by SJ Bishop
"If we don't find anything at the stadium," Emily said, "then it will clear Jax. Or at least help him."
"You're right," I told her. "Maybe when we don't turn anything up, Anderson will ease off Jax and start looking at other suspects." Emily nodded encouragingly as we made our way toward the door.
"You've got faith," she said. "That's good." I nodded my agreement. I just hoped that my faith in Jax wasn't blind.
17
Jax
"Suspended?" I asked.
I could feel my entire life crumbling around me. Losing football was almost like losing my dad all over again. Everything I'd done—all the work I'd put into getting sober and restoring my reputation as a quarterback—had been for him. To honor his memory and make him proud. Now I was fucking it up all over again; only this time, I was sober. This time, I wouldn't even be able to blackout the worst of it. I'd remember everything. Forever.
"I'm sorry," Coach Allen said. "I did all I could. It's out of my hands."
I took a deep breath. Coach had sent me back down to the locker room when I'd shown up on the practice field in my gear, but I'd thought he just wanted to talk to me. It hadn't occurred to me that I wouldn’t be welcome at practice. "For how long?" I asked.
"Pending the outcome of the investigation."
I started counting to ten like Caden had taught me. I reached five before deciding it was useless. Fuck it. I spun around and bashed my fist into my locker and kept bashing until Coach Allen pulled me away. My knuckles were bloody and already swelling.
"You idiot!" Coach yelled at me, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my hand. I yanked it away. "What the hell are you trying to do? Break your goddamn hand? What if they clear you tomorrow? How the hell are you gonna play football with five broken fingers?"
I kicked the locker across from mine, crunching the metal in where my foot hit it. Coach let out a heavy sigh. I removed the towel that was soaking up my blood and flexed my fingers. They hurt, but they were still working. "Nothing's broken," I told him. That only made me angrier. At least if they'd been broken, that would've been something I'd done to myself. Something I had controlled. Right now my life was so chaotic, I'd welcome control wherever and however I could get it.
I knew Caden would probably have told me that was unhealthy thinking. I was supposed to accept the things I couldn't change and only change the things I could; the problem was I still didn't know how to tell the difference. That particular part of AA's mantra continued to elude me.
Some of the guys started to filter in from practice now; the assistant coaches must have decided it was time for a break. They stopped when they saw I was still here.
"I thought he was leaving," Mason yelled. "We don't need murderers hanging around giving the team a bad name."
I glared at him.
"Mind your business, Mason," Coach yelled. "Jax will leave when I say he leaves."
I silently thanked Coach Allen for sticking up for me. I looked at him, and he jerked his head toward the exit. Christ, this was hard. I'd already changed back into my street clothes, so at least I could get out of here fast.
I opened my locker, double checking I had everything I needed since I wouldn't be coming back for a while, then slammed it shut and headed out of the locker room. Halfway to the exit, there was a commotion. A couple of the stadium's security guards burst into the room, looking agitated.
"I'm sorry, sir," one of them said when he saw Coach Allen. "We tried to stop them."
"What are you—" But Coach's words were cut off when Treena and her cronies came barging into the locker room. She looked around at the half-naked men, and I saw her cheeks color.
"Excuse the interruption," she said, sounding just like a cop. "We have a warrant—"
"Another warrant?" I asked, bewildered. I'd called Geoffrey on my way here and told him about the warrant. He said he'd been expecting that and not to worry, but that didn't mean I was happy about it. Especially since Treena seemed to be following me around everywhere I went now.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I'd held her in my arms. I'd been inside her, for crying out loud. Now she was searching my home and my locker and making me feel... well, like she thought I was guilty. Shit. I still hadn't talked to her alone. For all I knew, she did think I was guilty. Maybe that's why she wasn't saying anything about our night together to her boss, that fuckhead Detective Anderson.
"It's actually the same warrant," she said, her cheeks coloring even more. She'd make a terrible undercover agent. Her emotions were constantly writing themselves on her face. "It covers your workplace as well as your home."
"I see," I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. "Did you find anything at my house?"
"No," she said. Her eyes fell on my hand, still wrapped in the bloody towel. "Oh my God. What happened? Are you okay?" She took a step toward me. Concern pierced through the tough façade she'd been trying to put on. Emily nudged her, and she suddenly remembered that we weren't alone in the room.
"Nothing," I told her, making my voice as cold as possible.
Treena took a breath and put her tough girl façade back up. "We need to clear the room," she said. It was strange seeing Emily here with her. The two of them working together was tripping me out. It was as if the women of the world were conspiring against me.
Coach Allen looked around. "We're just about to break for lunch."
"This is gonna take longer than lunch," Treena told him.
"So what do you want me to do? Cancel practice?" His face was growing red and pinched.
"The more you cooperate, the easier and faster it will make this go," she said.
Coach screwed his face up, tightening his lips and narrowing his eyes to nothing but slits. "Fine," he said. "Practice is canceled." Groans immediately erupted from the team.
"Our first game is in three days!" Douglas said.
"This is all Jax's fault! I told you all he was bad news!" Mason yelled.
