“Nope. I want to experience the splendor of your body during this evening stroll.”
“Screw strolling. I’m running.”
Before he could blink, she bounded down the steps and tore across the yard, her firm ass pale in the moonlight. Laughing, he took off after her, hoping to keep her naked just a little bit longer, but she was already slipping her sweater over her head when he reached the deck.
“Spoilsport,” he grumbled.
She put on her panties and slacks. “You still have to give me a tour of the upstairs,” she reminded him.
“Any room in particular you’d like to see?”
“Definitely one that features a bed. Or a removable showerhead.”
With a grin, he grabbed their wineglasses from the railing and followed her inside. “Do you want more wine?” he offered.
“No, thanks.”
She suddenly went quiet as he placed the glasses in the sink. When he turned to look at her, he saw her expression had grown somber.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She let out a breath. “I was thinking about my dad.”
Brody made a face. “We just had mind-blowing sex and you’re thinking about your dad?”
“It’s just...the wine.” She gestured to the bottle still sitting on the counter. “It made me think about what Sheila told me today. You know, about his drinking...” Her voice trailed, the distress in her eyes unmistakable.
“Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“Yes. No.” She exhaled again. “I don’t want to confront him right now, not when he’s smack in the middle of this scandal.”
“We’re all in the middle of it now. We were told today that the investigation has officially started. Which didn’t exactly help build any morale for tonight’s game.”
Disappointment sliced into him as he remembered tonight’s loss. He’d managed to push it out of his mind while he was fucking Hayden, but now the memory returned. The taste of loss souring his mouth again. The Warriors weren’t moving on to the next round. Their season was over. Done.
But... Fuck, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. As much as he wanted to hold that Stanley Cup in his hands again—it had been too many seasons since the Warriors had won that damn thing—maybe it was better that the season had ended.
“If we won the championship this year, everyone would wonder if we’d earned it,” he said, the realization bringing a sick feeling to his gut.
Hayden nodded slowly. “They might, yeah.”
“There are too many questions around this season, all the games we played, the ones that might have been rigged. Maybe it’s better not to be moving on in the postseason. Who the fuck knows what this investigation is going to turn up.” He bit his lip. “All the players are being interviewed next week. Mine is scheduled for Monday.”
“What kind of questions will you be asked?”
He shrugged. “They’ll probably ask us what we know about the allegations, try to coax confessions out of us, quiz us about whether we know if another player was involved.”
“Are they going to ask about my dad?”
“I assume so.”
Resting her hands on the counter, she went silent for a moment, her pretty features shadowed by worry. He could tell she was upset by all of this, especially with everything she was learning about her father, and though he had no intention of making her feel worse, he unwittingly did so with his next statement.
“It was pretty much confirmed to me today that your dad fixed those games.”
Her gaze rose to meet his, her mouth forming a startled O. “What? Are you serious?”
He nodded.
“You’re saying you know for sure that he did it?”
Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have spit it out the way he had. But the confrontation with Wyatt had been eating at him all night, and he’d been hoping to talk it through with Hayden before the league’s investigator interviewed him. He knew he had to tell the truth if asked, but he wanted her advice, wanted her to tell him how to handle the time bomb in his hands without looking like he was betraying his teammates or the team owner.
But he hadn’t realized confiding in Hayden meant confirming her doubts about her father. Up until now she’d only suspected Presley had fixed those games, but with that one sentence he’d turned those suspicions into reality, and the crestfallen look on her face tugged at his insides in the most powerful way.
He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how.
So he kept his distance, releasing a slow breath. “He did it. I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it.”
“Ninety-nine percent,” she repeated. “Then there’s still a chance Dad wasn’t involved.”
“It’s unlikely.”
“But there’s still a chance.”
“Look, I know you want to see the best in your father, but you’re going to need to accept that he’s probably guilty.”
Her eyes widened, the color in her cheeks fading fast. “Are you going to tell the investigator that? You’re going to say my dad is guilty?”
