“What?” he yells, turning to face me.
“Take the win. Get out. Go home,” I tell him.
“No fucking way, man,” he shakes his head.
“One more strike and they could dissolve your contract. Use your head.”
He bites his lip and shakes his head again, stubborn as ever.
“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
I’ve never been in a situation like this, and there’s no roadmap for how Coach or the owner, Mark, will react. But compared to Derek? I’m practically a monk.
Derek searches my face, puffs out his cheeks and steps out of the squad car. “Want me to call Coach or Mark?”
“Is that who you call when you’ve fucked up?” I ask.
Derek shakes his head. “Nope, I call Olivia and she calls the teams lawyer and then they both come to get me.”
“I guess I’ll do that then.”
Derek whistles. “She is sure going to be surprised.”
“That’ll make two of us.”
My fingers hover over the keypad before dialing the number I know will help. Olivia Rivers, the team’s Public Relations Specialist.
The phone rings. Two… three…
“Olivia Rivers,” she answers, clipped and cautious.
“Olivia, it’s Carter.”
A pause. Confusion creeps in through the line.
“Why are you calling me this late?” she asks, tone sharp.
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
“I do… but you’ve never called me before.”
Olivia. Pretty.Verypretty, the kind of woman you notice without meaning to. Before she joined the team, she was a model on the runways of Paris and Milan, and graced magazine covers across the country. I’ve always assumed she was eye candy for Mark, our owner. But nothing I’ve seen so far hints at anything romantic between them.
I sigh, the weight of the situation settling in. “I’ve been arrested.”
A laugh, sharp and incredulous. “Did Derek or one of the others put you up to this? Because if they did, it’s not funny—and it’s late.”
“No, ma’am. I’m at the Ninth Street Police Station.”
Her breath hitches. “Fuck. You’re serious?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s not ma’am, it’sOlivia. I’m on my way.”
Click. The line goes dead. I set the receiver down, leaning back against the wall.
“Mr. Storm?”