What disturbed me more than anything was that a lot of the guys on the team seemed to be agreeing with Mason. If Treena and her cop buddies weren't here, I was afraid they might try to lynch me.
"Alright, that's enough," Treena shouted, suddenly taking charge. She pulled her badge out and held it high in the air so everyone could see. "I am Detective Treena Walker of the NYPD, homicide, and we have a warrant to search these premises. You have five minutes to collect your things and get out, or you will be forcibly removed."
I had to admit, seeing the flash of her badge as it shined under the lights and the way the men all responded to her by hustling up and getting out of there kind of turned me on. Even when she was pissing me off, she was goddamn gorgeous. Why the hell does her hair have to shine like that?
"Which locker is yours?" she asked me.
"Fifty-five."
Two cops went and flanked my locker, making sure I didn't try to steal away with anything. This time I stayed instead of leaving. Caden had texted me that the assholes had broken a couple of things in my house during my absence, and I had no intention of letting that happen here too.
They finished with my locker pretty quick but spent two hours on the locker room and another two scouring the stadium. By the time they were done, it was dinner time. Coach Allen was still here. He hadn't budged from my side one inch, except to take a phone call he'd just gotten.
"We're all done here," Treena finally said. She was looking worn. Emily had left already, but Treena, being the supervisor in charge, had stayed until the bitter end.
"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically. The rest of the cops were finally out, and Treena took the opportunity to get close to me.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
I lifted an eyebrow. This morning, all I'd wanted to do was talk to her alone. To wrap my arms around her waist and have her tell me she believed in me. Now all I wanted to do was get away from her. I didn't want to see another cop tonight, let alone feel one in my arms.
"I've got nothing to say to
you," I told her.
Sadness mingled with irritation flashed across her face. She opened her mouth to say something more, but Coach came walking back into the locker room just then.
"That woman is gonna be the death of me," he said.
"Who?" I asked.
"My wife, who else?" he snapped. "Lousy bitch." He stopped and looked at us, shaking his head as if he'd just realized Treena was still standing there. "Sorry," he said. "It's been a long day. Are we done here?"
Treena nodded.
"Good," Coach said. "Then, if you don't mind…" he swept his arm toward the exit, a not-so-subtle hint to get out. "Jax, I need to talk to you about something before you go." He looked back at Treena pointedly, waiting for her to leave before saying anything more. She shot me one last look before taking her exit. It wasn't easy watching her go, but just then I was too mad to do anything about it. In fact, I thought that if I never saw Treena again it would be too soon.
18
Treena
I couldn't believe a week had passed, and I still hadn't talked to Jax. Not alone, anyway. Being in charge of his case gave me a lot of reasons to go by his place, but none of them had gotten me alone with him. I didn't dare text him or call him. I knew Anderson had officers watching him like a hawk, and there was no way I could chance them catching what was supposed to be a piece of private conversation.
"So, tell us what's going on with Jax," Clarissa said, taking a seat on the couch next to Lars.
"Yeah, it's all the damned sportscasters can talk about," my dad grumbled, sitting back in the recliner. "The Giants won our first game of the season. Lars here threw one of the best passes I've ever seen," he indicated my sister's husband, who also happened to be my father's star quarterback. "But did the reporters want to ask how we did it? Or maybe how we feel about the rest of the season?" He cracked open a beer and took a swig. "No," he said emphatically. "They wanted to ask us about Jax Ryder."
Lars was nodding his head in agreement. If I didn't know him better, I'd have thought he was mad at Jax like everyone else. But Lars was too levelheaded for that sort of thing. I guess that came with the territory when you were an ex-member of the mafia. You had to know how to keep your cool.
"Jax didn't do it, that's all I know for sure," I said.
"He was always a real nice boy," my father said. "One hell of a ball player, too." Of course my dad would remember Jax for his football skills, not for breaking my heart when he went off to college and left me alone. It was Clarissa who remembered the emotional stuff. It was the actress in her. I wondered if our mom was jealous of Clarissa. She had left our family eons ago to live it up with men half her age and get her big break in Hollywood. None of us had talked to her much after Clarissa had made her big Broadway debut. Mom always had been petty and spiteful.
"How do you know he's innocent?" Lars asked. Clarissa and my father both looked at me. I could feel my face flushing.
"Because," I said, squaring off my shoulders, "I know Jax."
"You know Jax from ten years ago," my father said.
"Seven," I corrected.
He and Clarissa rolled their eyes at me. "Fine, seven," he said. "But just because he was a nice boy then doesn't mean he's still a nice boy. You know he's been in rehab."
My muscles tightened. "I know. And he's clean," I said through tight lips.
"Seems like you're trying awfully hard to defend him," Clarissa said, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
My father caught the look and shot me a worried glance. "There's nothing going on between you two, is there?" he asked.
"No!" I said, practically jumping out of my seat. "God, Dad. Of course not. He's a murder suspect."
My father calmed down, but I knew Lars and Clarissa weren't entirely buying it. Whatever. I didn't have to tell them a thing.
"I read somewhere that they set a trial date," Lars said.
I sighed. "That's true. They held a preliminary hearing the other day and set his date for two months from now."
