“Okay.” Sam’s tone turned wary. “What do you want to talk about, then?”
He released a slow breath. “How about you tell me why you let Presley bribe you?”
Becker’s jaw hardened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
After a long beat, Becker scowled. “I already told you I wasn’t involved in that shit.”
“Someone else says otherwise.”
“Yeah, who?” Sam challenged.
Brody decided to take a gamble. He felt like a total ass, but still he said, “Presley.”
The lie stretched between them, and the myriad emotions Brody saw on his friend’s face was disconcerting as hell. Becker’s expression went from shocked to angry.
To guilty.
And finally, betrayed.
And it was all Brody needed to know.
With a stiff nod, he brushed past his former mentor. “Got it. I’m needed inside.”
“Brody, come on.” Becker trailed after him, his voice laced with misery. “Come on, it wasn’t like that.”
Brody spun around. “Then you didn’t sell out the team?”
Becker hesitated a little too long.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I did it for Mary, okay?” Sam burst out, looking so anguished that Brody almost felt sorry for him. “You don’t know what it’s like living with a woman like her. Money and power. That’s all she gives a shit about. She’s always telling me to be better, richer, more ambitious. And now that I’m retiring, she’s going nuts. She married me because of my career, because I was at the top of my game, a two-time Cup winner, a fucking champion.”
“And you could’ve retired knowing that you are a champion and a two-time Cup winner,” Brody shot back, anger coursing through him. “Now you’ll go out a criminal. How’s Mary going to like that?”
Becker said nothing. He looked beaten, weak. “I messed up, kid.”
“No fucking shit, Sam.”
Brody shook his head, unable to even look at his friend for fear he might clock him in the jaw. He gritted his teeth, pressing his fists to his sides, wondering how the hell they were even having this conversation. Sam Becker was the last person he would’ve expected to do something like this. The very last person.
“I’m sorry,” Becker whispered after several moments had passed. “I’m sorry about the games and the article and—”
Brody’s jaw tightened. “The article?”
His friend averted his eyes, as if realizing his slipup.
Brody stood there for a moment, studying Becker. The article...the one that had been blasted all over the internet last week? The one that featured a “source” who insinuated Brody had taken a bribe?
His blood began to boil, heating his veins and churning his stomach, until a red haze of fury swept over him.
“You lied to a reporter about me?” he growled.
Becker finally met his eyes, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? Why the fuck would you do that?” He clenched his fists, knowing the answer before Becker could open his mouth. “To take the blame off yourself. You were too close to being caught, weren’t you, Sam? You thought my relationship with Hayden would get the press going, put some pressure on me instead of you.”
Jesus Christ. He wanted to hit the other man so badly his fists actually tingled. And along with the rage came a jolt of devastation that torpedoed into his gut and brought a wave of nausea to his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Becker mumbled for what seemed like the millionth time, but Brody was done listening to his friend’s apologies. No, not his friend. Because a true friend would never have done what Sam Becker did.
Without another word, he brushed past Becker and stalked into the building.
Fuck. He still felt like slamming his fist into something. His best friend had betrayed him. Becker, the most talented player in the league, had cheated. And why? For money. Goddamn money.
Money. Power. Ambition. She married me because of my career.
Brody suddenly stopped mid-stride, as the truth of his own stupidity hit him. He’d thrown away the woman he loved because of his career. Because he was scared that being associated with her would affect his image, his contract negotiations.
Who gave a shit about a contract when he had Hayden?
He loved her. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, but he couldn’t deny what he felt for the woman. He’d fallen for her.
Maybe it happened when she first strolled up and proceeded to wipe the pool table with him. Or maybe it happened the first time they kissed. Or the first time they had sex. It could’ve been the night she put on a pair of skates and stumbled all over the ice, or the day she dragged him around the museum talking passionately about every painting on the walls.
He didn’t know when it happened, but it had. And instead of clinging to the woman whose intelligence amazed him, whose passion excited him, whose soft smiles made him feel more content than he’d ever felt in his life—instead of hanging on to her, he’d pushed her away.
