Chapter 17
RYDER
“You won’t have backup or a weapon. That place will be crawling with fans. If someone is looking to hurt him, that’d be a place to do it and remain concealed.”
Tracker’s commander tone comes through the speaker.
“I know.” And I do know.
“Cole needs to be on guard. He has to pay attention. His friend can’t be a distraction.”
“Track, I got it. He’ll spend a chunk of the evening signing autographs. That’ll give me time to survey and observe.”
The line falls silent as he sorts through all possibilities. I’ve done the same all afternoon.
I dropped Cole off this morning for his game in D.C. and headed straight to the gym. I spent two hours working out and sparing with Jos, trying to beat the shit out of my fears.
Since meeting with Kerry, I’ve been gearing myself up for feeling exposed and any amount of touching that might be involved.
But now, I’m in full-on prep mode, researching the venue’s layout and possible pinch points.
“What do you think about the latest note?” His question breaks my concentration.
I straighten and stretch my arms overhead, my body stiff from sitting in the middle of my bed. Track and I discussed this the other day, but only briefly.
“I think it’s interesting they backed off a bit.”
“Tells me they got nervous or couldn’t find another opportunity to track him.”
I stare at my computer. “I think they’re regrouping, or maybe the Stingrays win made a difference. I just can’t tell if this is inside his team or out.”
I spent an hour digging up everything I could on Travis Bonnard, aka T-Bone. I’ve got to find out if there’s real animosity or malice behind his bullying. I’m hoping this event will allow me to do that.
I also dug into a few of his other teammates but came up empty.
Next, I’ll be sifting through the league, searching for anyone with a possible motive.
It’d have to be someone with a personal vendetta.
Everything on Carly, the chef, and Mindy has come back clear.
I’m still waiting for background information on his superfan, Rodney.
I’m having trouble understanding why anyone would want Cole to quit, given that he might be the only thing keeping the Stingrays from losing every game. It makes me think it has more to do with Cole than football, and I need to figure out why.
“They’re looking at you.” Tracker’s tone softens.
“Yeah, but using me to make him quit. It seems. . .weak.”
“I agree. I think you’re right. They’re recalculating and processing, waiting for an opportunity. You need to be prepared.”
“Got it, boss.”
“No risks, Ryder. This is about keeping him safe. We’ll get who’s doing this.”
“Goooottt iiiittt,” I sing, needing him to let up.
“I want a complete debrief afterward.”
“Yes, sir. I gotta go pick up The Assignment and escort him home.”
“Nice nickname.”
I smile. “Talk to the girls.”
“No, thanks. They’ve been riding my ass about booking that trip.”
I tug on my boots. “You should get to that. You need a break, old man.”
“Old man, my ass. Keep The Assignment safe.”
I laugh. “They got to you!”
“Shit. No one is safe from you girls.”
I hang up, grabbing my keys and backpack. The quiet this afternoon started to make me itch, so I turned on Cole’s game and watched while I researched.
Cole threw two touchdowns, but they still got blown out of the water. The commentators relayed that the Stingrays’s defense couldn’t stop the run game. I’m not sure what that means other than they weren’t doing their job effectively.
I pull up to the security gate and flash the badge. Seeing Gus’s wide frame on the stool, I roll down my window. Even though it’s dark and late, a group of fans lines the gates. I search the small crowd for Rodney.
“Hey, Gus. Have you seen our friend?”
“Not tonight. He’s usually squatting out here early if he shows.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“You got it. I’ll text you if I see him.”
I start to roll up my window, but his voice stops me.
“Saw you taking it out on Jos this morning. Remind me not to piss you off.” He grins and winks, one silver tooth shining in the dim parking lot lights.
“You keep all this between us, and we won’t have a problem.” I tease but also give him a look that lets him know I mean it.
He presses his lips together like they’re sealed tight, and I pull through and park, seeing that the bus hasn’t arrived yet.
