Tor glared daggers. “Angel.” Warning laced his tone.
“Gunnar.” She met his glare with a nuclear scowl.
Patch unleashed a low whistle. This woman was tiny but scary. “Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.”
“This guy.” Neve glanced over with a wry smile. “I’m liking you more and more.”
“Both of you quit arguing before World War III breaks out.” Patch stepped between them before wondering if that was wise.
“Argue?” Neve looked honestly confused. “This is how we always talk.”
He glanced at Tor for confirmation.
“She’s not lying,” he said with a shrug. “We’re not normal, but we seem to work.”
“What can I say, fighting is our foreplay.” Neve shrugged.
“TMI,” Tor said with an exasperated chuckle.
“I’ll pretend I never heard that. And don’t worry. I’ve already got a plan. And—”
“Neve?” An executive assistant appeared in the coach’s doorway, holding a tablet with a concerned face. “Thank goodness. Jason thought you were here. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” Neve wrinkled her brow. “I was at my desk fifteen minutes ago.”
“A lot can change in fifteen minutes.”
That’s when Patch realized the assistant was casting him short, furtive stares. And not of interest either. More like disgust. And fear.
And her stares weren’t lost on Neve or Coach.
“What’s going on?” Tor said, holding out his hand for the tablet.
“This interview just went live.” The assistant placed it in his hands.
Patch didn’t move as Neve and Tor hunched together. He had ears. He could hear what they were saying.
Looked like Guy Footscray was going on the offense. With the settlement tomorrow, he was trying to turn the crank, attack. He’d gone to a tabloid and said Patch tried to drug a girl at the bar.
“I saw him put a powder in the drink. I hate trashing a hero, but from where I stand that doesn’t look heroic to me,” Tor read, before lowering the tablet.
Patch felt the intensity in his gaze. He looked as though if he glared hard enough, he would be able to see the truth.
Patch squared his shoulders. He had a reputation for fighting. For being gruff. For not always having command of his emotions. In this moment, he had a choice. Was he going to pay the jerk off and make this whole situation go away like his lawyers advised? He wouldn’t have to admit to guilt. But the world would think settling meant he did it. Until recently, he hadn’t given a shit what the world thought. He’d even welcomed their hate, like Sully had said.
But he could quit blaming himself for not saving his mom, being enough to make her get clean and live, for carrying the guilt of his failure like a yoke, plowing a barren field for the rest of his life.
He could fight for the truth.
He didn’t deserve to be punished.
“I didn’t do it,” he said.
“Can you prove it?” Neve asked, crossing her arms.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “My word against his, I guess.”
“Where’s the girl involved?”
