“Hey. What’s the best way to get down to the locker room? We’re on the concourse level B.”
I stood back and listened as he looked around and gave landmarks to whoever he was talking to.
“Got it. Thanks.”
He ended the call and smiled at me. “Phantom. Fallen Angel has performed here, and he knows every door and security zone like the back of his hand.”
“I’m impressed. Where are we going?”
“Right down here,” he said, leading me to a door that was hidden from sight by a large pillar.
Brent opened the door that led down two flights of stairs. When we reached the bottom, he opened the last door that opened up into the home team’s tunnel.
Pointing to the left, we found the entrance to the locker room. “You stand here, and I’ll get out of sight. When he comes out, talk to him about some shit. Here’s the program for him to sign.”
I took the booklet he produced with a marker clipped to it. “Where did this come from?”
“I bought it with our shirts.”
“Good thinking. Go,” I said.
I pulled out the program and waited as players began to trickle out. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Clay Turner came out wearing a scowl.
Stepping forward, I engaged him in conversation. “Hey, Turner. Can I get an autograph for my kid?”
He looked at me, the scowl still present, but conceded. “Sure.”
He took the pen from my hand as I handed him the booklet. “Make it out to Brent. He’s a big fan. Watched you play in Portland.”
He snarled as he wrote, but I kept going. “You like it down here?”
“It’s better than playing with a bunch of fags even if these guys are all idiots.”
Turner capped the pen and handed it back to me. But before he could walk away, my hotheaded husband walked up and shot off his mouth.
“Fags, huh?”
Turner’s head snapped up at the sound of Brent’s voice. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Brent grinned. “Came to see if you were as shitty down here as you were in Portland. Greer did the right thing firing your homophobic ass.”
He lunged at Brent and I stepped in, automatically shifting to commander mode. “Back the fuck off.”
Turner looked at me, anger oozing from him. “You a fag too?”
I didn’t dignify his question with a response, but my husband did. “What’s the matter, Turner? Why are you so threatened?”
He stepped closer and looked him up and down. “I bet I could make you like having a dick in your ass.”
The dumbass roared in anger, catching the attention of all the staff moving around. And then all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER 16
BRENT
The rideto the airport was quiet, making me feel like I was in trouble. I was a grown fucking man, and most of the time, I gave zero shits what anyone thought of me. The only people who mattered were the ones in my circle, and it had grown substantially when we moved to Portland. But John was different.
Yes, he was my … husband. It was difficult to wrap my mind around, but not as much as it did three days ago. Before this trip, that would have freaked me the fuck out. My heart no longer pumped all my blood to my feet when I thought about it.
