14. Levi
Leaving Dover behind, especially with Weston standing guard, was not what I truly wanted to do.
The decision weighed heavily on me, but I knew that I needed to be able to focus on my work without distractions.
Sitting on the sidelines, watching events unfold from a distance, has never suited me, regardless of who might be in danger.
It hadn’t taken me long to cross a line I had always told myself I would never cross.
Despite my intentions and the promises I made to myself, I found that, in the heat of the moment, those boundaries dissolved more quickly than I would have imagined.
I could only shrug inwardly and accept that what was done was done, and there was no way to undo it now.
I can’t even say I regret it because I don’t. Being with Dover felt right.
Dover is fully aware of my feelings for him, and he knows that I want him.
That much is clear between us, even if unspoken.
All we really needed is a chance to sit down and talk things through, to clear the air and understand where we both stand.
I told myself that leaving was necessary for work, and I justified it further by focusing on his safety.
In truth, his well-being was my top priority, and I convinced myself that this was the right choice.
At the end of the day, his safety matters more to me than anything else, and that was the only thing that truly counted.
Rosie glances at me out of the corner of her eye while she navigates us through the dense, chaotic city traffic, heading toward the downtown hotel where the Minnesota Lions are currently staying.
The team was originally scheduled to leave the city today, but unexpected mechanical issues with their plane have forced them to remain here for another night.
As a result, the entire team is still in town.
“You know,” Rosie says after a moment of silence, her voice thoughtful as she keeps her focus on the road ahead, “I realize we’re being thorough and making sure we investigate every possible lead, but honestly, I just can’t see it being these guys.
The Minnesota Lions don’t seem to have any motive—they have nothing to gain from causing harm to Dover. ”
“I have my doubts too,” I reply, nodding in agreement. “But at this point, they’re the only people Dover has mentioned by name, aside from that one guy from the Vegas team—the one built like a brick wall. I already checked into his whereabouts, and he’s at home with his wife and new baby.”
We pull up to the hotel, the car rolling to a gentle stop beneath the awning.
Rosie, ever the energetic one, springs out of the vehicle before the vehicle has even fully settled.
She immediately engages in a lively conversation with the valet, who seems both amused and slightly flustered by her rapid-fire questions.
Meanwhile, I take my time getting out of the car, pausing for a moment to scan the area.
I want to give myself an opportunity to thoroughly observe our surroundings, making sure there’s nothing unusual or anyone suspicious lingering nearby.
Satisfied that no one in the vicinity draws undue attention, I casually push my sunglasses up onto the top of my head and trail after Rosie as she strides confidently into the hotel lobby.
Inside, the air is cool and smells faintly of polished wood and fresh flowers.
To my surprise, the first person from the Lions we spot is McKenzie.
He’s slouched in an armchair near the entrance, and it’s immediately obvious that he’s had a rough night—his face is mottled with fresh bruises, and there’s a split just above his eyebrow that looks like it was hastily patched up.
He winces noticeably as we approach, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, which catches the attention of two of his teammates sitting nearby.
Their eyes flick toward us, alert and wary, as if they’re bracing themselves for trouble or perhaps just curious about our sudden arrival.
“McKenzie, Levenski,” I begin, recognizing the second man by his broad shoulders and distinctive jawline. However, when I turn to the third guy, his face is familiar, but his name escapes me for a moment, leaving my sentence hanging awkwardly in the air.
“Pitts,” Rosie supplies helpfully, filling in the gap with a nod in his direction. She doesn’t waste any time before getting to the point. “Can we have a word?” she asks, her tone polite but firm, making it clear that this isn’t just a casual request.
“Sure.” Pitts is the one to speak up as he frowns at his teammates. “What’s going on?”
“Someone tried to kill Dover a couple of hours ago. We want to know where you were,” Rosie says, her voice steady as she fixes her gaze on McKenzie. The room feels tense, the air thick with suspicion and uncertainty.
I can tell immediately that McKenzie isn’t the one responsible.
There’s something honest in the way his eyes widen, a flicker of genuine surprise and confusion crossing his face as Rosie’s words sink in.
