“Go ahead and laugh a little harder—I dare you,” I growl. “See what happens when you push me to show you a side of my personality you definitely won’t like.”
Mason’s out of the booth in seconds, hands planted on my and Tristan’s chests as we square up.
“Go on, admit it,” I spit. “You swiped my phone, guessed the passcode, and stole private messages between me and Drew.”
“That true?” Mason looks at Tristan. “Because, damn, man, if you did, then that’s really fucked up.”
“He spread bullshit about Candice leaving. Why not go the whole way and try to destroy people’s lives online?” I add.
“Christ, Tristan. Did you hack Will’s phone or not?” Mason tries to placate the rising tension with a genuine appeal for the truth.
I hold my breath, fists forming by my sides. If Tristan says yes, I’m definitely breaking his nose.
His cocky smirk stands strong as he eventually replies, “No,” in a steady, self-assured voice. “I’m many things, Will, but I’m not loser enough to care that much about your private life. Messing with you is satisfaction enough for me. You think I have the time to create a fake account, post, and reply to every comment?” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “I much prefer stalking your sister’s latest business venture. Do you thinkshe’d want to interview me about my amazing performance tonight?”
I lurch forward, and Silas steps fully between us, facing me.
“If you hit him, Will, you’ll be warming the bench on the farm team.”
Fingers flexing by my sides, I seriously consider how good it would feel to teach this asshole a lesson he’d never forget.
My eyes lock on Tristan’s.
Mason looks between us both. “So, if Tris didn’t share the messages, who did?”
“I don’t know,” I confirm on a long exhale, brain spinning out over ways I can fix this for Drew. She’s all that matters to me. Without her, I’m nothing, and I know it. “But I have an idea to make all of this right.”
I take one step back, and Mason grabs my forearm, eyes wide with concern.
“Where are you going, and what the hell are you going to do?”
Shrugging off his grip, I snag my jacket. “Home, and it’s best if I don’t tell you. Trust me when I say, you don’t want to get pulled into this.” I grab my phone from the table and check for messages. Nothing. “I’ll see you at morning skate.”
37
. . .
Drew
The reception lights almost blind me as I step into First Line’s offices early the following morning.
Just like the last day I was here, there’s no one around, except our normally friendly receptionist, Dawn, who doesn’t appear all that welcoming today.
Offering me a tight smile, she holds up a hand when I go to buzz in, using my fob.
“Sorry, Drew. Your fob won’t work this morning. The system was manually updated the other day, and yours”—she looks more than awkward—“wasn’t included in that update.”
It’s not Dawn’s fault that I’ve been locked out of the building before being formally fired, but she sure looks at me like it is.
“It’s fine,” I say brightly, trying my best to alleviate some of the tension.
She buzzes me through the barrier, and before I’ve taken a single step toward the staircase, she winces.
“Actually, Colton has asked if you could remain down here. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived, but he didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for other staff members.”
I smile again, although this one is less convincing. “Sure.”
Nothing but five long minutes of total silence later, Colton’s unmistakable footsteps sound down the staircase before he stands at the top of the last flight and … grins at me warmly?
