“We’ll see about that.”
“Mind giving me a heads-up the next time you decide to wage war on the owner of this team?” Coach Washington rips off his glasses to massage his temples. “I’ve been on the phone all morning with people I’ve never spoken to before about you disrespecting Mancini to his face. Not to mention payroll will be late again.”
My brow shoots to the ceiling. “And you think that’s a coincidence? How the hell is that permissible in the league?”
Coach eyes me. “It’s not. I reached out to a few people at the RLA to get to the bottom of it.” He lets out a long breath. “We’re already on thin ice with so many teams dropping. We don’t need this right now.”
I figured word would reach my coaches after I pulled up on Dickhead. Mancini is a coward. An aged version of Big Boy Caprice fromDick Tracy,who wants to punish me by punishing the team. I never meant for the Steel to get caught up in this, but I refuse to be silent.
“I’m not playing on Saturday.”
“What?!” The walls in the office shudder under Coach’s shout.
“I’m not playing on Saturday, the next game, or the one after that,” I say to his deepening frown. “Mancini’s real estate company is working with a firm that’s stealing Miriam’s idea. They’re gonna patent it.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly,” I nod. “I was fully prepared to stand alone, because it’s not the Steel’s fight. To be honest, I think we should sit out the rest of the season until the RLA investigates why payroll issues continue to occur. There’s no players’ union to protect us, but compensation violations are a big deal, no? It’s not a coincidence to me that money starts getting funny around the time the Hunter Development Corporation announces a new project. All I’m saying is, it might be worth looking into at some point.”
Coach drags a hand across his face. His eyes catch on the photos of the team that line his broom closet of an office. “A protest would yield consequences.” His stare slides back to me. “Possible lawsuits, in the millions. Let me try to handle things on my end before it comes to that. Riggs can take your position on Saturday. Just give me some time, son.”
I stand from the seat that’s putting my ass to sleep. “Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I need to do.”
If that means my time in the league is up, so be it. Doe will always come first.
Chapter 48
Miriam
Antonio has lost his mind. Not a fraction. Not half. His entire mind.
I toss my car into park. The door slams, and I march up the concrete steps to the indoor practice facility, careful not to slip on any remaining patches of ice.
Shadows cloak the field at rest. The faint glow of light down the hall illuminates my path to the man who’s about to throw away his entire career for me.
I never asked Antonio to visit Kieran. That man is a coward who lies and steals. I wouldn’t put it past him to say Antonio dangled him out of a window, and I don’t want him attached to any controversy. I know he wants to protect me. I want to protect me too, and I want to do more than cry.
Like punch Kieran in the face.
Kick him in the dick.
Set his degree on fire.
Something!
I’m tired of feeling so helpless and used. Every time the reality of a multimillion-dollar company patenting my idea sinks in, Iwant to scream. Actually, I did, and it scared my neighbor’s dog. He won’t pee or walk within ten feet of my house.
I still question why I didn’t see the signs—why I didn’t do a better job of erasing my digital footprint before I left the lab I regret ever stepping foot in. I love Antonio, and I appreciate his fearlessness in his desire to do what’s right. But missing Saturday’s home game for the second week in a row will guarantee his end in the league once the Steel’s owner paints him as aggressive and hostile. The press is already in a frenzy because of his absence, filling in the gaps with their own speculation.
There will be more ideas to protect, but there’s only one RLA, and there’s only so many years left before Antonio hangs it up for good.
Kendrick Lamar’s “DNA” explodes from the iron paradise of free weights, cable machines, and squat racks. Antonio is in the corner at the pull-up bar, shirtless and covered in sweat.
The muscles in his back contract as his biceps uncurl on his slow descent to the ground. His feet never touch, his waist anchored in a weight belt that’s connected to a metal chain and heavy plates. Every inch of my guts would be on the floor if I attempted to pull my chin to the bar, much less with weights dangling between my legs. But he has no trouble slicing through the air. Up, down, the man is a machine with an endurance I enjoy on the regular. With an ass like that, maybe he can perform miracles.
“I smell you, Doe.” He startles me out of a flashback involving him, his stamina, and my feet touching the shower wall. His shower, not mine.
He dismounts from the bar and detaches the weight belt over his basketball shorts. I’m supposed to be mad, but it’s hard to concentrate when his chest is out and his dick is making its presence known against his thigh.
