Chapter 25
RYDER
Cole jogs toward the sideline, yanking off his chin strap in frustration. I’m not sure what’s been happening, but from what Cole has taught me, no one seems to remember how to play football. They appear lost on the field, and it’s a mess.
He pulls off his helmet as a coach approaches, waving his arms and yelling at him. I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with the coach in his face.
Cole remains calm, gesturing to his arm and then back toward the field. He sits, ripping an iPad off the bench beside him.
I watch the clock run down from my cozy spot along the fifty-yard line with my smelly, inebriated buddies. I’m a few rows up from the guardrail and thankful for the close seat after the latest car incident.
When the game is over, Cole rips off his helmet, gripping it tight as if he might throw it, then turns toward the stands. For the first time, his eyes meet mine. They’re fierce, and it’s clear something is going on. I want to know what it is.
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, his posture remaining rigid.
His jaw is set, and his blue eyes are lit with an intensity I’ve not seen before.
Before I have a chance to understand, he heads to the center of the field to congratulate the other team on their win.
I stay put, surveying all interactions until he leaves the field.
An hour later, he strides into the waiting area, a man on a mission and heading straight for me. Before I know what he’s doing, his arm slips around my waist, and he tugs me to him.
I stiffen, completely caught off guard, but. . .okay. He’s lucky I saw him coming this time.
I hesitantly slide my arms around his back, trying to make it look natural, while the entire room takes turns peeking at us like they always do.
His mouth dips to my ear. “I have to get out of here. We need to talk.”
My body relaxes into his a little with the distraction. “Are you ok?”
His arm shifts around me, holding me tighter, his fingers gripping my waist. “Someone set me up.”
I pull back to meet his eyes, searching for clues about what exactly that means, but he doesn’t say more.
He releases me, taking my hand and leading us toward the exit. T-Bone steps in his path, his shoulder slamming into Cole’s.
“I didn’t know you were a Ringmaster now.” T-Bone’s deep, smug tone fills the room, but Cole pushes forward, unfazed. “I guess fans paid to see the circus today,” he says as we clear the doors.
Keeping a hold of my hand, Cole charges toward the parking lot. He doesn’t slow as we push out into the fresh air. “Cole, slow—”
Something flies by my head, and I spin, stepping in front of Cole as the clang of the object sounds behind us. It’s dark, but there’s enough light to see a man approaching. He’s wearing a polo provided to all stadium employees and is unsteady on his feet.
“Cole Matthews.” It’s rough and slurred.
“Stay behind me,” I command as the man stumbles closer. I scan for weapons, knowing he could be hiding one.
The man grins, showing off his yellowed teeth, and the smell of liquor and stale tobacco wafts in the air. “You’ll never be as good as he was. You can’t even get your team to respect you. You’re pathetic.”
“Back off,” I order, monitoring the periphery as Cole’s chest presses against my back.
He laughs, spit creasing the corners of his mouth. “You’re nothing but a lousy excuse. Just a rich boy living off your daddy’s name, trying to pretend you’re him.”
I push into Cole, and he takes my cue, easing backward. My shoe bumps into the half-empty can thrown at us. The man stops his approach, swiping the spittle running down his chin.
A group pushes out the doors, stealing the man’s attention, and I force Cole back further. They study us as they pass, and the drunk man loses his balance, attempting to turn toward us again.
“To the car.” I keep my eyes trained on the man as he tries to regain his balance. “Stay behind it,” I order Cole as I quickly inspect the underside.
“You’re a complete disgrace to his name.” The man yells, but it’s jumbled.
I round the SUV, inspecting it as Cole tosses his duffel in the back and climbs into the passenger seat. I start the car and head toward the gate, giving him a second after what that man said.
“You ok?” I glance at him, waiting to pull through the security gate. He doesn’t say anything, and I sense the stable confidence draining from him.
“Someone swapped out my playbook. I was calling the wrong plays.”
I turn out of the lot, trying to decipher what that means. “What?”
His hands grip his knees. “My playbook! The one on my wrist. Coach calls a play, and then I relay it to my team.”
I glance at him again as I inch us forward into traffic. “Someone gave you the wrong plays?” No wonder the game was a complete mess.
“I thought maybe I wasn’t hearing Coach over the crowd, but. . . ” He pauses. “They were smart. They didn’t change all of them, but enough to make us look like fucking idiots!” His tone is filled with anger and disgust.
I process this for a second. “They wanted you to call the wrong plays so you’d lose the game?” I try to mentally contrast this new attack with the others.
He groans, his frustration building. “They not only wanted us to lose, they wanted to take me out at the knees. To make it look like I’m broke.”
“What did you do with it?” I ask, merging between two cars.
“I had to give it to Coach. At first, he didn’t believe me, but once he saw it. . . His assistant gave it to me, but he insists it wasn’t the one he provided. Someone swapped it out.”
