No TV murmur. No low hum of the espresso machine. No footsteps from the hallway. Just the faint scent of Tane’s cedarwood cologne lingering in the air and the soft click of the door shutting behind him.
“Tane?” Jacob called.
Nothing.
He dropped his keys on the console table, kicked off his sneakers, and padded into the living room. The place looked exactly as they’d left it that morning: Tane’s hoodie slung over the armchair, two empty smoothie glasses still in the sink, the blanket they’d shared last night folded on the couch.
Jacob checked the bedroom—bed made, no note on the pillow. Kitchen again—still empty. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Tane’s contact.
No new messages.
He typed quickly…
JACOB: Home. Where are you?
Jacob hit send.
The little read receipt didn’t appear.
Jacob leaned against the counter, staring at the blank screen. The earlier unease—the conversation with Ricki, the whisper of Antonio’s name—crept back in, colder now.
Jacob exhaled and set the phone face-down and crossed to the window. The city sprawled below, lights just starting to flicker on as dusk settled. Somewhere out there, Tane was dealing with his shoulder, or the team, or the pressure of Game Seven, or maybe just needing space to breathe.
Jacob inhaled and exhaled again slowly, fogging the glass.
Tomorrow they’d face the Titans. Tomorrow he’d fly.
But what about Tane?
Chapter 23
Tane
The late-afternoon sun hung low and sullen over the highway as Tane steered his black Audi RS7 out of the city limits.
Traffic thinned after the last exit ramp, giving way to rolling farmland, then denser stands of pine and birch. The turn-off Antonio had texted him was unmarked.
No sign, no mile marker.
Just a faded gravel lay-by carved into the edge of the state forest.
I don’t know.
This isn’t the usual meeting spot.
I don’t even want to think…
Tane slowed, tires crunching over loose stones, and eased the car to a stop beside the only other vehicle in sight: a charcoal-gray Mercedes G-Class with tinted windows and no plates visible from the road.
Tane killed the engine and sat for a moment, hands still on the wheel, listening to the tick of cooling metal and the distant callof a crow somewhere in the trees. The shoulder throbbed in dull protest, the same steady ache it had carried since the Titans series. But he ignored it. He’d driven one-handed most of the way anyway.
Tane’s mind turned over the same question it had been chewing on since the message arrived at 2:17 p.m.…
Is this the one I don’t walk away from?
Tane was thirty-eight, signed to a contract extension nobody had expected the Cardini family to offer. A veteran with a damaged shoulder, a bank account full of money he barely touched, and a public profile that made disappearing him messy but not impossible.
The family had buried problems before… former players turned rivals who talked too much, staff who skimmed too close to the books, even the occasional rival executive who’d gotten too curious. Bodies turned up in ditches, car accidents staged with mechanical precision, overdoses ruled accidental.
