Great judge of character I was.
I jammed my earbuds in and cranked up the volume on my phone. Tuning out everyone was a better idea than unleashing.
Today’s playlist was Australian nineties grunge bands. The darkness of the angst-filled lyrics were pretty apt considering the betrayal, isolation and self-doubt Minns and Kam had thrust on me with their silence.
The riff of electric guitars filled my ears, and an angry voice sang about waking up to the manipulation we’d been sold. Fuck me. These boys were spot-on.
The song switched over, and a group began harmonizing, a voiceover talking about a guy, a football team, and a real estate agent. Whatever. It was blunt in a dark kind of way, and even though I had no idea what in the hell they were talking about, I kind of liked it. The warning Greg got about the stop sign would be stuck in my head for hours.
So would the line about the comet wiping out humanity, hopefully sometime before his end-of-year exams. Timing was slightly off. It should have obliterated me about twenty-four hours ago.
With TMZ breaking the story, I was viral on every fucking social media platform. Hashtags of my name and “cheater” were trending, and the photo montage showing my escape was on constant rotation everywhere.
A growl sounded from Minns’s direction, and I looked up. He was scowling at the television, my face clearly identifiable as I jumped the fence. I groaned, and he snapped his attention to me. The glare he rounded on me was so filled with hatred that it stolemy breath. His dark eyes were hard like flint, and his lips were turned up in a sneer. His jaw ticked, and he clutched his phone so hard, his fingers turned white.
I held his stare, daring him to utter a single word to me.
But he was a fucking coward. There’d been nothing but silence from him and Kam since the news broke. I’d tried calling and messaging, but nothing. I bet that the bastard had blocked me.
He could glare at me all he liked. I wouldn’t back down on this.
Mironov looked my way, too, and his face darkened in anger, the already angular lines of his face sharpening as his glare turned lethal. The man was twice my size and even more ornery than Minns.
“Can we get this trash turned off?” Hewitt cut in, speaking in a no-nonsense tone. He may have framed his request as a question, but it was an order. Gauthier’s agreement was swift.
The television clicked off.
It was the only movement in the room.
Tense eyes watched us. I leaned back in the armchair and crossed my ankle over my knee. I stared at them until the song ended. But fuck that. I had better shit to do than stare at those fuckers.
I pulled one of my earbuds out and stood up. I needed the john, and there was no way I was walking into a room with only one entrance and exit without every one of my senses being on high alert.
As I neared the automatic doors at the exit, the noise outside made me pause. What the hell was going on out there? The team’s jet was the only one on the tarmac outside the charter lounge, but there were spotlights and a hell of a lot of people talking over one another directly outside the doors.
“It’s a media circus out there,” Gauthier explained as he stepped up next to me. Hewitt was with him.
“It can’t be easy,” Hewitt commiserated.
I appreciated the olive branch they were extending, but I did not want to talk about what went down, and I especially didn’t want their sympathy.
“Brought it on myself, didn’t I?” I snapped and strode to the men’s room without waiting for their reply.
“Did you?” Gauthier asked, following me in.
I caught his reflection in the mirror as I took a piss.
He shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“You aren’t like that, Hux,” Hewitt added confidently.
I stayed silent, refusing to answer. When I’d finished, I zipped up my suit pants and washed my hands before facing them head-on. “I appreciate you talking to the team pariah, but I’m not giving up any of the juicy gossip.”
“Do you really think we’re here for that, Hux?” Gauthier huffed and leaned against the privacy partition, crossing his arms and ankles like he was modelling the latest suit rather than standing in a bathroom, albeit an opulent one. “I’m worried about my teammate and friend. You’ve had everyone screaming at you for a full twenty-four hours, and in two seasons, I’ve never once heard you mention your family or other friends—”
“And?” I arched my brow this time, daring him to ask about them. My family, or the lack thereof, would never be open for discussion. Especially not now.
“And I wanted to let you know that I’m here for you. We’re here for you”—he gestured between himself and Hewitt—"if you ever needed to vent, or fuck, if you want to beat the shit out of something, we’re here for you for that too. We’ll hold the bag.”
