“So, he’s meeting with his management, but who had access to his wristband? You think it’s someone on the team or a coach?”
I push out a breath, wanting it to loosen the chains around my ribs, but the weight of everything is cinching those links tighter.
“That was my first instinct, but. . .it could be anybody. As we were leaving, an inebriated stadium employee threw a beer can at us and got belligerent in the private parking lot. If Jared had the right connections, he could have paid someone to create a false playbook. He’d only need someone who had access to switch it out.”
Tracker runs a hand over his jaw. “He would’ve been successful in making Cole appear incompetent.”
I scratch my forehead. “It still doesn’t add up. Is this about football or more?”
I sink down into the chair a little further. My body is sore and exhausted, but I scoot right back up when I feel the cut across my back burn.
“How bad is it?” Track asks, leaning his arms on his desk, shifting to his serious “dad” tone.
“I’m fine. Just a little scratch.”
“Your cheek tells me otherwise. You can tell me, or I’ll bench you, and TJ can take over since Nichols took flight.”
I let my head roll to the side.
Here we go.
“It’s fine. I got caught by a piece of glass. Cole slapped a couple of Band-Aids on it. No stitches necessary this time.”
Both graying eyebrows raise.
Shhiitt.
I don’t need Tracker digging in the box labeled “I Don’t Know How I Feel About Cole Seeing and Touching Me.” That box needs to remain tightly sealed and opened carefully at a later date. Likely never.
“It was a big deal to get him involved.”
I love this man. He stepped right over that bone he could have picked up and gnawed on for an hour or two.
“I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t let a kid be sold by the hour while I escorted Cole back to his cushy apartment. I made a split-second decision. He followed directions and went along.”
He lifts his coffee to his lips but stops before sipping. “Sounds to me like he more than went along.” When I don’t say anything, Track drives home his point. “Sounds to me like he helped.”
I watched Cole drop to the boy’s level and ask if he wanted to see a video. A burn crawled up my throat that was so intense I had to hold my breath to keep from crumbling to the floor at his empathy and compassion for a terrified boy. He was sensitive and knew just what to do to distract him and make him feel safe.
Cole’s good at that—reading people and knowing exactly what they need without ever having to be told.
“He saw my mark,” I say quietly.
There it is. It just popped out there, and oh, boy. I wasn’t planning on letting that stray cat out of the bag today.
Dammit.
Tracker eases back into his chair, understanding this is fragile territory. “And?”
I drag my eyes from the gray carpet to his. “Nothing. He tore open the bandages and layered them on.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, with a hint of defense in his tone.
“What should I say? Oh, don’t mind that. It’s just a price tag. I was a hell of a deal at one time.” That patch of skin will burn for eternity. “I’m sure he’d love to chew on that for a while with everything else he’s witnessed.”
“It’s about them, not you, Ryder.”
I want to laugh but hold in the deep-seated anger and shame disguised as sarcasm.
