Frustration burned like acid in Jonny's throat. He was a fool to think the police would actually listen to him. In their eyes, he'd always be guilty. He did have evidence, but unlike his brother, he would never stoop so low as to blame him, to bring the police into the business that should have remained between the two of them. This wasn’t how he dealt with things. Besides, he had discovered the hard way that the police couldn’t be trusted. Best to manage things his own way.
The door swung open, and Knightley poked his head in. "Sir, there's a young lady here demanding to speak with you. Says it's urgent, about the Harcourt case."
Finch sighed heavily. "Very well. We're not finished, Tate, but I’ll release you for today. Don’t go anywhere outside of Manchester.”
“I do play football,” Jonny said. They weren’t scheduled to play away for a few weeks — and only if they won their next game — but it could still prove to be a problem.
Finch shrugged. “You’d better hope we figure this out soon, then."
Jonny nodded, following Knightly out the back door of the station, his thoughts spiralling as he stepped outside, taking a huge inhale of the fresh air that greeted him. The sky had darkened, and his pocket watch confirmed his fears — practice was nearly over. He had missed it. Again.
He sprinted down the street toward the field, lungs burning, praying that he could still salvage something of the day.
He wasn’t sure he would have a job after today. He couldn’t have football taken away from him, too.
But the moment he arrived, disheveled and out of breath, his teammates' glares cut like knives. Rhys stepped forward, frustration radiating off him.
"Where the hell have you been, Tate?" he growled. "You missed the whole damn practice."
Jonny swallowed hard, shame and frustration welling in his throat. He wanted to tell them what had happened, that the police had come, but how could he do so without revealing his entire sordid past, including his ties to Blackwood, Sharpe, and Will?
He didn’t want to involve his teammates with all he had been through. Even men who claimed to be like family wouldn’t understand.
“Something came up. Something I couldn’t get out of, no matter how I tried."
"Best save it," Colin cut in with a sigh, shaking his head, softening his words by patting Jonny’s shoulder. "We've heard it before, Jon. Thought you'd changed, but maybe we were wrong."
The gentle accusation stung worse than any blow. They still didn't trust him, even after everything. Would he ever outrun his past?
“Rhys, wait up,” Tommy said, looking back at Jonny as he ran after the captain, pleading Jonny’s case. Jonny appreciated it, but he could also tell when he was no longer wanted, and he saw himself off the field, done with the team. What were all those words Rhys had said worth if they didn’t back him when times got tough, if they refused to believe in him?
Despair settled like a stone in his gut as he trudged home, the future he'd fought for slipping through his fingers. He had just settled in when a knock sounded on the door, one he almost missed while lost in the fog of his own bleak thoughts.
"Mr. Tate?" a timid voice called. Jonny wrenched open the door to find Knightley, the young constable shifting nervously on his doorstep.
"What now?" Jonny snapped, in no mood for more harassment.
"Inspector Finch sent me, sir. To tell you... Well, seems a Miss Jones came to the station. Told the Inspector you were with her. At the time of the theft."
Jonny blinked, stunned. Ada had... vouched for him? Put her own reputation on the line, for him? His heart warmed for a moment that someone he cared for — even if he had never shared that with her — had done something for him, despite what that might mean for her own life.
"She also mentioned a Mr. Sharpe and a Will Tate being involved somehow. Finch wanted you to know he’s looking into it, and if you have any more information, to come see him.”
The warmth that had flickered to life quickly surged into hot anger. Ada had tried to help him, yes, but at what expense? He had told her not to say anything, and now she was providing the police with information he had no wish to share. If he had wanted Finch to know about his brother and his ties to Sharpe, he would have told him. He didn’t need Ada to do that.
Rationally, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that she was only trying to help him, that any anger directed toward her was misplaced.
But at the moment, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“I have nothing more to say to Sharpe,” he said, before taking a step back and slamming the door on the young constable, who was just doing his job, but was representing all of what Jonny currently wanted as far from him as possible.
He retreated to the far side of his small quarters, finding his boxing gloves as he considered the only way to get this anger out was to go and take someone on for a couple of rounds. He was stuffing them into a bag when there was another knock.
He wrenched the door open again, already telling the constable what he thought. “I told you, I’m done—” he snapped, his words stopping when he saw who was on the other side.
“What are you doing here?” he bit out.
“I need to talk to you,” Ada said, her eyes wide as she took him in, obviously sensing something was wrong. “It’s about Finch and the robbery and?—”