“Do you believe him?”
Cole shakes his head. “If he wanted to screw me like that, he would have done it long before now. He has nothing to gain from this. He’d be putting his job on the line.” His voice is soft, and he sounds so tired.
That game was rough. He was humiliated in front of thousands, which doesn’t include the millions at home and the hours upon hours of commentators and sports shows that will dissect this, and him, for the next week.
Then, he had to listen to some drunk tell him he’s worthless.
I’d be concerned about that guy, but not after this new information.
I peek at him as traffic finally starts moving. He’s calm but looks a combination of exhausted and ready to tear someone’s head off.
“If this guy wants to ruin me, he’s doing an excellent job.” His tone is full of defeat.
I reach for his hand on his thigh, wrapping my fingers around his large palm. “We’re going to get them.”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, his eyes drop to my hand resting on his, which makes me suddenly overly aware of the contact. My palm instinctively starts to warm, and as I’m about to pull it away, his hand flips over, and his fingers wrap around mine.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and Cole releases my hand. The screen shows TJ, and knowing Track and Hope are gone, I answer.
“Hey.” I peek at Cole.
He stares out the window, most likely trying to figure out who’d do this. That’s what I want to know, and I’m going to figure it out.
“I’ve got a situation.” TJ’s quiet, serious work tone gets my attention. “I’m at the Marquee watching Nichols, but one of our contacts sent a message saying they suspect activity.”
I try to shift modes back to my real life.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” TJ’s urgent, hushed tone does the trick. “Nichols is having drinks with a small group in the lounge. I think this is why they’re here, but I’m not sure. I don’t feel good about this.”
I glance at Cole.
Shit.
“I have Cole. We’re on our way back from the stadium.”
TJ lets out a low, forceful, “Fuck! Ry, Track is gone. Jos is at The O, and she can’t. . . If I go, these guys could—”
“No, you stay. You make sure they don’t leave their drinks.” I feel Cole’s eyes on me now. “I’ll search and recover.”
“Ryder, going in alone is—”
“We don’t have a choice this time.” I quickly cut over to another lane, pressing on the gas, and Cole sits up straighter. “I’ve got this. Message me if one of them leaves. I’m about ten out.”
“Ry,” his low, soft tone catches me before I hang up. “You need to be quiet, unseen, with minimal damage. The card and number are stashed in the usual spot. I’m not sure what’s happening yet, but this is so much bigger than this one.”
“I got it. You’d better give Rodrigez a heads up in case I hit trouble.”
“On it. Be careful.”
I click end as my adrenaline soars, and I accelerate a little more.
“Uh. . .you want to tell me why we’re speeding?”
My eyes snap to Cole’s.
Fuck. What do I do with him? I don’t have time.
I reach behind the driver’s seat for my backpack and set it on the center console. “TJ needs my help. You uh. . . ”
I can’t send him home. I need to sweep the apartment, and anything could happen between the parking garage and his door.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The clock is ticking.
“Shit!” I grip the steering wheel tight, making a fast right turn. Two miles between me and. . .
“Listen, I need you to follow directions. No time for questions.”
His brows pull together. “What’s going on?”
“You’re going to drop me off behind the hotel up ahead and drive. Make sure no one is following, just like I taught you. You keep doing that until you hear from me.”
“What?” His upper body shifts toward me.
I dig in my backpack with one hand. “Cole, I need you to do this.” He glances out the rear window and then back at me. “Just drive. I’ll call or text you, but it might be a while.”
He stares at me. “Ryder, seriously? What are you talking about?”
I pull up to the loading dock, all too familiar with knowing how to slip through unnoticed. I shove the car in park and dig in my backpack, pulling out my Sig, holster, and boots.
Cole’s eyes widen at the sight of my pistol.
I kick off my sneakers and squeeze around the steering wheel to tug on my boots. “Just drive, ok?. Watch your mirrors and keep making turns until I message you. No stopping for any reason. Do you understand?”
I lift my shirt to clip my holster onto my belt. He watches me as I shove the magazine into place and rack the slide.
His eyes track my every movement. “That’s what’s always in your backpack?”
I slip my knife into my boot. “No, most of the time, it’s on me.”
“Ryder, what’s happening? Where are you going?” His severe concern stops me from pushing the door open.
I meet his distressed, wide gaze. “Someone needs my help. I have to do this. Just do what I said so I know you’re safe. I can’t worry—”
About you.
His brow creases, and his eyes flick between mine so fast.
“Please. Trust me. I have to go.”
It only takes a second for him to push the door open into the dark abyss. He rounds the front of the SUV, meeting me at the driver’s door.
“Please. . .be careful.” His plea is soft and full of confusion.
“Do what I said, and if I call or message, I need you to do exactly what I say.”
He nods this time, climbing in the driver’s seat.
I take off running up the loading dock, knowing every second matters.
Hang on. Just hang on. I’m coming.