I sit in the dark, watching and waiting. There are a few other cars with people in them, likely wives, girlfriends, or drivers. I survey the fence and the fans outside of it, expecting the team’s return. The shadows make it dangerous. I can’t see their hands or their faces.
The charter bus pulls through the gate and parks along the building. I step out of the car, slipping my Sig into my holster in the front of my jeans while keeping my eyes trained on the fence as the players start to file off the bus, but I can’t see.
I walk toward the bus, quickly scanning the area, needing to be sure I can reach Cole.
A few players pass me on the way to their cars before I see him.
Cole steps off the bus, and I make sure to keep my body in line with his, quickening my pace.
“Hey.” His tone is full of concern.
“Walk straight to me,” I order him.
I return to scanning the fence and parking lot. “Stay behind me until we get to the car.”
“Everything ok?”
“I can’t see out here, and I don’t like it.”
“Aw. Isn’t this cute? Matthews’s lady is here to mop up the tears.”
I don’t have to see his big, ugly face to know that comment came from Travis Bonnard. The man has had a few run-ins with the law, but I’d really like to let him make contact with the heel of my boot.
“Are we addressing that?” I ask as I shift, placing myself beside Cole to shield him from the jackass following.
“She gets all the way out of the car and no welcome home kiss. Matthews, that tells me football isn’t the only thing you struggle with.” His laugh bellows through the parking lot, and if I hadn’t been assured that these players’ bags were checked for weapons, I’d be getting a little nervous.
“T-Bone, it’s time for you to shut your mouth. We’ve all had enough today.” Cole’s tone is more tense than I’ve ever heard it.
“Hey now, don’t take it out on me that your sweet thing isn’t here to give you some—”
Cole stops. “Don’t finish that sentence, T-Bone.”
I retreat. “Get in the car,” I forcefully whisper, my eyes roaming and grabbing his arm to get him to move.
He doesn’t budge. One quick glance at his face tells me he’s about to lose his shit.
“Cole, Get. In. The. Car,” I demand.
The other players watch as they trek toward their vehicles.
T-Bone stops five feet from us. “What’s your problem, Rocket Boy? Losing make daddy look bad? You should be getting used to it by now. You’ll never be—”
“There’s only one reason we lost today, and if you say one more word about. . . ” Cole’s eyes are fierce, and he steps forward.
I slide in front of him. If anyone is taking this asswipe to his knees, it’s gonna be me.
This man is too loud. These threats are from a coward. Even though T-Bone is a bully of the worst kind, he’s a showy, obnoxious peacock and wants Cole to react just as loudly.
What the hell is this guy trying to do?
Another player I recognize stops behind T-Bone. His long hair is pulled back.
Matt Ricketts.
“Find your truck, T-Bone. It’s enough for today.” Ricketts shoves him away from us.
T-Bone laughs, retreating, but keeps his eyes on Cole.
“Get in the car, Matthews.” I keep my voice low, scanning the parking lot again, but also keeping my eye on the giant shithead.
It takes a second, but Cole finally moves toward the passenger side.
“Good boy. Listen to your girl.”
I wait for Cole to climb in, really wishing I could go after that guy and paralyze his vocal cords.
I round the car, ensuring T-Bone keeps moving, and survey the fence once more. I climb in and find Cole sitting with his eyes closed, head tipped back against the headrest. His hands are fisted on his knees, and I give him a second.
I back out of the parking spot and proceed to the exit, allowing him the time and space I imagine he needs.
As I proceed through the gate, a large male rushes the SUV and pounds on Cole’s window with his fist.
“What the fuck?!” Cole sits up straight, suddenly alert.
The man yells something about the loss and Cole being a “disgrace to The Rocket.” I ease forward, making sure not to hurt anyone, but needing this man to back off.
He hits the window again, and Cole yells, motioning for him to back off.
Once we’re clear, I hear him blow out a long breath as his head falls into his hands. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be him, to live in his world all the time. One where he’s never free from outside opinions and remarks. He’s constantly watched, reviewed, and critiqued.
