She places her hands on her hips. “These threats. . .they could be coming from anyone.” She pauses. “The super sweet cheerleader could be slashing tires and wallpapering her closet with pictures of you with your head meticulously burned out of each one.”
My entire body sags. We went through the entire list of everyone I regularly come into contact with. I steer clear of the Stingrays’ cheerleaders.
“I don’t think this is a cheerleader,” I offer again, but by her blank stare, I can tell Ryder isn’t letting that group off the hook.
“People who do this kind of thing are cowards. They’re quiet until they hit their breaking point. I don’t think we’re there yet. They’re warning you. Testing you. You can’t feed into it or be naive. Cole, you need to keep your eyes and ears open at all times. With everyone.”
It’s the first time she’s called me Cole. I hear the seriousness in her tone, loud and clear, but I don’t think she quite understands what doing that could cost me.
She grabs her things from the counter, holding onto the superglue. “We’ll take this one step at a time. I don’t promise it’ll be easy, but you have to let me do my job, and I need you to do your part.” She stops beside me. “Get some rest, big football player. Whoever is doing this is going down, and tomorrow, I’ll start checking out all your contacts for myself.”
For the first time, I see what might be a hint of a smile, but it’s gone so fast I’m not sure.
I huff a laugh. She’s so calm and in control of the possible danger lurking around me. Her confidence offers each of my muscles a dose of relief.
“Do you need help with that?” I point to the glue between her fingers.
She shakes her head. “No,” she says sharply, but it’s quickly followed by a soft, “Thank you. I can handle it.”
Something tells me this isn’t the first time she’s used an adhesive on a wound.
She heads to her room, and I hear the click of her door. I lean on the counter, trying to let it all sink in.
She’s here to protect me, so I guess I can at least smile and pretend everything is fine while monitoring everyone. Maybe that will help get to the bottom of this, and I can get back to focusing on the only thing that’s expected of me. Winning.
Chapter 8
RYDER
I arrive at The Oasis and head straight to the kitchen, hoping there are leftovers from breakfast in the fridge. I find Hope dumping a cup of flour into a large mixing bowl.
“Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” She turns the mixer on low while I peek in the refrigerator and snatch a bagel and cream cheese.
“Yeah, I checked in with Track. I thought I’d come here to do some research rather than sit at a desk.” I drop my bagel in the toaster and lean over her shoulder. “What are you making?”
“It’s Sandy’s birthday. Chocolate is her favorite.”
Oh, I could go for a giant piece of chocolate cake right now.
The minimal food in Cole’s apartment needs an overhaul. Besides a large stash of what looked like homemade cookies in the back of his freezer, I’m not sure what the man eats. The smoothie he drank on the way to the practice facility might have been remnants from the garbage he’d blended on high and called protein-filled.
I need to find out what he survives on. If it involves DoorDash, those days are over, and his kitchen will come alive.
Hope dumps in some cocoa and turns on the mixer again. What started out as social work has become a lifestyle for this woman.
Hope loves, and she takes every opportunity to demonstrate it. She’s a cheerleader, no matter how small the success. A hugger and a listening ear, even when there isn’t a nice wordbeing said. Other times, she’s making a birthday cake, which some have never had.
She shuts the mixer off and turns to face me as I smear a thick layer of cream cheese on my bagel. “How was your night?”
After a long, hot shower, and working to squeeze glue into the top half of my wound, then trying to hold it closed, I should have slept like a baby. But that never happens.
Instead, I mentally walked back through Cole’s apartment, searching for anything I might have missed and weak spots where the enemy could gain access. After I exhausted that effort, I pulled out my computer and started my Cole Matthews investigation.
I read every article I could find about the star athlete. The son of the former great, Tim “The Rocket” Matthews, appears to have achieved every award a high school and college athlete could dream of.
I learned he funds a nonprofit organization set up by his dad that helps underprivileged youth gain access to sports programs, including a camp Cole runs during the summers.
I also found pictures of his sister, Maggie, and her husband, Shane Carter, who used to play professional football. The retired player is now the head coach for the University of Colorado, where Cole’s family lives.
