Damon doesn’t look convinced.
And I don’t blame him.
Because my words don’t sound all that convincing.
“Joey,” he begins, face softening.
Voice gentle.
God, it’s been months since I’ve gotten a glimpse of gentle in Damon’s tone. Not since that night in my office when I revealedtoo much.
It threatens to melt me, to unstick those barbs and send me sliding down, down, down.
I can’t.
Ican’t.
So, I don’t.
I lift my chin again and ask, “Did security escort him out?”
Damon’s face is unreadable for a long moment, but then it goes blank, that bare hint of gentle gone like so much smoke. “Yes,” he says, “and I’ve beefed security up for after the game, along with calling the D.A.”
“Right,” I mutter.
Because this won’t look good as his trial approaches.
“Are you—” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Are you okay?”
That Hiller was trying to get into the building?
Fuck no.
Just his name is enough to set me back eight months.
No.Further.
To the comments. To the unwanted touches. To the night that became?—
A nightmare.
“I’m fine,” I lie, tone turning deliberately chipper. “Ready for a great home opener and a kickass season. I’ll catch up with you after the game—” I turn back for the locker room door.
But I don’t make it so much as half a rotation.
Because Damon’s hand is on my arm.
And then he’s dragging me down the hall.
TWO
Damon
I suspected.
Fuck. Isuspected.
But I didn’t know.
