Chapter 46
COLE
“Yo, man. Did you see what they’re saying today?” Ricketts holds his phone out.
I tug off my cleats and toss them aside. I don’t want to look.
News continues to spread about the shooting, and every imaginable story has been spun. All I can hope is that the victim’s identity remains anonymous. Thankfully, the team has respected my privacy, and the organization has threatened legal action against anyone who makes statements to the press.
I change socks and pull on my tennis shoes.
“There’s a full page recounting the events and your relationship with Jenkins. You’re even more of a hero now, Matthews.” Ricketts grins.
I still have trouble wrapping my head around Will doing this. I’ve analyzed every interaction, searching for clues I missed.
But then I remember what Tracker said. Some people do horrific things out of desperation and fear that we will never be able to comprehend.
In Will’s case, I have no doubt that watching his daughter’s constant pain and struggle to survive was only the starting point.
“Rocket Boy saves the day once again,” T-Bone’s deep voice rattles through the room.
He’s still a complete asshole, but after tackling Jenkins and being able to roll around in that spotlight for a while, he’s finally stepped up to help us win these past few weeks.
I can’t hate him entirely.
“Don’t worry, T-Bone. You’re getting plenty of credit,” I toss back. “Now, if you’d save the energy of constantly running your mouth, we just might have something,” I stand as the guys snicker.
I toss my gear in my locker, ready to go home. I grab my phone and leave the guys to catch up on the latest gossip. I check my messages, knowing it’s pointless.
It’s been two weeks since I left Ryder at the hospital, and I’ve heard nothing. I’ve messaged her, but each day that goes by, I’m losing hope.
I drive home in silence, thinking about going to see Matt, but I stopped by yesterday. I spent an hour throwing the ball around and then showing him videos of the new routes Ricketts and I are working on.
I talked to Hope about bringing him to the stadium for our last game of the season, and I’ve arranged tickets in case she thinks he’s ready.
I enter my apartment, which I can now admit I hate. It’s cold and desolate, and after having Ryder here, I can’t even pretend anymore.
I shower and tug on some shorts, hearing my phone buzz on my bed.
I ignore it. It’s either another news source wanting an exclusive interview or Maggie checking on me, as she does twice a day now.
It vibrates again. I grab it.
HOPE WARD: Track and I would love to bring Matt if you can still get us tickets.
HOPE WARD: Also, no worries if it’s too late. We haven’t said anything to him yet.
I smile. This kid has a chunk of my heart, and being able to do this for him will make the day one hundred times better.
ME: It’s already taken care of. I’ll drop the passes by tomorrow.
I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking for the millionth time that this is not how I envisioned my life. I’ve only begun to sort out how to fix that, but it’ll be a slow process as I manage one change at a time.
My phone buzzes again. Nick.
“Hey, man.”
“You sound like shit,” his low voice grumbles.
“You don’t sound any better.”
He laughs. “I hear the Stingrays are potentially releasing you from your contract early? Is it true?”
After the shooting, Rob and I met with my management again to discuss how to handle the media. In light of everything that’s happened, they recognize it might be in their best interests to start fresh.
“They see the damage that’s been done. They’re willing to let me out of my contract and become a free agent or consider a trade if the right deal comes along.”
“Well, shit. What are you waiting for? That team has brought you nothing but a giant-ass mess.”
I rub my forehead, knowing there’s only one thing that makes me question a move, but she’s not given even a hint that she’s close to being done pushing me away.
“Yeah. I want to know what my options are. Rob’s evaluating who might be interested. I don’t want to trade one bad situation for another. If I go free agent, I’m risking sitting out next season, which maybe wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
There’s silence. “Sit out next season? Man, what the hell? Are you all right?”
“I just. . . Football can’t be the only thing anymore. You know?” I run a hand over my face. “You were right. I’ve been miserable, and it’s time I did something about that. I just don’t know what yet.”
“Does this lack of enthusiasm have anything to do with the blonde-trained-assassin who saved your sorry ass?”
I huff out a laugh. “She’s not a trained assassin.” Well, maybe she is, but not in the way he thinks.
“That didn’t answer my question. She’s still not responding?”
I grip my hair and sit up. “No. I keep trying, but she’s not budging.”
“Is she worth sticking around a place you hate rather than being closer to your family or me or somewhere you might actually be able to play real football?”
I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. “Yes.” There’s no question or doubt about it. “I promised her I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you can’t piss away opportunities, hoping she’ll eventually come around.” He says the thing I already know. “What are you doing after the last game? You sticking around there for a while?”
“I’m thinking about selling this place. Maybe head to London to see Hank and watch some matches. Then, I might spend some time at the cabin and see if I can’t figure out what in the hell I should do.”
“You won’t have a lot of time. Organizations are already looking at budgets and making plans for next season.”
I run a hand over my face. “I know. You should come to hang out with me when you’re done with playoffs.”
“Yeah, maybe. I have to take care of some things.”
I don’t like his dark tone. “Do these things have anything to do with going back home?”
He doesn’t respond, and I have my answer.
“Are you sure that’s a—”
“I have some questions I need answered.” His fierce tone remains.
“You need to be smart, man.” I don’t know much about Nick’s life before college. He grew up in one of the most dangerous areas of downtown Detroit and has only said he wouldn’t be welcomed back.
“I don’t have a choice but to be smart,” he admits.
“Does this have anything to do with Lyla?”
He doesn’t respond again.
“Maybe you should let this go.”
“You don’t understand.” It’s almost a growl, and it’s clear I don’t.
I think about Ryder. I have no idea if Lyla’s story is even remotely similar, but Tracker and Hope took her in. That’s all I need to know.
“Hey, just be careful. Her social persona may look resilient and composed, but. . .things aren’t always what they seem.”
“No, shit. Listen, good luck this weekend. Let me know what you decide. I won’t lie. I really hope I have a challenge chasing your ass next season.”
I laugh. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Don’t wait too long, man. Take care of yourself.”
Just one more game. Then, I have some serious decisions to make. All I know is I won’t stop loving Ryder. I just have to decide if I’ll love her here or from somewhere far away.