I chew while Hope waits for an answer. “Strange room, strange bed, strange noises.” I try to talk around a large bite. “Strange man across the hall.”
She smiles. “Yeah, that’ll take a little getting used to, huh?” Her tone is understanding and sympathetic. “How’s he?”
Interestingly, personal information was sparse. Cole’s social media accounts are filled with sponsored products, game coverage, stats, or updates about his nonprofit work. All of which his agent’s firm monitors and maintains. There weren’t any pictures of him with girlfriends, family, or friends otherthan a few with teammates. He could have deleted them, but something tells me Cole understands and values privacy.
I believe there’s a hidden side to Cole, pieces he keeps tucked away from the biggest part of his life—football. I wonder who the real Cole Matthews is underneath the jersey. All of it leaves me even more curious as to why someone would want to kill him.
So far, these threats seem tied to the game. None have mentioned anything personal, which makes me wonder about fans, former teammates, or someone obsessed with his father. A coward who’s pissed Cole’s at the top of his game and set on taking away what appears to be the most important thing to him. The question is, how far are they willing to go to make that happen?
Coffee. I need lots of coffee.
I hop up and grab a mug, filling it to the brim. “He’s a little too chill about these threats. He oozes confidence and calm control. Although it seemed to fluster him when I mentioned they could be coming from inside his organization.” It was the first time I saw a hint of uneasiness.
“I imagine he expects those guys to have his back, not otherwise.” Hope turns back to the mixer. “That would be disturbing when he spends so much time with them.”
I plop back down on a stool, knowing they’re the first group to rule out. He’s with them every day, and if one of them is dangerous, I need to know.
I shove another bite in my mouth. “He’s so freaking clean and quiet.”
She pulls out the stool beside me with her own cup of coffee. “I bet his world is really loud sometimes. Maybe all the time. Control and order would be comforting.”
It’s true what they say about six senses. I’m hypervigilant. I see and sense what’s invisible to everyone else. It’s like aphotographic memory attached to every sense, and I can’t turn it off even when I wish I could.
Hope’s gift is seeing what’s going on deep inside the body. She can see the heart, its functioning, and identify all the bruised and damaged places. The areas that have turned cold and dark and are in desperate need of life before the disease of shame, fury, and hatred spreads.
“You know when I met Tracker—”
“This isn’t the same.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not, but I imagine a loud and busy life, surrounded by bright lights and people, could get really lonely.”
I ponder that, and how Cole doesn’t seem cocky. So far, he’s quietly humble and carries a confidence that isn’t inflated with arrogance. He’s subtly self-assured. I don’t know if it’s the trouble coming after him or if this is the guy off the field and behind closed doors.
“We had a little chat, and I explained he needed to get on board with taking these threats seriously.” I toss the last bite in my mouth and chew. “My first game is this weekend. It’ll be interesting to see him interact with his team. He said some of them think he’s only there because of who his dad was. If it’s a fan or someone else. . . ”
Her shoulder bumps mine. “It’s a good thing he’s got you. You’ll get to the bottom of this.” She smirks as the oven beeps, and she stands.
I glare. That sly half-grin alludes to more than what’s really being said, but I let it go.
I’m just glad one of us is optimistic. I can protect Cole, no problem. Figuring out who wants him out of the picture, literally, is a whole other kind of mind game.
I toss my napkin in the garbage and place my plate in the dishwasher.
Hope scrapes the sides of the mixing bowl with a spatula. “Lyla’s out back, but if you’re still here when the younger girls get out of school, you should check in on Kelsey. She had a rough night.”
I lean up against the counter, waiting for details.
“Her boyfriend has been messaging her. The usual ‘things will be different. He’ll take care of her.’”
I withhold my groan because it’s always the same. Two months ago, I happened upon Kelsey outside the grocery store. Her boyfriend was shoving her up against the brick wall and screaming at her. He wasn’t really excited when I butted in.
I brought her here, and she’s been doing so well, but she has to be the one to stay and work toward a better life for herself. But when you have no family, your friends are his friends, and the only life you’ve known involves belittling and pain, it’s difficult to believe that “love” can look any different.
“Has she been working with TJ or Jos? She’s got to see she’s stronger than returning to him.”
Sometimes, physical strength can do far more than any amount of counseling in the short term. If nothing else, she’ll have some skills the next time he comes for her.
“Some. I asked if we could replace her phone, but she’s hesitant.”
