole, pieces he keeps tucked away from the biggest part of his life—football. I wonder who the real Cole Matthews is underneath the jersey. All of it leaves me even more curious as to why someone would want to kill him.
So far, these threats seem tied to the game.
None have mentioned anything personal, which makes me wonder about fans, former teammates, or someone obsessed with his father.
A coward who’s pissed Cole’s at the top of his game and set on taking away what appears to be the most important thing to him.
The question is, how far are they willing to go to make that happen?
Coffee. I need lots of coffee.
I hop up and grab a mug, filling it to the brim. “He’s a little too chill about these threats. He oozes confidence and calm control. Although it seemed to fluster him when I mentioned they could be coming from inside his organization.” It was the first time I saw a hint of uneasiness.
“I imagine he expects those guys to have his back, not otherwise.” Hope turns back to the mixer. “That would be disturbing when he spends so much time with them.”
I plop back down on a stool, knowing they’re the first group to rule out. He’s with them every day, and if one of them is dangerous, I need to know.
I shove another bite in my mouth. “He’s so freaking clean and quiet.”
She pulls out the stool beside me with her own cup of coffee. “I bet his world is really loud sometimes. Maybe all the time. Control and order would be comforting.”
It’s true what they say about six senses. I’m hypervigilant. I see and sense what’s invisible to everyone else. It’s like a photographic memory attached to every sense, and I can’t turn it off even when I wish I could.
Hope’s gift is seeing what’s going on deep inside the body. She can see the heart, its functioning, and identify all the bruised and damaged places. The areas that have turned cold and dark and are in desperate need of life before the disease of shame, fury, and hatred spreads.
“You know when I met Tracker—”
“This isn’t the same.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not, but I imagine a loud and busy life, surrounded by bright lights and people, could get really lonely.”
I ponder that, and how Cole doesn’t seem cocky. So far, he’s quietly humble and carries a confidence that isn’t inflated with arrogance. He’s subtly self-assured. I don’t know if it’s the trouble coming after him or if this is the guy off the field and behind closed doors.
“We had a little chat, and I explained he needed to get on board with taking these threats seriously.” I toss the last bite in my mouth and chew.
“My first game is this weekend. It’ll be interesting to see him interact with his team.
He said some of them think he’s only there because of who his dad was. If it’s a fan or someone else. . . ”
Her shoulder bumps mine. “It’s a good thing he’s got you. You’ll get to the bottom of this.” She smirks as the oven beeps, and she stands.
I glare. That sly half-grin alludes to more than what’s really being said, but I let it go.
I’m just glad one of us is optimistic. I can protect Cole, no problem. Figuring out who wants him out of the picture, literally, is a whole other kind of mind game.
I toss my napkin in the garbage and place my plate in the dishwasher.
Hope scrapes the sides of the mixing bowl with a spatula. “Lyla’s out back, but if you’re still here when the younger girls get out of school, you should check in on Kelsey. She had a rough night.”
I lean up against the counter, waiting for details.
“Her boyfriend has been messaging her. The usual ‘things will be different. He’ll take care of her.’”
I withhold my groan because it’s always the same. Two months ago, I happened upon Kelsey outside the grocery store. Her boyfriend was shoving her up against the brick wall and screaming at her. He wasn’t really excited when I butted in.
I brought her here, and she’s been doing so well, but she has to be the one to stay and work toward a better life for herself.
But when you have no family, your friends are his friends, and the only life you’ve known involves belittling and pain, it’s difficult to believe that “love” can look any different.
“Has she been working with TJ or Jos? She’s got to see she’s stronger than returning to him.”
Sometimes, physical strength can do far more than any amount of counseling in the short term. If nothing else, she’ll have some skills the next time he comes for her.
“Some. I asked if we could replace her phone, but she’s hesitant.”
I nod.
“She looks up to you. She wants to be strong, brave, and successful like you one day.”
I grunt. “She should see me sleeping across the hall from a man. She’d change her mind.”
Hope smiles. “You’re stronger and braver than you will ever know, Ry. You’re going to do just fine. It doesn’t mean it’ll be easy, but you’ll figure out how to make it ok.”
This woman and her confidence make me think I can do it.
I salute her, and she laughs as I head to find a nice spot outside with Lyla to search for anything I missed on Cole.
I wind my way through the house to the back doors. Lyla sits at a table under an umbrella with her laptop open in front of her.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the sister who’s shacking up with the hot pro footballer.” She laughs. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d say those words.”
Her oversized black sunglasses cover most of her sassy face.
“Haha. Well, eat it up. It won’t ever happen again.”
She slides her glasses down her nose to eye me, but I move on.
“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be off to Paris or back to New York?”
“Not yet. I’m taking a week or two off. All the traveling is getting to me. So today, I’m taking in fresh air and answering emails.”
“Gross. Don’t you have someone to do that? I’d rather claw my eyeballs out than sort through emails.”
She eyes the laptop under my arm. “Oh, really?”
I raise it. “Research and analysis.”
She rests back in her chair, taking a sip of her coffee. “I thought I’d treat the girls to makeovers. I brought tons of samples.”
“Ahh. That sounds more like it.”
She grins. “You should join us. It might help you with this new gig.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t give a shit about makeup and clothes. “How will all that mess help me find where these threats are coming from?”
Her head falls to the side like I’m slow.
I’d really like to know. Lyla could have a giant bonfire and burn it all, and she’d still be the most beautiful woman. Why she covers it all up, I’ll never understand. Well, maybe I do.