I get the sense that Rosie notices it too, though she keeps her expression unreadable, waiting for his response.
McKenzie takes a breath before he speaks, his tone defensive but not angry.
“Look,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “I gave him shit on the ice last night. Everyone was chirping away and fighting, so I gave out to Hilton about him being gay and all.” He winces, regret etched clearly across his features.
“Can we not let that get out? My sister will kill me if she hears about it, considering she’s gay and all.
It was just the first thing that popped into my head to get him to fight me.
I shouldn’t have said that. I really don’t care about his sexuality.
It’s none of my business, and I don’t have any problem with it. ”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly bothered by his own words and the situation as a whole.
After a moment, he pushes himself up from the chair, rubbing his hands together as if to shake off the tension.
“I’m going back to bed,” he mutters, heading for the elevator, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
Rosie glances in my direction, her expression mirroring my own bewilderment after the shocking comment that just came from that asshole.
The words hang in the air, heavy and confusing.
He certainly doesn’t give off that impression at all.
Is it possible that it’s all just a facade and that he’s actually gay?
The idea hits me suddenly, making my eyes widen in surprise as my mind races with the implications.
I quickly try to shake off the thought, not wanting to jump to conclusions or make assumptions.
Trying to redirect the conversation, I turn to Levenski and say, “Drago—what about you?” The question lingers as he looks over at me.
Now here is a man capable of anything. There’s something about the way he carries himself, a certain confidence and unpredictability, that makes me believe he could do just about anything he set his mind to.
Levenski catches my gaze and snickers, clearly amused by the situation and perhaps by my reaction.
He seems to be enjoying the tension and confusion that’s settled over the group.
Meanwhile, Pitts, eager to distance himself from the awkwardness, quickly interjects, “I didn’t know he was gay, and I sure as heck don’t have an issue with him.” Without waiting for a response, Pitts makes a hasty exit.
Despite everything, my attention remains fixed on Levenski.
He stands out, not just because of his imposing, muscular build or his impressive height, but also because of the fierce energy he exudes.
There’s a magnetic quality to him that makes it impossible to look away.
I finally break the silence, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Nothing to say?” I ask, waiting to see how he’ll respond to everything that’s just unfolded.
“If I wanted him dead, he would be dead. I would not fuck up.” Levenski shakes his head slowly, his expression hardening with conviction.
His eyes narrow as he continues, “However, on this occasion, the accusation is completely false. I have done nothing to harm the man, nor have I instructed anyone else to go after him on my behalf. That’s not how I operate. ”
“You expect us to believe that?” I ask, my voice tight with skepticism, searching his face for any sign of dishonesty.
Levenski’s lips curl into a smirk as he rises from his chair, the movement deliberate and unhurried.
“I haven’t given you a reason not to believe me,” he says, his tone mocking.
He lets out a low snicker, glancing around the room.
“Maybe you should look a little closer to home, huh? Sometimes the answers you’re looking for are right under your nose. ”
We watch in silence as he strides confidently toward the elevator, his presence commanding until the very last moment.
The doors slide shut behind him with a soft hiss.
A chill settles into my bones, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me as I replay his words in my mind, wondering just how much we really know about the people closest to us.
Rosie leans in even closer, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper as she asks, “What do you think he meant by that?” The intensity in her eyes makes it clear that she’s genuinely concerned.
“I don’t know,” I respond softly, keeping my tone low so no one else can overhear us.
“We need to find out.” Although I try to sound confident, I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that’s been growing in the pit of my stomach ever since our conversation with Levenski.
I don’t mention this to Rosie, not wanting to worry her any more than she already is.
Instead, I remind her, “There is another home game tomorrow night,” hoping that the upcoming event might give us another chance to observe this Vikings staff this time around.
Rosie’s brow furrows as she considers this, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You know he could be trying to throw us off the trail, right?” she says, her tone laced with suspicion and caution.
I stop and think about her words, realizing that I should have considered that possibility before so readily accepting Levenski’s explanation.
My mind races through the conversation, replaying every detail, every nuance, searching for anything I might have missed.
For a moment, I regret not being more skeptical, which is why now is not the time to get involved with Dover, even though that ship has sailed.