"Two months?" my father asked, his eyes bugging slightly. "That seems awfully soon, isn't it?"
"It is," I agreed. "The only witness in the case is an elderly woman in poor health. The defense used it to fast-track the trial and get it bumped up."
Clarissa frowned. "That doesn't seem fair."
"They're probably itching to fry him," Lars said. Clarissa smacked his chest with the back of her hand.
"New York hasn't executed anyone since 1963," I told him. "There's a moratorium on the death penalty right now."
Clarissa turned to him and stuck out her tongue. "See?" Somewhere upstairs their daughter, Ashley started to wail. Clarissa sighed. "It's my turn," she said, starting to rise.
Lars shot up next to her, gently pushing her back into her seat. "Stay. I'll go." She smiled at him, and he threw her a wink before heading upstairs. A moment later, Ashley's wailing stopped.
"One-year-olds are such a pain," Clarissa said. "But I love her to pieces."
"That's exactly how I felt about you girls," my dad said. "And still feel, by the way. The giant pain-in-the-ass part never stops."
Clarissa and I each picked up a pillow and threw it at him, the three of us laughing. I wondered if I'd ever get the chance to do this with Jax someday. Would he ever be a part of our family the way Lars was?
Whoa. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?
I shook my head, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Jax and I had spent one night together in the last seven years, that hardly made us a couple. Especially seeing as how one of us was going on trial for murder. Shit. What if Jax was found guilty? I'd waited seven years for him. Could I wait twenty more? What if it wasn't just twenty years... what if it was life? This was all moot anyway. Until I talked to him, I wouldn't know where we stood. For all I knew, he hated my guts right now. He sure seemed like he wanted nothing to do with me a few days ago when we'd searched his house and locker.
"When you talk to Jax," Clarissa was saying, "tell him we're all pulling for him."
"I will," I said. If he'll talk to me.
19
Jax
I looked out my kitchen window as darkness descended. The sky lit up with shades of purples and pinks which were rapidly being eaten up by dark blues and blacks. Nighttime was quickly becoming my favorite time of day. It was the time when the reporters all seemed to go home and I could get a little peace. The cops staking out my house finally seemed to ease up too. I hadn't seen their car out front since four this afternoon.
My doorbell rang, and I turned my head in its direction. Caden wasn't here; he was back in Boston. I'd watched his first game on TV a few days ago, cheering on the New England Patriots as they'd creamed the California Palms.
I went to my peephole and sighed. I should have known it would be Treena. Every time she'd been by to question me lately, I'd sensed that she'd wanted to talk to me alone. I was glad there'd always been someone with her. It was difficult for me to look at her, even with others in the room. If only she'd show up with a hair out of place or a blemish on her skin, it might have helped, but she was so damned beautiful. It killed me that I wanted her, even when she was acting like a selfish brat.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
I didn't see any reporters standing out on my lawn, but I didn't want to take any chances. I supposed there'd be nothing weird about the detective in charge of my investigation showing up at my house alone, but why take chances?
I let her in and shut the door.
"What do you want, Treena?" I asked. There was no point in beating around the bush.
"I've been wanting to talk to you alone since the night you were arrested," she said, biting her lower lip. God, she looked cute. I strode into the living room and stood behind an oversized chair, wanting to put some distance between us.
"What is there to talk about? Unless you're planning to tell them we were together that night? You know, my lawyer wants me to give you up."
Her face paled. "You to
ld your lawyer about me?"
My heart was palpitating wildly in my chest. What the hell was that scent she was wearing? It was like I was walking through a cherry orchard. "I didn't mention you by name," I said, trying to alleviate her obvious anxiety. "But I'm glad to know your biggest concern right now is yourself."
She shook her head and walked to the front of the chair. The oversized frame was the only thing separating us. "If I thought it would help you, I'd tell them in a second," she said. Her eyes were so clear and round it was like I could go swimming in them. Part of me wanted to hold my breath and jump in. "But my alibi won't help you if they place the time of death between two and four."
"Why not?"
"I was asleep. I don't even know what time you left my apartment that night."
Understanding crept in, even though the part of me that was angry at Treena didn't want it to. That part wanted to stay mad at her.
"I suppose I can see your point," I said reluctantly.
"And if I tell them now, I'll be off the case tomorrow. That means I won't be able to help you."
"How can you help me?" She seemed to be getting closer by the second. The blood in my veins began to pulse.
"I can make sure that Detective Anderson doesn't stop at you. He needs to see that there are other, viable suspects."
"I already gave them a list of names," I told her. It was getting harder to breathe.
"I know. And Anderson says he went through them all. That they're not real suspects, just figments of your imagination."
"What the fuck does that mean?" I asked, punching the air with my fist. Treena grabbed my hand and pulled it to her face. I could feel her breath on the palm of my hand, tickling me. It was more than I could take. I leaned over the chair and pulled her to me. Her knees buckled and sank onto the seat, her head tilted back as she leaned up into me and I leaned down into her. Our mouths pressed against each other, navigating old territory with new passion. I could taste honey on her lips and feel the pulse of her heart as it thumped inside her, faster even than my own.