“For what?”
“For being patient with me. For understanding why this has to be secret. For not making me choose between you and my career.”
“You shouldn’t have to choose. That’s bullshit.”
“But I do have to choose. And the fact that you’re willing to make this work anyway...” He trails off. “It means a lot to me.”
I kiss him instead of responding, because I don’t know what to say to that.
Eventually, I leave. Park a block away, walk to his house in the dark, leave the same way. Like we’re teenagers sneaking around instead of two grown men trying to have a relationship.
But it’s worth it. Even with all the secrecy and hiding and risk.
It’s worth it.
Wednesday’s game against Chicago goes well. We win three to one, and I play pretty clean. One assist, zero penalties, exactly the kind of game that makes Noah’s job easier.
After a quick shower, I grab my bag and head for the parking garage.
That’s when I see him.
Alex Naylor, leaning against a concrete column near the exit, typing on his phone.
He looks up when he hears my footsteps. A smile spreads across his face.
“Hey, Masterson. Good game tonight.”
“Thanks.” I keep walking.
“Got a minute? I’m working on that profile piece and thought you might want to weigh in.”
“Not interested.”
“Come on. I just have a few questions. About the community service, the probation, how you’ve changed sincePuck Fest.”
I stop. “I already told you. I’m not interested.”
“Why not? Most players jump at the chance for positive press.”
“I’m not most players.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the player who assaulted a fan and somehow came out looking like a hero.” He tilts his head. “I’m curious about how that happened, you know, who helped you craft that narrative.”
“Nobody helped me. I did the work myself.”
“Interesting. Because from where I’m standing, Noah Enver played a pretty significant role in your rehabilitation.” He holds my stare. “You two close?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “He’s the PR director. That’s it.”
“Right. That’s it.” Alex folds his arms over his chest. “Just seems like a lot of one-on-one time for a standard probation situation.”
“Take it up with Bob Marshall. He’s the one who assigned Noah to manage it.”
“Maybe I will.” He pushes off the pillar. “Enjoy your night, Masterson.”
He walks away, and I stand there staring at his back.
Fuck. He’s fishing. Asking questions. Watching.
