Page 159 of Twisted Play

My eyes found Eva in the stands as we shook hands with the Hawks, attempting to be gracious. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself apart from the other staff members.

The Hawks’ center pulled me aside, gently tugging me out of the line. We circled each other on the ice then halted, facing one another. I knew Ricardo from previous games—a star player, rich parents, drafted early, same as me.

“That game was bullshit,” he said.

“You all play like machines,” I said grudgingly.

“No.” He met my eyes through the cage of his helmet. “I’m not gonna share this with anyone else because I’m not gonna fuck my team out of a win, but I got a text with all of your plays this morning.”

My mind didn’t register the words for a moment.

Ricardo mistook my silence for disbelief, not sheer inability to process what he was saying.

“They were photos from one of those tablets your coaching staff carries around, I think,” he continued.

My heart plunged to the floor. A spy. On our own fucking team.

But who? Who had access? Who would?—?

Eva. Eva, who worked with the medical staff. Eva, who was always around the coaches during practice. Eva, who had all the motive in the fucking world, with the bratva blackmailing her for information about the team.

“Your father’s the one who sent them,” Ricardo said. “Didn’t bother hiding his number or his photo.”

What?The arena spun around me. My father. Not the bratva. My fuckingfather.

“Billionaires are fucked up,” he said, shrugging. “My dad’s a dick to me too.”

Under ordinary circumstances, I might have scoffed, might have made a joke, but my heart was shattered on the ice as I put the pieces together.

It was my fucking father the entire fucking time.

“Why are you telling me and not the captain?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Massi’s a hothead who’d as soon report me for cheating as find the mole. You’ll take care of it without fucking me up.”

Sure would. I took off my glove and offered Ricardo my hand. “I will.”

His white teeth flashed as he shook it. “We’re going to win on Saturday too, but I’d rather it be a fair match.”

The locker room was silent,angry, as if it were about to erupt. And I was the only one who knew what the fuck had happened.

Coach didn’t say a fucking word. He didn’t have to. His eyes met mine, so dark brown they were obsidian in the dim light of the locker room. Then he sighed and ran his hands through his black hair. “I should make some sort of reassuring speech here,” he said. “Tell you it’s fine, that tomorrow’s game will be better. That is all true. Many of you played like the champions I know you are. Others,” he paused, his eyes stopping on me and Tristan before he sneered at us and continued, “need to get their heads in the fucking game. So fucking do that.”

Yeah, Coach was pissed, and he didn’t even know the half of it.

In silence, we showered and changed as my mind turned with the possibilities. The hot water couldn’t wash away the sick feeling crawling up my throat. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eva’s face, the way she’d looked at me this morning when she’d wished me luck, knowing she’d already sold me out.

The betrayal cut deeper than any body check I’d ever taken. She’d made me feel things—made me believe maybe someone could want me for more than my money or my name. And all the while, she’d been working for my father.

Dr. Parker slipped in later to speak with her patients and those of us who were injured, and then to my surprise, she stopped in front of me. I sat on the bench, my forearms resting on my sweats-clad thighs. My ribs ached where I’d taken hits, but that pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.

“Doc?” I asked, looking up and seeing concern in her face.

“What hurts?” she asked.

Everything. “Ribs,” I said shortly.

“Lift your shirt,” she commanded.