by Saxon James
When I have a limited range left, one name catches my eye, and I’m barely processing what it means when I hear Taryn’s voice downstairs. I didn’t even register his car pulling up. While he shuffles around downstairs, I make a split-second decision and download everything to my computer then wipe my records from the work drive in case there’s anything I’ve missed.
And actually… if I can remote access my old laptop, I can activate the self-destruct there too, which guarantees to remove all the evidence the man said they planted.
“Taryn?”
He appears at the top of the stairs. “Hi, gorgeous.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and eyes the mess I’ve made of the counter. “Let me guess, bored?”
“So fucking bored. And Iora was a total buzzkill.”
“It’s what I pay her for.”
I wrinkle my nose as he drops down beside me and pulls me into a deep kiss.
“Hi,” he breathes against my lips.
“Hey.”
“I missed you today.”
I smirk and pull back. “At least you had shit to do to keep you occupied. I was this close to pulling my hair into a bun, smudging my mascara and crying into a tub of ice cream.”
Taryn laughs. “Don’t be silly. You don’t wear mascara.”
“I’d be willing to make that sacrifice.”
His amusement dies as his expression softens, and he swipes a thumb over my cheek. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t overdo it.”
“It was a couple of vegetables. I’ll live.”
“I’m not disputing that.” His attention shifts to the laptop perched beside me. “I see Jetson is officially wrapped around your little finger.”
“How do you know it wasn’t Iora?”
“I have my ways.”
“They told you, didn’t they?”
Taryn grins, and I’m kind of obsessed with how it lights up his eyes.
“A dude can’t keep a secret around this place…” I joke. But now that he’s drawn my attention back to the computer, the anxiety passing through me surges back into focus. I bite my lip as I look at the screen, wondering how much to say.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, reaching over to tug my lip back out. When I release it, he catches it in his teeth and gives me a little nip.
“Taryn… I might have figured something out, and I’m not sure what to do with this information.”
“Well, what is it?”
“It’s very possible I’ve worked out who that number belonged to, but I really have no way to prove it.”
He sucks in a quick breath, releases it, and rubs his hand over his mouth. “Who?”
“Charlene Lewers. My boss’s wife.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’m worried about Elliot. He’s so wrapped up in the idea that he can find the person who did this to him that he’s barely talked about much else these past few days. At least he managed to wipe his old laptop, which seems to have eased his mind a little, and I’m damn impressed with his skills. But I’m worried, and I keep suggesting that maybe we should look into a shrink or something, but every time I offer, he abruptly turns the conversation around. I told him I’d protect him, but I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job.
So I try to distract him instead, but the distraction only lasts for as long as it takes for the blow job afterglow to fade, and then it’s like I can see the multitude of thoughts starting up in his pretty head.
Going to training makes me anxious because I hate leaving Elliot. Last night he stayed up combing through social media, looking for any links. I’m so worried I briefly considered calling a therapist to pay him a home visit, but I’ve held off from crossing that line so far. He’s not making it easy, though.
The team finishes watching the Hawks game tapes and heads for the gym where Johnson and Edgerton are talking loudly about what they got up to over the weekend. The team hasn’t been treating me all that differently this week, but I have noticed a few random stares and side eyes.
I jump on the seated overhead press and start to work my shoulders, the sound of grunts heard over the radio. At least working out gives me a chance to clear my head and ignore everyone else around me. My shoulder twinges, that same old injury that keeps acting up, but I work through it like the doctor told me to.
Even as I focus on the music and count out my reps, my mind keeps drifting back to Elliot. Elliot, waiting on my couch. Elliot, thin fingers flying across his keyboard. Elliot, whose hair really needed to be washed days ago, but still manages to look like the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.
A smile starts to form and for once, I don’t fight it.
“Someone’s happy,” O’Brien teases, taking the machine next to me.
“Yeah.” I hesitate as I try to balance my breathing and the reps. “It’s been known to happen.”
“My woman does that to me too.” He winks. “Elliot must be a special guy.”
Somehow my stomach simultaneously drops and jumps. I lick my lips, barely able to believe this is a conversation I’m actually having. There’s nothing to be lost now. “He is.”
Nothing more is said as we work through our reps, but he doesn’t cringe away or act weird, and I can’t help feeling like it’s a fucking miracle.
I push harder and harder, buoyed on by relief.
Then something in my shoulder snaps.
Pain shoots down my arm and across my traps as I let out a long groan. I immediately hug my right arm to my body, feeling the throb of my heartbeat in my white-knuckled grip.
“Taryn, you okay?”
A few voices join the first, but I hunch forward, forcing myself to breathe and trying not to jostle my bad arm. Coach shows up a minute later, and I follow him out of the gym, down two halls, and into the first aid room.
He’s fast and efficient as he checks me over before our trainer does the same.
“What the hell happened?” he snaps.
“Something in my shoulder. I dunno. It’s been acting up for a while now.”
Coach curses under his breath. “What did your PT say?”
“Nothing. Doc said I was fine.”
