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I see Stone, Bain, and Coen huddled and talking in front of their cubbies. They break apart when I approach.
I move to mine three down, sitting on the bench to unlace my skates.
“Anyway,” Coen says, continuing whatever conversation he had going on, loudly enough that I can hear it, “the Porsche dealership called and offered me a good deal on a new one. I politely informed them crashing one was good enough.”
Stone and Bain laugh, and I grit my teeth, yanking off one skate. Clearly, someone’s getting some laughs from the article that laid out the story of Coen wrecking my car.
“We’re thinking of doing New Year’s Eve at Jerry’s Bar,” Coen says, and I turn to look their way. He’s ignoring me, but it’s Stone he’s talking to. “You and Harlow want to join?”
“Yeah… that sounds fun,” Stone says.
“What in the actual fuck?” I snarl, pulling off my other skate and rising from the bench. “You think it’s cool to talk about that article like it’s no big deal?” I ask Coen.
Then I spin on Stone. “And you’re going to hang out at her bar?”
“Well, she’s Harlow’s friend,” Stone says.
“She’s a fucking traitor to this team,” I grit out.
“She’s not,” Stone says.
And he says it with such conviction, for a moment, I have to wonder if I’m in an alternate reality.
“She is,” I say in a low rumble.
“She’s not,” he replies. “And I know this for a fact, but unfortunately, I’m forbidden from telling you how I know.”
My brow furrows, and I squint at him. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Stone mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing the key.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why they’re all fucking with me, especially since they know I’m suffering. Are they trying to get their asses kicked?
“Whatever,” I mutter, giving him my back. I don’t want to know, anyway.
“I’m not prevented,” Coen says, and I slowly face him. “I know what Stone knows because he told me, and he wasn’t prohibited from telling me, just from telling you. I could pass on to you the knowledge. It’s like gossip, and I’m all about spreading it.”
My head hurts, and I rub at my temple. “I don’t understand a damn thing that’s happening.”
“Just say the magic words.” Coen’s eyes twinkle with mischief, and underneath, a burning need to release the secret he holds. “Ask for it, and I’ll give it to you, but you got to say please.”
“Please tell me what the fuck you’re talking about,” I grouse, taking two steps toward him.
Stone backs away, and Bain turns to his cubby to undress, but they’re both listening.
“Stevie didn’t talk to that reporter,” Coen says simply.
I sigh with frustration. “She did. She admitted it.”
“She met with him, but she didn’t give him anything. Her mom did.”
For a moment, that knowledge makes a difference. It means Stevie told me the truth… that it wasn’t her.
But I come crashing back down just as quickly. “It doesn’t matter.” I pivot to my cubby. “Stevie still met with him. She considered doing it. It’s a betrayal all the same.”
“She had no choice,” Coen says.
I whip back around, hands balled into fists. “She absolutely had a choice.”
“Okay, fine… she had a choice not to do it, but it wasn’t a good choice. She thought her mom was in danger, so she was just checking out possibilities. She was scared and grasping.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “She never said a word about that to me.”
“Did you give her a chance to?” Coen retorts, but he knows I haven’t. He knows I cut her out and closed up the wound.
I stand there, indecisive. These three knuckleheads clearly orchestrated all this to draw me in. Stone must’ve found out something from Harlow, who I’m assuming heard it straight from Stevie. He was forbidden—I’m assuming by Stevie—from telling me anything.
So he told Coen and now Coen stands with the key to the heart of the story. Whatever happened, it changed how they feel about Stevie, but they didn’t love her.
Not the way I did.
“Fine,” Coen says, throwing up his hands. “If you don’t want to know…”
He angles away, moving to his cubby. That’s for the best.
I start to turn, but he says, “Fuck it… you’re hearing it anyway.”
He walks up to me, toe to toe. “Here’s the quick version. Stevie’s mom told her that she was in trouble for stealing from some guys who were laundering money. Ten thousand dollars.”
“What?” I choke out. “Are you serious?”
Coen ignores the question. “Her mom put a lot of pressure on Stevie to get the money for her, and Stevie didn’t have it. She took out a loan on her credit card and put her car up for sale.”
The room almost spins on me as I try to comprehend this. Stevie never said a word about any of this, but then again, she’d never have asked me for help. I guarantee she didn’t ask her dad either. Not for her mom’s benefit.
