“Doesn’t look like it worked.”
“No,” Hunter growled. “Instead, that little prick’s trying to set me up.”
“This doesn’t fly. Why would he do that? He’d be slitting his own throat.”
Hunter gave him a look that communicated his dislike for Gage. “Would he? How could I prove it was him? He’s not stupid enough to give Grims the shit at the arena, so there’s no way to catch him there. By putting that shit in my bag, Bobby was firing a warning shot.”
Gage wiped his palms over his thighs. “You’re saying that’s the first time Bobby’s slipped one into your bag?”
“First time.” Hunter nodded.
“What does he gain? Even if someone turned you in, they’d test you and find out you’re clean. Unless you are, in fact, doping.”
Hunter glared at him. “I have TOS, asshole.”
Gage’s confusion must’ve shown because Hunter went on after an exasperated sigh. “Blood clots. It’s under control now. I’m not about to put shit in my body that could jack with it.”
Gage’s head involuntarily snapped backward, his mind racing, processing.
“Only management and the medical staff know,” Hunter explained. “And now you. I don’t want my teammates thinking I can’t skate, so I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself.”
A few beats of silence passed.
“Why not get Bobby’s ass fired?” Gage said.
Hunter gave him a mirthless chuckle. “He and Travis have a bromance. He’s not going anywhere.”
“The owner’s son? That Travis?”
“Yep. Travis likes to party. Maybe Bobby hooks him up with different stuff and that’s why they’re tight. Whatever. Bobby’s shit doesn’t stink, according to Travis.”
Gage glanced around the dim bar, letting the truth sink in. Sunlight outlined a crack around an exit door. He returned his gaze to Hunter. “Why’re you telling me all this?”
Another mirthless laugh. “Believe it or not, Nelson, I trust you. You’re a Boy Scout. I haven’t told another soul about Grims.” A breath whooshed from him. “And fuck, it’s a relief to tell someone else.”
Gage sat in dazed, heartsick silence while a huge weight climbed onto his shoulders and pressed down. Hard.
Chapter 27
Wisdom Is an Elusive Pearl
Gage was reeling when he emerged from the depths of the bar. Dread swelled inside him as fragments of exchanges during the last few weeks sifted through his mind, clicking into place the more he dug through his memory banks. Grims doping explained so much. But, Jesus, he didn’t want to believe it. The thought made his chest compress like a ton of bricks was stacked on it.
Dave Grimson was his captain. His teammate. His friend. A guy he looked up to. Respected. Admired. Would follow into battle. He was also a cheater.
What the hell was Gage supposed to do?
If he turned Grimson in, the whole club would go down. He’d end up hurting countless others who’d had no part in it. Never mind the unspoken code that you never ratted out your teammates—especially your captain. But turning a blind eye was wrong too. And what about Grims himself? If Hunter’s story was true—and Gage was clinging by a frayed skate lace to the possibility it wasn’t—Dave Grimson was on a dangerous path. Turning a blind eye also meant helping Grims along that path to ruin.
They were about to leave on a big road trip. Should Gage take action now? After they got back? Not take action?
His moral compass was cast overboard, lost in the Bermuda Triangle.
His buzzing head hurt as he walked into his house. He sent Lily a text, grateful for a distraction. Ready for me to come get you and Daisy?
He’d been looking forward to tonight, though his conversation with Hunter had thrown a moldy blanket over his excitement. Time to get his head right. Daisy was staying at Ivy and Parker’s, and tomorrow would be one of those rare, precious mornings when he would wake up with Lily in his bed. His slice of sanctuary. And, God, did he need it! Not the sex—sex was the extra helping of whipped cream. What he needed was Lily singing to him, wrapping her arms around him, keeping him grounded while he fought to haul his compass from its mucky depths.
His knee bounced as he leaned against the counter. Then came her reply: Can you give me 60 or 90 mins? Derek’s here talking about a possible gig.
Gage felt as though he’d been slapped with a mackerel. Derek was there? Derek wasn’t supposed to be there. He didn’t even have Vi this week!
“Fucking Derek!” Hobbes trained a wary gold eye on him.
She can sing if she wants to.
Unbidden, the words replayed to the tune of “Safety Dance” in his head. “Yeah, she can sing. Even if dozens of guys are eye-fucking her,” he groused.
His mind ran through what she might wear onstage. She’d bowled him over in her red dress when he’d first laid eyes on her, but she’d since shown him some of her other stage outfits, so he knew racier stuff lived in her closet, though she claimed she’d retired those getups. She only kept them as a remembrance of her days in the band. With Jack.
Shit! This day was just getting better and better.
He pulled in a few cleansing breaths, determined to calm down the thoughts jostling in his head like kids waiting for a turn at the water slide on a hot summer day.
With time to cool his heels, he dialed Grandma—and struck gold.
“Oh my goodness, Gage! I’ve missed you so much! I want to see your face. Do you do FaceTime?”
Shocked she even knew the term, he let out a laugh. “I’ve missed you too, Grandma. More than you know. Yeah, I do FaceTime. Do you?”
“Oscar knows these things. He says he’ll set it up for me. You just hang on, son.”
Thanks to awesome Oscar, Gage was soon FaceTiming with his grandmother. His real grandmother. Not the shell, not the impostor, but her living, breathing essence. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed eager to hear it all, as if