There’s a heavy pause. “Which doctor?”
“Fallins.”
Before I can say anything else, he’s on the phone with Doctor Fallins who arrives fifteen minutes later.
“Well, well, Taryn. What have you done here?” he asks, pulling my arm toward him. Another jolt of pain shoots through the joint, and I have to hold back from punching him.
“Fucking hurts,” I grunt.
He hums as his cold fingers prod and press at my burning skin. Coach looks on, arms folded, phone held loosely in one hand.
“Looks like you pushed too hard,” Doc says.
“You told me if it starts to act up again to push through,” I spit back at him.
He chuckles. “Only if it’s slight pain. Surely you know your limits by now?”
I want to tell him to fuck off, but I hold it together. He’s only been on our medical team this year, but he’s been good to us. Well, until now at least, but I guess everyone makes a shitty call sometimes.
But I swear, if that shitty call has cost me my career…
“You’ll be fine,” he finally says. “Looks to me like a slight strain. Take some painkillers, ice it, and go light on the exercise. You’ll be fine for Sunday.”
Thank fuck for that. The pain in my shoulder suddenly feels a whole lot more bearable now that I know it’s nothing major. And yeah, I feel like a bit of a douche for reacting like I did, but holy hell it hit hard.
Coach and I thank the doctor, and he leaves us in the type of quiet that could split the air.
“Get up,” Coach says.
I hurry to my feet, and my shoulder gives a painful throb that almost makes me swear out loud. “Sorry to make such a fuss,” I mumble.
Coach stares at me for a beat. “You’re coming with m
e.”
I hurry to follow him from the room. “Okay, where?”
“The hospital.”
“But Doc—”
“Also told Zane he was fine to play, and now he’s out for the season. I’m not taking chances, Adderson. Get in the truck.”
It’s awkward trying to climb up into the cab while holding my injured arm still, but I manage it. Barely. All my shit is back in my locker, so I can’t even text Elliot to give him the heads up. And it’s not like he could do anything anyway, but it’s pretty damn special I have him there to tell things like this to. At this moment, I want nothing more than his soothing voice, telling me it’s going to be okay. Because, yeah, I know that, but I wanna hear it from him.
“Taryn,” Coach says, sounding kinda guarded. “Remember all that stuff you came to me about last week?”
As if I could forget. “Yes, of course.”
He twists his mouth up to one side, squinting against the midday sun. “We’ve lost two games in a row now, then the Jets game the week before caught my attention, along with some others before that. I’ve been watching through some footage, trying to see if there’s a player or any links, but so far there hasn’t been anything to cause suspicion.”
I let out a long breath. “I’ve gotta admit, it’s definitely a relief to be able to rule out a player.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, it is. But the more I watch, the more I review the game stats, the more something feels off.”
“Yeah, I thought the same.”
“What do you remember about our second loss?”
“We played like shit.”
“Well, we lost, so yes, but objectively it was a good game… if we were playing the team we prepared for.”
I frown. “But… we did play the Cubs.”
“Oh, you were prepared for Kurt Bradley, were you? And Neil Davidson and Jason Churng?”
“Well, no. They were all ruled out for that game.”
“And yet they played anyway. So did Zane, even though the hospital said it looked like his ankle was broken before he ran out on that field.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “How the hell can they know that?”
“I got them to pull the scans from the week before. Zane’s ankle was chipped, he should have been resting it, but instead, he was given painkillers and an ice pack and told to take it easy until the game. Sound familiar?”
His implications start to set in. “Wait… you think Doctor Fallins had him play on purpose?”
“Definitely how it looks.”
“So you think he’s the one who’s been fixing the matches?”
“I think he’s certainly been manipulating the odds in his favor.”
“But it wasn’t just our team that’s had injuries and last-minute roster changes. How could he have managed that?”
Coach shakes his head. “I dunno, Adderson. All I know is we have to prove he’s been messing with our team before we even think about the others.”
“How do we prove it?”
Coach throws his indicator on as we pull into the hospital parking lot. “Son, I think you’re about to.”
***
A pinched nerve. One tiny little thing is what’s causing me a world of pain. I expected the hospital to be an in and out process, but Coach was determined to get to the bottom of the issue. Thank fuck he did.
Even though it means more time off the field and all my training to be completed with my PT, I feel better knowing I didn’t keep playing. If I had, I eventually would have ended up like Zane. I try calling him again on the way home, but like all the other times there’s no answer. I don’t want to push too hard because I can imagine the mood I’d be in knowing my season was over, and even though he’s under contract for next season, that really means nothing in this business.
Which is stupid as all hell because Cooper Zane is one of the best.
The pain is long gone by the time I get home, and it amuses me that Elliot and I can start comparing notes on painkillers. I missed a slew of texts and calls from him, and by the time I called back, it sounded as though he was ready to hobble down the street hunting for me. He also called me a ton of names before begging me to get home. He doesn’t have to ask twice.
I bound up the stairs and drop down next to him before tugging his face close enough to catch his gorgeous lips.
