Bobby wiped his nose with his free hand. “I’ll come back.”
“Want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”
“No, no!” Bobby let out a shrill laugh. “It’s a surprise. I’ll find him later.”
Gage frowned. “Yeah, okay.”
Bobby scampered out the door, and Gage left to take a leak. When he returned, he thought he caught sight of Bobby leaving as the main door was snicking shut. He glanced around, his gaze snagging on Hunter’s backpack gaping open. Huh. He sidestepped over to it and glanced inside.
What the actual fuck?
Shock electrified Gage’s body, and his blood surged to a boil. Lying on top of the backpack’s contents was a capped, full syringe. He reached down to touch it and stopped himself.
“What are you doing?” Hunter stood in the doorway between the locker room and showers, his eyes traveling from the backpack to Gage’s face.
Gage clenched his fists while anger vibrated up his arms. “You son of a bitch! Now I know why you’ve been playing out of your mind, you fucker!”
Hunter was beside him in a heartbeat, staring down into his backpack. He let out a gasp. “That’s not mine,” he said hoarsely.
“Of course it’s yours! Bobby left it here for you.”
“Bobby?” Hunter’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Bobby was in my backpack? When?”
“Just now. As if you didn’t know he was leaving you PEDs. Fucking lowlife.”
Hunter’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “This isn’t what you think, Nelson.”
“No? A trainer leaves you a fucking syringe, and I’m supposed to believe you’re not doping? You make me sick!” It all made sense now. Hunter’s stellar play was one big lie built on juicing.
Gage’s mind traveled back to the confrontation on the airplane. “Grims knows, doesn’t he?” he gritted out.
Hunter’s eyes hardened. “Yeah, he knows.” He paused and pulled in a breath. “Because he’s the one doping. Bobby’s his source.”
The frustration and resentment that had been building detonated inside Gage, and he slammed Hunter against the open locker.
“Motherfucker!” Hunter shouted. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Oh. Did that hurt?” Sneering, Gage pushed off him, giving his shoulder an extra shove. “Take your HGH, or whatever the fuck that is, asshole. You’ll recover in no time.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” Quinn yelled behind them.
“Ask him,” Gage jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, snatched his bag, and stormed out of the room. He marched to Coach LeBrun’s office, but the door was closed. He dropped his bag, dragged his hands over his face, and began pacing the corridor.
One of the assistant coaches popped his head out of a different office. “Waiting for Coach LeBrun?”
“Yeah, I need to talk to him.”
“He’s in there with the GM. Might be a while.”
This both surprised and confused Gage. “He’s not meeting with Grimson?”
The assistant shook his head. “No, he left a while ago.”
Gage threw his back against the wall and expelled a huge breath. “Well, fuck.”
“Something I can help you with?” The assistant was frowning at him now.
Straightening, Gage opened his mouth to ask the guy for a sit-down when Hunter appeared in the hallway, eyebrows a dark slash above his eyes. “We need to talk, Nelson.”
The assistant looked between them before pointing at Gage. “You two going at it again? Look, you’re the assistant captain. Fix this.” He pivoted and retreated into his office.
Gage turned to face Hunter, his insides on simmer. For an absurd instant, the scene reminded him of two gunmen in a western showdown. “All right,” he growled and trailed Hunter to the parking lot.
“Let’s go someplace less conspicuous.” Hunter gave the arena a sidelong glance. “Follow me.”
They climbed into their respective cars and wound up in some dive bar Gage had never been to. Hunter ordered a beer; Gage passed.
“What’s with the cloak-and-dagger?” he grumbled.
“Did you say anything about what you saw to anyone?” was Hunter’s reply.
“Didn’t get the chance,” Gage scoffed.
“Look, I know you don’t like me, Nelson. I don’t much like you either. But this isn’t what it looks like.”
“You already said that. So tell me what it is.” Gage laid his hands on the table, only to pick them up when his fingers brushed something sticky.
Hunter ran a hand through his hair, and his expression shifted from a scowl to something unreadable. “I caught Grims,” he said on a long exhale. “On our last road trip. I saw him using. He begged me not to say anything.”
Now Gage wished he had ordered something to drink. Although he might just hurl it back up again for choking on Hunter’s bullshit.
“At first, I didn’t say anything,” Hunter continued. “He told me he’d only used the one time and wouldn’t do it again, and I wanted to believe him—so fucking bad.” He shook his head. “I found out he lied, so I rode him about it. What you saw on the plane? He was pissed because we’d just had it out.”
Gage held back a skeptical smirk.“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“And what? Shit all over the team?” Hunter hissed. He looked around and dropped his voice, leaning in a little closer. “We’re about to start the playoffs, for fuck’s sake. So I rat Grims out, and the team suffers along with him? I couldn’t do that to my teammates. Besides, plenty of guys dope.”
“No, they don’t!” Gage whisper-shouted.
“Believe what you want, Nelson. Look, I feel like our team’s on the verge of finding its groove again. It’s this close.” He pinched his finger and thumb together. “If this gets out, it’ll set us way back.”
Something barb-like stuck in Gage’s throat, and he tried to cough it out. Couldn’t. “If you’re not doping, why’s Bobby putting that shit in your bag?”
Hunter took his first sip of beer. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t make Grims stop, and I wasn’t going to turn him in. I figured out
