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I leaned in and shrugged, then gave a polite response. “We obviously didn’t do our best, but we put ourselves in that place as a team.” Other players would go further and remark on how we’d learn from our mistakes and make the appropriate corrections for the next game. I stuck with the first reaction.
“Do you think your relationship with Willow Harm had anything to do with how you played today?”
I froze, my insides snapping to attention.
What the hell?
I searched for who’d asked the question, but the reporters themselves were looking around. A bunch of phone alerts went off.
A buzz rose—shock, then hunger. I saw it on their faces, felt it in the air.
Anger rose in me, swift and fierce, but I was not going to lose my control.
I needed to repeat it three more times before I could focus on the next question.
A woman on the right side of the room asked, “Are you worried about Willow in light of the revelations that the Midwest Butcher is back?”
What. The. Fuck?
I sat back, scowling at the entire room.
The questions came in a flurry after that.
“Are you confirming you’re in a relationship with Willow Harm, the Midwest Butcher’s only survivor?”
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Did this start after the tripping incident?”
“Is Willow in danger?”
“Does this mean Willow helped put an innocent man in prison? Is the Midwest Butcher not Cameron Fowler? Has he actually been free?”
“Has he been murdering this whole time?”
“Why did he start up again?”
“Have you talked to law enforcement?”
“Are you worried for your safety?”
“How do you think this is going to affect the Kings?”
Kim shoved inside the door, her face pale. Her eyes were wide, panicked, but as she hurried to the platform, I shoved my chair back. We bypassed each other. Grabbing my helmet, I left and I could hear her speaking into the microphone before the door shut behind me, “No more questions will be answered. We’ll have a statement within the hour—”
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
“Brett!” someone hollered after me.
I sent whoever that was a death look. A few others had started to follow me, but they took one look at me and scurried backwards.
I stormed farther down the hallway.
My blood was pumping and it was vicious.
It was out. Billie and I were out. That wasn’t supposed to happen. We’d been discreet except for the first couple public outings, only once on purpose and the other two by accident.