I wonder if he ever gives himself a break. From what I’ve seen, that would be a big, fat no.
“I seriously don’t know how much more I can take of that asshole.” His voice is filled with exhaustion.
“I’m sorry. I know getting out didn’t help, but I couldn’t see—”
“Ryder. He can’t keep his mouth shut regardless of whether you’re there or not.”
“I know you’re pissed, but you can’t let them see it. If you throw a punch and break your hand or get benched. . . That might be exactly what he wants.”
“Punch him?! I wanted to rip his damn head off. It’s one thing to run his mouth about me, but he won’t talk about you or anyone else.”
I can’t blame him for being worked up, but he’s got to relax.
“I won’t just let him say stuff. If he wants me off the team, he’ll make that happen if he keeps this up.”
“He’s an asshole who wants to see how far he can push until you’ll break.”
Cole’s head whips in my direction. “After tonight, you sure he’s not the one?” His question is direct, and there’s a hint of doubt in it.
“I can’t say for sure, but we’re going to find out. He’s testing you. He’s seeing which buttons light you up, and he’ll keep pressing them until you do something stupid.”
He huffs. “It won’t take much. If he says one more thing about you. . . ”
He doesn’t finish his threat, but I kind of wish he would.
He’d what? What would he do?
His forceful defense nudges something in my chest that’s locked down tight and overgrown with scar tissue.
I shove the weird sensation aside.
“Yeah, well, if I wasn’t making sure there weren’t threats lingering in the dark, I would’ve taken a hand to his windpipe. I’d like to see him try to talk shit through that.”
Cole’s head rolls in my direction.
“Matthews, you’ve got to keep your cool and your fists down. You can’t get injured during a squabble with that dickhead, but you need to talk to your management about how much he sucks at everything he does.”
He stares at me, not saying a word.
“What?” I finally ask when his gaze begins to make me sweat, and that strange feeling reemerges.
“I should just meet with Greg and tell him that T-Bone sucks at everything.”
I roll my eyes. “No. Use whatever fancy football lingo you want to, but you need to get that waste off your team. He and the rest of his dumbass squad made you lose the game today.”
“You watched my game?” His tone softens.
Almost achingly so, and now my stomach joins the party, doing some kind of swirly thing.
What the hell?
I bite the corner of my lip, needing everything to settle down. “Yes, and the commentators went on and on about how your defense shouldn’t be allowed on the field.”
I peek at him. His blue eyes haven’t left me, but I ignore him and check the mirrors, ensuring he gets home safely.
“So, you talk to Greg, and I’ll have a chat with someone about that parking lot. It’s too dark, and if they let fans line up like that. . . ”
I don’t finish, still feeling his attention on me, and it’s beginning to make me incredibly. . .
I’m not sure. A warmth rolls through me as I side-eye him, and it’s possible pools are starting to collect in dark places, so he needs to knock it off.
He looks tired and worn out, but also. . .dazed, maybe.
“Ok, what?” My stomach muscles activate, needing him to stop it.
“I just. . . You watched my game. Only my family does that.”
I scoff. “And twenty million other people.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know me.” It comes out quickly, but there’s an honesty to it that sounds painful, and from what I know about Cole is it’s probably true.
This man is surrounded by people. Some treat him like he’s to be worshiped.
Women ogle him while dreaming up their ultimate fantasy.
Others, like he’s gum on the bottom of their shoe.
Tossed and trotted on after they’ve gotten what they wanted from him.
But I’m beginning to think that none of them have any idea who this man really is, and he feels every bit of that.
He’s isolated by his name and secluded in a very lonely life.
“It was a good game. . .except for the losing part.” I offer, trying to tune out the dull ache that awakens somewhere in my chest that understands what it’s like to be totally and completely alone. Worse than alone.
He huffs. “Yeah, except for that.”
I chauffeur him the rest of the way in silence. All I know is Cole Matthews doesn’t deserve to be this alone, so while I figure out who’s behind these threats, it’s a damn good thing his friend is visiting for a few days.