I don’t go straight home after practice.
I have an errand to run.
I change, shower, pull on a hoodie and cap, and take the long way out of the facility.
Brent didn’t love this idea.
“Let legal handle it,” he’d said. “That’s what the letter is for.”
But the letter isn’t the point.
The point is who’s delivering it.
Reid Lawson lives in a mid-rise that used to be trendy and now just feels tired. Exposed brick. Minimal security. A lobby that smells like burnt coffee.
I don’t take the elevator. I take the stairs.
Third floor. Apartment 3B.
I knock once.
Then again.
There’s shuffling inside. A pause.
The door opens just far enough for his face to appear—and the recognition is instant.
His eyes light up.
“Holy—” He laughs, breathless. “Cam Drake.”
There it is.
The fandom before the fear.
“Hey, man,” he says quickly, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “This is wild—"
I hold out the envelope.
“This is for you.”
He takes it automatically, still grinning—then looks down.
The color drains from his face so fast it’s almost impressive.
“This is a cease and desist,” I continue. “From Lila’s legal team. You’ve been formally notified.”
His smile collapses. The laugh dies in his throat. He glances wearily at the paper like he’s afraid it might bite him.
The door opens wider.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I step inside. The door closes behind me with a soft, final click.
***
When it opens again, his bravado is gone.
