Page 55 of Arresting the Hockey Player

“That’s right,” I say, exhaling a shaky breath. “I’m Charlotte Grace. I don’t know Zayn’s last name.”

“It’s Brass,” she answers, already knowing more about the little boy than I do, and I’ve spent more time with him. Not by a lot, of course. Just waiting for the officer to take my statement.

“Why don’t you walk me through what happened?” Officer Bradley asks.

I explain what happened, what Zayn said, and gesture at his black eye.

“Did you witness Noah Reece hit the little boy?” Officer Bradley asks.

“Well, no,” I say. “But he has a black eye.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she says.

“The little boy told me that his father did it,” I say, gesturing toward Zayn, who is seated on my lap. He wiggles his little bum and stares at Officer Bradley curiously while sucking on his orange-flavored sucker.

The officer smiles warmly at Zayn. “Can you tell me who gave you that?” She points at his face but doesn’t touch the fresh bruise.

He scrunches his face as her finger nears but relaxes when she doesn’t hurt him. “Daddy hit me.”

“Do you know your daddy’s name?” Officer Bradley asks.

“Daddy,” Zayn says, but it comes out a bit garbled from the lolli he’s gripping as though his life depends on it.

“Okay, this isn’t working,” Bradley says. She puts her notebook down and taps away at the computer screen at the desk in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know much else,” I say.

The officer keeps tapping away at her keyboard for another minute before sitting back.

“I managed to track down the address and phone number of his mother. I’m going to give her a call, let her pick up the child so that we won’t need to get social services involved.”

“Good,” I say, rubbing Zayn’s back. I’d hate for him to get put into the system, even for one night.

* * *

I remain seated at the officer’s desk when a couple enters the police station. From my seat, I get a nice long look at the woman, and Zayn does too.

“Mama!” Zayn squeals in delight.

“Oh, good, there he is,” she says, forcing a smile. As she approaches, the lighting is harsh under fluorescent and the concealer that the woman has dabbed on her cheek and beneath her eye shines through just enough to reveal that Zayn isn’t the only one with a shiner.

Behind her, a stocky fellow follows close on her heels. He’s got a hat on and sunglasses, like he’s trying to be inconspicuous. It’s dark outside, and he hasn’t taken the shades off indoors, either.

Even with his so-called disguise, I know his face. Grant Brass. He plays for the Island Bruisers.

“Mama!” Zayn climbs out of my lap and throws his arms in the air for the woman to pick him up.

“I just have a few questions,” Office Bradley says, staring at Jasmine and Grant.

“Daddy,” Zayn points at Grant and cuddles farther into Jasmine’s arms.

Grant glances at his watch and shifts from one foot to the other. “Are the questions really necessary?” he asks. “You found our son. I want to get him and my wife home. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’m sure that may be the case, but I have an investigation that needs to be handled, given the allegations of abuse.”

“Abuse at the hands of that psychopath hockey player, Noah Reece. You better keep his ass behind bars and throw away the key,” Grant says smugly.

“Sir, if you wouldn’t mind following me so that we could talk—” Officer Bradley says, trying to gain control of the situation.