His eyes scan the room of reporters. “My dad had an amazing gift. He could read the field and make plays no one would attempt. He taught me so much, but. . . ” He pauses. “I’ve learned how to use that to become the player I am. That pass and all the others are a result of every win and loss throughout my career.”
He smiles. “I’m still learning, and I’ll keep learning, but I’ve always played the game my way.”
He just claimed his place.
My smile breaks loose, so damn proud of him.
“You really should have let yourself watch the game.” Jos interrupts the warm pride running through my entire body. “You should also quit sitting around here smothering yourself in his clothes and maybe let him smother you with his body.”
I twist to look at her.
“You know, eventually, when you’re ready for that.” She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
I laugh and toss a pillow at her. “You’re insane. Like you’re one to talk, Miss No-Man-Is-Ever-Going-To-Get-Near-This.”
She rolls her eyes. “First, it’s Cole. Mr. Perfect and Gorgeous himself. And second,” she pauses, momentarily laying down her sass. “It’d be nice to know it’s possible. To trust someone with it all and have them love you anyway.”
My little ball of fire and scorn has turned tender.
“I’ll only end up hurting him,” I offer honestly.
“You might also be hurting him now.” Her voice is soft as we listen to the detailed highlights.
My mind battles between what I want and what is right—what’s best for Cole.
The screen flashes to him, throwing on the sidelines before the game as they discuss his injury and his usual backup being benched at the last second.
“What’s the deal with that?” Jos asks. “They kept talking about this guy, Jenkins, and how they were expecting him to start. I guess they removed him from the roster and pulled up this new hot dude.”
There’s a flash of the guy Jos is talking about as the commentators relay his experience and stats.
“He’s Cole’s backup, but his daughter is sick. She’s been in the hospital. I think Cole said she’s waiting for some kind of drug trial.”
“Well, I’m sure being dismissed from the team wasn’t what he needed.”
A picture of Will and his family standing in front of a mural he painted fills the screen.
“At least he’s an artist,” Jos says as I try to listen, remembering his wife saying that the team was the only thing holding him up through their struggles. “Although it looks more like graffiti if you ask me.”
She pushes out of the chair, and I turn up the volume, staring at the canvas in the background of the shot, but then it’s gone.
My mind spins as my heart kicks into a jog to keep up.
Graffiti. Spray paint. Removed from the lineup. His daughter. Cole took his place when he was drafted.
I climb off the couch and run to my room, needing my computer.
I flip it open and start clicking through files, opening all of the evidence collected from each threat.
My fingers drum along the edge as I wait for the pictures to load.
“What are you doing?” Jos asks from my doorway.
“We got it wrong.” My heart hammers in my chest. “How long ago did the game end?”
“Uh. . .I don’t know. Maybe an hour and a half ago.”
I look at the clock. The game was in Charlotte. “Dammit!”
