Chapter 11
Savannah
Savannah:
Hey Moxie, I was wondering if you could let me into the Thunder training facility.
That may not be the best text to send out of context, so I quickly send another.
Savannah:
I need to tell you something about Logan’s shoulder.
I’m not sure why I don’t just tell Moxie that Logan’s injured, but having it in written form feels incriminating. Like I’m leaving a paper trail. Granted, I shouldn’t have followed Logan in the first place. I am overstepping in so many ways, but in for a penny…
While I wait for Moxie to respond, I watch a few men cross the parking lot to the facility, all of them beautifully sculpted but not quite matching up to Logan’s sheer perfection.
The entire team is fit and muscly—I thought football players were built until I paid more attention to rugby—but there’s something about Logan that is unique to him.
He holds himself differently than the others.
Logan has every reason to be confident and proud, and it shows in his bearing.
After ten minutes with no response on my phone, I slip from my car, wondering if I can find someone who will either let me in or get Moxie for me.
As I was reminded when I went to last week’s game, Moxie’s not just a player.
He’s the team captain, which means if there’s anyone who can make sure Logan doesn’t hurt himself more, it’s him.
I pause halfway to the building as my stomach churns. This isn’t just overstepping. This is crossing a major line, and chances are high that Logan will fire me if I involve myself in his personal business like this. I’ll be back to barely keeping my head above water and without any solid leads.
I’ll lose the tenuous friendship building between us and won’t see him ever again.
It probably means something that losing my personal relationship with Logan, despite the many reasons not to like the guy, feels worse than losing his money.
“But I’m a sucker with a bleeding heart,” I mutter and press forward. I can’t let Logan hurt himself, even if I have to say goodbye to protect him.
Hesitating at the facility door, I check my phone one more time, but Moxie hasn’t seen the text.
It makes sense, if he’s in the training room or on the field, but I’ve gotten so used to him answering quickly that the lack of response is only adding to my anxiety.
What if Logan is already working out and aggravating his shoulder?
I don’t know anything about injuries, but there’s no way he’s doing himself any favors by pretending he’s fine.
“Can I help you?”
I jump at the sound of a man’s voice behind me, and I turn to explain why I’m lurking.
But my words catch in my throat when I recognize the man standing a few feet away with a look of suspicion in his eyes.
Squeaking out a sound that nowhere near resembles a word, I clear my throat and try again. “You’re Cole Evanson.”
His eyebrows drop lower as he looks me over, and I have never been more intimidated in my life.
Not even by Logan, who has at least a few inches on this guy.
But this is Cole Evanson. Not only is he friends with some of the most famous people in the world—from movie stars to a literal queen—and has his own following from his days of playing in the NFL, but he’s also the exact person I’ve been hoping Logan will introduce me to.
He owns the Thunder.
This is either fate or an opportunity for me to crash and burn and ruin my chances of working with the team.
“This is a closed facility,” he says, still studying me. “If you’re looking for the ticket office, it’s—”
“Moxie’s my vet,” I choke out. Because that’s going to help. I clear my throat again and force in a deep breath, telling myself to calm down and be a professional. “Um, I have something I need to tell him, and he didn’t answer his phone.”
Cole’s expression doesn’t soften. “Right, well, he’s off the clock. I’m sure someone at the clinic can—”
“And Logan Callahan is my client,” I try next, wincing when Cole’s gaze sharpens after being cut off again. I should have started with Logan, since he’s the whole reason I’m here.
Glancing at the door, Cole sighs and folds his arms, looking for all the world like the tired dad I know he is. “Client?”
“Yes, sir. Um.” This would be a perfect time to hand him a business card and bypass Logan entirely, but True Fuel isn’t why I’m here. “I was with Logan a few minutes ago, and I think he’s injured. And hiding it. I came to tell Moxie so Logan doesn’t make the injury worse.”
His head tilts the smallest amount to the side. Though his gaze is still full of suspicion, there’s something else behind his eyes too. “What’s your name?”
“Savannah. Blair.”
I must be dreaming, because I’m pretty sure that’s recognition in Cole’s expression.
Swallowing, I check my phone one more time, but Moxie still hasn’t answered. “Could you tell Moxie about Logan? He hasn’t seen my text, and I’m worried—”
“Worried about Logan being an idiot.” He seems to debate something as he narrows his eyes at me. “Savannah, you said?”
