Page 88 of A Game of Deception

I turned my back on him before he could say another word, stripping off my gloves and tossing them in the bin with a satisfying snap.

Next was Ben Carter. He was sitting on the edge of the table in exam room two, looking less like a patient and more like a kid waiting for the principal. Guilt was rolling off him in waves.

“Hamstring feels good, Doc,” he said quietly as I entered. “No tightness.”

I nodded, gently manipulating his leg through its range of motion. “Good. The ultrasound showed the tear has healed completely. I’m clearing you for regular practice, but continue the strengthening exercises for another week.”

“I will,” he promised. He watched me make notes in his file, his knee bouncing. “Dr. Swanson?”

“Yes?” I didn’t look up.

“What Xander did… it was wrong. He shouldn’t have hit him.” He hesitated, his voice dropping lower. “But Diego had it coming. You should know what he said.”

I stopped writing. The pen froze over the page. Slowly, I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “What did he say?”

Ben’s eyes dropped to the floor. “He was on him the whole scrimmage, whispering shit about the news stories. But then… he brought you into it.”

A cold dread coiled in my stomach.

“He told Xander…” Ben swallowed hard, clearly hating the words. “He said that now you were single, he was going to show you what a ‘real man’ feels like.”

The sterile air of the exam room seemed to vanish, sucked out by the vulgarity of the threat. It wasn’t just a taunt. It was a crude assertion of ownership.

The image in my head—of Xander’s fist connecting with Diego’s jaw—violently shifted. The lens changed. It wasn’t a random, uncontrolled outburst. It was a direct and calculated response.

A raw, primal, and utterly misguided defense of my honor.

“Thank you for telling me, Ben,” I said, my voice a hollow whisper.

He slid off the table and headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the frame. “For what it’s worth, Doc… I think Xander’s a good guy. He’s just… carrying a lot.”

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the sudden, deafening silence. The horror I’d felt watching the punch was gone, replaced by a nauseating wave of guilt. I hadn't seen an out-of-control athlete. I'd seen a man pushed too far, and I had judged him for it.

My mind a whirlwind, I walked out of the exam room on autopilot. I found Jess and told her I was leaving for the day, ignoring her concerned questions. I couldn't be a doctor right now. I couldn’t be anything. I just needed to think.

The drive to my apartment was a blur. I paced the living room, unable to settle and quiet the riot in my head.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table—the third call from my father in the last hour. I let it ring, watching it vibrate against the glass surface until it finally went silent. No doubt he’d heard about what happened. No doubt he was calling to say he’d been right all along.

Maybe he was.

The fact that Xander hit Diego Mano because he was protecting my honor, doesn’t change the rest.

The evidence was mounting, piece by damning piece. The tabloid photos of him stumbling drunk outside London clubs. The string of failed relationships with models and socialites. The team-member conflicts, the suspensions, the fights.

Brittany Ashworth. Pregnant with his child.

My phone vibrated again. I glanced at the screen. Xander.

My heart lurched traitorously in my chest. I picked up the phone, my thumb hovering over the answer button.

What would I even say to him?

All empty platitudes that changed nothing. The man I thought I knew—the man I’d convinced myself I loved—had never existed. He was a fantasy I’d constructed, first as a teenage obsession, then as an adult delusion.

I set the phone down without answering, watching it go dark as the call went to voicemail.

A memory surfaced—Xander’s half-brother, Cory, on speakerphone in Xander’s living room. His voice clear and confident:“The Valdez Case. That’s the key to getting Morrison to talk.”