“Are you sure?” Charlotte asks.
“Yeah. I’m sure. I’ll be back.” My legs are shaky and weak as I make my way back to my bedroom.
Charlotte refused to leave in case I need something.
Once I’m in bed, I log onto the biggest tabloid website.
Scrolling past the headlines, I click the link. I watch the back of a woman rise and fall as she straddles a man. From the camera’s angle, you can’t see the man’s face, but there is no mistaking the jet-black hair and the body covered in tattoos. She runs her hands over his inked shoulders and cries out his name.
Bile rises to the back of my throat as the man throws his head back and comes.
With my tablet in hand, I rush to the bathroom and bend over the toilet. I drop the tablet onto the floor in time to avoid making a mess and heave into the toilet until my stomach is empty.
I must be a glutton, because I lie curled on the cool tile floor and push play again.
And again.
And again.
I watch every sickening detail until everything makes sense, and I pass out.
forty-four
Nico
Thesameuneasyfeelingthat woke me up in the middle of the night is back as I lie on my back while being tortured by Doug, the team’s new physical therapist trainee.
I don’t know what it is, but something feels off today.
Probably because I haven’t been able to get in touch with Savannah since last night. She stopped texting in the middle of our conversation. It scared the shit out of me at first, then I had to remind myself that she runs an entire department and every nurse, every doctor, every little patient, depends on her.
From what little I saw while I was at the hospital, Savannah is the heart and soul of the pediatrics department. She’s amazing at what she does, and everyone adores her. Not surprising. Savannah is a total badass with the biggest, most tender heart.
Still, I hate when I haven’t spoken to her, but I know she’s home, safe and sound. Like the stalker I am, I checked the security cameras in the parking garage. Her car is parked in its spot, as it should be.
Doug rotates my leg to open my hip, and something pops. “Fuck.”
“Sorry, Mr. Romero.” Doug winces, hands raised in surrender.
Sorry, my ass. I’m about to snap his fucking neck.
“It’s fine. Keep going,” I grunt. Doug continues, and I breathe through the rest of the set.
I fucking hate these stretches, but they are a necessary evil. I’ve got my pre-game routine of mobility stretches for my knees, hips, and back down to a science. While it’s a brutal routine, I don’t deviate. It’s worth enduring the pain when I walk away feeling ready to play.
Cam rushes into the PT room, looking frazzled and angry as he heads my way, the rest of the guys right behind him. Cam shouts at Doug to take a hike, who hightails it out of the PT room.
I sit up. “What’s wrong? Is Talia okay?”
“She’s fine. But something is wrong,” he says, no hint of teasing, which isn’t like my brother-in-law, who’s always a happy jokester. Which means something bad has happened.
The uneasiness I’ve felt in my stomach all day turns into a ball of lead.
“What is it?” I ask.
Cam looks to the guys for guidance.
“Just show him,” Heath says.
