She faces me again and exhales. Her stiff posture softens slightly. “I had a little run-in with a knife. It’s not a big deal. It’d be healed by now if. . . ” She doesn’t finish, evaluating if she wants to say more. “It’s fine. It won’t be a problem. It looks worse than it is.”
She thinks I’m worried about how this affects her ability to protect me?
“It looks like your back was slashed open with a sawtooth blade. Your shirt is covered in blood.”
“I just busted a stitch or two. Damn thing bleeds like crazy. I’ll lay off for a few days, and it’ll be fine. Actually,” she glances over her shoulder. “Do you have any superglue?”
I frown. “Superglue?”
She heads down the stairs as if this conversation is over. I follow, still in shock that she’s so casual about this. I have a medical team and physical therapists at my disposal. Her back needs severe attention.
In the kitchen, she sets her phone and hand wraps on the counter like everything is normal and she’s not bleeding.
She tugs open the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. “So, do you? Have any superglue?”
I stare at her from the edge of the island. “You’re serious?”
She guzzles half the bottle and then sucks in a breath. “Yeah. I need to close it up.”
“I really think you should have someone look—”
She makes some kind of snorting sound. “I just need the glue.”
Ok. She’s really serious.
I open the junk drawer, which is mostly things left behind by previous owners, and rummage through it. Luckily, I find a tiny tube and hand it to her.
“Thanks. Did I wake you?” She inspects the miniature tube, and I can’t imagine squeezing that into an open wound.
I brace my hands on the counter, still watching her stand here like blood isn’t seeping out of her body. “Nah. I couldn’t sleep.”
She nods like she understands. “We’ll get ‘em. Whoever they are.”
My eyes find hers, and different than before, there’s a subtle, gentle sympathy to them.
So, there is more in there than stone-cold fierceness.
I run my hand over my face, deciding to take the lead in letting guards down. I’m a team captain; leading is what I do.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk around, wondering if everyone I come in contact with wants to kill me. Especially the guys on my team. My management. All the people I do business with.”
She said everyone is a suspect until we have more information.
“It was frustrating before, but now. . . ” I stare at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
“What do you mean ‘before’?” Her tone is sharp, and I draw my head up to see her expression.
It’s fiery, daring. We are right back to locked-down, work mode.
I didn’t get into the specifics of my issues with T-Bone and his gang. He’s just a punk, and I really don’t think about it. From Ryder’s posture, I can see that it was a mistake.
“Some of my teammates have made it clear that they’re unhappy about me being on the team.”
She sets the glue on the counter along with her water. “What’s their problem?”
She lets that hang for only a moment and apparently decides the answer is irrelevant. “You’re on the inside. If this bastard is wandering around your locker room, then you’re within close proximity. They likely think you’re unbothered by these threats. I won’t be with you, so I need you to watch, listen, and study. We have to figure out who’s willing to go to jail over you being on the team.”
She pauses, and I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. But that’s exactly the problem. There’s no room in my life for playing detective. This won’t be another losing season.