“Are you going to explain yet?” he asks around my mouth.
“Soon.” I go on kissing him until he has to physically push me away. I moan at the lost contact, wanting nothing more than to get lost in his taste, his warmth, his touch. Geez, I’m gone, and I’m not even sorry.
“Taryn…”
“Argh, fine.” I slide back against the armrest of the couch. “I got injured today, and I’ve been at the hospital all afternoon.”
“What the fuck? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I left my phone in my locker. It sucks, but it’s not serious.”
“So why were you at the hospital?”
“Coach didn’t want to take the doc’s word for it, so he got me checked out. Lucky too. Pinched nerve. If I’d kept playing on it, I might have ended up needing surgery.”
Elliot bristles. “Your doctor didn’t know that?”
I take a deep breath. “Thing is, he might have.”
His confusion is evident in the frown pulling at his eyebrows. “What—”
“Coach thinks Doctor Fallins has something to do with the rigged games.”
“Fuuuuck.” Somehow Elliot makes that one word mean so much. Fuck, that’s some deep shit. Fuck, what a mess. Fuck, my career could have been ruined by that asshole, and fuck, Zane’s already has been.
“That’s the theory, anyway. Think Coach is going to the board tomorrow, but with no proof, I dunno. Not sure much can happen.”
Elliot jolts upright and snatches up his laptop. “That’s two people, Taryn. Your doctor and my boss’s wife. There has to be something, a link, maybe a social media connection?”
I hum. “Everyone is friends with everyone on social media these days. That won’t count for much.”
Still it doesn’t stop Elliot. He closes off from me completely as he starts searching through the layers of the internet I would have never thought to look at. Feeling forgotten, I ease him back in my arms so he’s resting against my chest, his computer on his lap. His fingers move fast, his eyes flicking back and forth behind his glasses, a random chunk of hair falling loose over his temple. I brush it back and press a kiss there instead. The slightest movement twitches at the corner of his lips.
“You said Cooper Zane…”
“Out for the season.”
Elliot hums, fingers set off at a punishing speed as the pages flick through on the screen. I can’t keep up.
“If…” I lick my lips not knowing how to answer. “If we can’t prove it, if we never find out who’s behind this for sure… are you gonna be okay?”
Elliot’s tawny eyebrows creep up, and he tilts his face toward me. Only the sounds of his breathing pass between us for a moment. “I want to say yes. I really want to believe it. But I keep thinking about what happened. It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d be affected once I got out. It’s not like he was going to kill me or anything—at least not this time.”
My arms tighten at the thought of anyone daring to touch him. “You’re safe now.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me, just rubs a hand down his face. “I’m worried I’m not far enough away. I’m worried they’ll come back. For me, maybe. But worse is the thought they’ll do something to you.”
I snort. “Fuckers can try.”
“Not funny, Taryn.” His harsh words are underscored by the vulnerability in his eyes.
I shake my head, forehead finding his cheek. “Sorry. I know it’s not. We’ll find them, and when we do, it’s gonna take everything in me not to murder them.”
He hums. “I love it when you talk homicidal to me
…”
And thank fuck that breaks the tension. I clip his ear with my teeth and force my attention back to the screen before I maul him. “We can’t have you worrying constantly, so we’re left with only one option. We need to figure this thing out.”
He drops a quick kiss on my cheek before turning back to his search. He has some kind of spreadsheet open on one side of his screen and a website on the other. “Wooow-ly fuck.”
“What is it?”
Elliot hits a few more keys, and the open pages spread evenly over the screen. “The other day I saved all Charlene’s bets in one file, and this one”—he points at a line highlighted in yellow—“is a bet she placed on Cooper Zane getting injured. Then I logged into the cloud and pulled those photos I sent you the other week. Here”—he points again—“and here and here. All bets from Charlene on Zane’s injury.”
“She knew?”
He goes back to typing. “She definitely knew,” he mutters.
I watch as he moves from page to page, searching across platforms until he finds Doctor Fallins’s social media. There’s a bunch of pictures of games and him with different high-profile players. I’ve always liked Fallins because he seemed like a legit dude who actually cared about the players. He always asks me how I am and reminds me to drink extra water… This kind of thing doesn’t seem in character at all.
I frown as Elliot scrolls through the photos, and when he clicks over to one of a benefit night that took place before preseason, I drop my hand over his. “Wait.”
He does, thankfully not prodding me for answers as I stare at the screen.
“This was for some children’s charity. Liam and I went as friends, but there were hundreds of high-profile people there. If your boss is as rich as you’ve said, he could have been in that room. Or even at the event we went to the other night.”
“You think?”
“It’s worth a shot, right?”
Elliot catches his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it. “Right, okay.” It’s the only warning he gives me before he hunches forward and starts searching for the charity. There’s a webpage that has pictures of the night, a bunch of local Philadelphia news sites with write ups about the fundraiser, and a few sports articles about the players who attended the event. Elliot finds his way back to his boss’s social media and clicks through his pictures, but he doesn’t find anything specific.