Why do I feel like I’ve said something wrong? With a tremble in my fingers, I grip the strap of my purse and nod. “Um. Yeah.”
“You’re the one who makes meals for him.” It’s not a question, and when I nod, he drops his arms and gestures toward the door. “Follow me.”
“What?” My feet stumble after him of their own accord, though I have no idea why Cole Evanson is letting me into a closed practice. How does he know about the meals I make for Logan?
“Leave your phone with Katy at the desk.” He punches in a code and pulls the door open, holding it for me. Once I’ve reluctantly handed my phone to the woman sitting at the desk just inside, Cole indicates that I should continue to follow him and says, “What makes you think Callahan’s injured?”
I feel like this is a test I haven’t studied for. He probably won’t take “a gut feeling” as an answer. “The giant bruise on his shoulder was a pretty good giveaway.”
“You must not know rugby if you think a bruise is uncommon.”
“And it causes him a lot of pain to lift his arm.”
Cole swears under his breath as we pass through a second door on the other end of the room and out into an open field full of equipment.
No one’s out here, so the team must be inside somewhere.
There’s a tunnel on the far side of the field, and that’s where Cole heads.
“I wondered if there was more to that hit,” he mutters to himself.
Louder, he asks, “Did he say anything about it?”
“He claims he’s fine, but this is Logan we’re talking about.” Do I need to keep following Cole? I’ve said as much as I know, and it would be better if Logan never knows I was here.
Groaning, Cole shakes his head and says something under his breath that sounds a lot like an insult I would never repeat in front of my mother. I’m not sure how to take that, given Cole’s the one who signed Logan onto the team. And Logan is a big part of why the Thunder ever scores in their games.
When we reach the tunnel, Cole marches inside and heads straight for an open door down the hall. He pauses in the doorway as he says, “We’ve got trouble.”
A female voice answers, her words full of exasperation. “Which one is it this time?”
“Take a guess.”
She sighs heavily, and a moment later a woman steps into the hall but stops when she sees me.
“Mel, Savannah,” Cole says, gesturing to me. “Savannah, this is our head trainer, Mel. Tell her what you told me.”
Mel looks like she’s in her late twenties, and while nothing about her appearance is nerve-racking, there’s something in the way she stands that tells me she’s not someone to mess with.
I thought Cole was intimidating, but somehow she’s worse.
“Um.” Is it too late to run away? “I think, uh, I think Logan’s hiding an injury.
After that hit he took on Friday. He told me he’s fine, but he was definitely favoring his left arm earlier today. ”
Mel swears, running a hand through her hair. “I knew it. Your wife picked a hell of a day to stay home, Stitch,” she adds in an undertone to Cole.
He shrugs. “It’ll be your call anyway. She can put him in his place tomorrow if you decide he needs a PT.”
“I shouldn’t have believed him when he said he was just sore, but he’s…”
“Pigheaded?” I supply, realizing too late that my voice is louder than I mean for it to be and I shouldn’t have been listening to what was likely a private conversation. Wincing, I glance between Mel and Cole, who look at me with matching expressions that almost look…amused?
“Your name is Savannah?” Mel asks, furrowing her brow. When I nod, something sparks to life behind her eyes. “Wait, are you the one with the emotional cat?”
Surprise shoots through me, leaving me slightly dizzy and very much red-faced. “Oh. Um, yeah? I think so?”
Mel grins. “Moxie loves that cat.”
My vet talks about my cat with the team’s staff? I’m not sure how to feel about that, but it’s nice to know Moxie doesn’t completely hate Beef for being so needy. “So do I, but he’s a pain in the butt.”
“Sounds a lot like Logan.” She perks up more and examines me more closely. “You’re the one he’s been texting.”
If I thought I was embarrassed before, this is worse, and I feel like I might melt into the floor. How does she know that? Has Moxie told her that too? But how does Moxie know? “Uh.”
Mel sighs in a way that seems almost relieved, though I have no idea why. “I’m glad you’re here, Savannah.” She runs a hand through her hair and glances down the hallway as she says, “You might be the only person who can—” She cuts herself off with a swear, her eyes going wide.
Down the hall, two people approach us at a quick pace.
I recognize Logan’s large frame immediately, one arm behind his back as he walks with his head down, Moxie behind him.
When they get closer, I realize Moxie is holding on to Logan’s arm, almost like he’s holding Logan hostage, and his jaw is clenched and gaze hard.