It’s a demand, and given she’s my boss, one I probably shouldn’t ignore.
Her power move does nothing but piss me off, so I don’t acknowledge her words in any way. Instead, I rise from the chair. “Thanks for listening.”
Brienne inclines her head and Callum watches me thoughtfully as I leave. I shut the office door, as I’m sure they want privacy to discuss all the ways they want to stick their nose in this. But I make it no more than two paces away and the door reopens, Callum slipping through.
“Penn… wait.”
I tamp down the frustration and fix as pleasant an expression on my face as I can muster.
He stops just before me, hands tucked into his pockets. “This why you’ve been walking around wound tight as fuck? Why you won’t let your teammates in?”
“Seems like you’ve already got it figured out,” I reply evasively.
He appraises me, almost as if he’s looking into my soul. “You don’t form connections, you shun any attempts to socialize with your teammates and you’re grumpy as fuck. You’ve had teammates betray you in the past, turn their backs on you, and thus, you can’t ever trust that type of relationship again.” I don’t answer, just stare at him blandly. “It sure explains a hell of a lot.”
“Is that all?” I ask quietly.
Callum folds his arms. “Penn, these guys—you have to let them in. Trust them.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “I don’t need anyone, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my business.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. Merely turn on my heel and walk away.
My mind spins as I make my way through the arena and back out to the players’ underground parking lot. I sit in my G-Wagon, fingers drumming the steering wheel. Telling Brienne and Callum my story accomplishes nothing.
Solves nothing.
It would be completely acceptable for me to do nothing. Continue to live my life, ignore the periodic threats and taunts, and assume that Peter, or Jace, or whoever wouldn’t be stupid enough to come after me. I’m also of the frame of mind that I wouldn’t mind if they did because I’ve got my own years of pent-up anger to release and I’d enjoy hurting them. Bottom line… I’m not scared or worried, and my life will continue on tomorrow, just as it has today, same as it did yesterday.
But Mila changes things. She cannot live in fear. And while I’ve had subtle threats, hers are more violent. I think it’s clear the real enmity is directed at her because she betrayed a family member. It was her testimony that gave the stalled case the steam it needed when she corroborated my story. In essence, none of those guys would have ever gotten into trouble if it weren’t for Mila. And as much as I hate to be dragged back into this shit, I cannot let her get hurt.
It will mean that everything I did was in vain.
Resolved to do something, I know my options for information gathering are very limited. There’s no way I can reach out to the four Wraiths who lost their careers and two of them a part of their lives in prison.
But there’s one person who hates my guts who just might give me the time of day. I pull up my contacts and scroll, then press my contact for Brayden Hughes, one of my former teammates on the Florida Spartans. While I wasn’t close to any of them, I still have all their contact info in my phone, same as I have all the Titans.
The phone rings twice before he answers. “Navarro? What’s up, man?”
Brayden actually sounds pleased to hear from me and I find it odd. Again, we didn’t interact beyond the ice, but we were onthe same line. I lean my head against the headrest. “I need Jacob McLendon’s number.”
There’s a long pause as he puts two and two together. McLendon’s dirty cross-check made all the sports reel highlights so Brayden would know there’s bad blood. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
A beat. Then, “You do know he obviously fucking hates you, right?”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I got that memo. Can I get it anyway?”
“You going to try to patch things up?” he asks.
“Nothing to patch up, but I do have something important to discuss with him.”
Brayden waits for more, the silence beckoning me to be a little more transparent. When I don’t offer anything, his responds begrudgingly. “Yeah… sure. I’ll send you his contact now.”
“Appreciate it,” I say and then hang up without a goodbye. I can imagine Brayden now staring at his phone and muttering,Still the same old asshole.
I receive a text from Brayden with Jacob’s contact attached. I save it to my phone, but I don’t call him. If he’s anything like me and most other players I know, he’s not going to pick up an unknown number. So instead, I text him.This is Penn Navarro. I know you don’t have my number, but I need to talk. I’m about to call you. Pick up.
