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“You expect me to believe that?” he barks.

My patience snaps. I push against Rafferty but go nowhere, my voice rising. My own frustrations over this whole debacle with Farren send my emotions into overload and I take it out on my teammate. “Why are you so pissed, huh? What’s she to you? Why are you so desperate to keep her away? Why the fuck are you the way you are?”

Penn’s eyes narrow, and he slaps at Rafferty’s hand. “None of your fucking business. Stay out of it.”

“Like hell I will,” I fire back, pointing a finger at him, rage over this shit with Farren taking away every bit of reason. “You’ve been acting weird for months, and now some woman from your past shows up, and you lose your shit? That’s not normal, Penn.”

“North,” Rafferty warns, but I ignore him.

“Let’s lay it all out,” I press, my anger fueling me. “The fan that called you a traitor. McLendon going afteryou in that game. The teddy bear. And now this? McLendon played with you in juniors, didn’t he? Is this about that hazing incident where a teammate died?”

The words hang in the air like a bomb. The guys freeze, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. Penn’s face pales, and he looks like he’s been punched in the gut.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he whispers, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“You heard me.” I step closer and lower my voice. “Is this about that kid? Is that why McLendon hates you? Is that why you’re acting like a goddamn hermit?”

Penn doesn’t answer. Instead, he surges forward so fast, Rafferty can’t stop him. He shoves me hard and I go flailing, but Atlas catches me before I hit the ground.

“Mind your own fucking business, North!” Penn roars, his voice echoing across the tarmac lounge. “Or so help me God, I will kill you.”

Rafferty chokes from the shock of that threat, but I wave it off.

I square my shoulders, meeting his glare head-on. “You think I haven’t tried? You’re my teammate, Penn. We care about you, but you’re making it real hard to have your back when you keep shutting us out.”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and storms off towardthe line forming to board the plane.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

“What the hell was that about?” Foster asks, breaking the tension.

I look around at my friends, only Atlas understanding the background of what just happened. I quickly fill them in on the mysterious woman named Mila and what happened at Mario’s after the Demons game.

“Do you think it’s true?” King asks, his voice low. “About the hazing thing?”

I shake my head, not in denial, but in confusion. “I don’t know. But if it is, it explains a hell of a lot.”

We stand there, the weight of the situation settling over us. Finally, King claps me on the back. “Come on. Let’s get on the plane. We’ve got a game to win.”

I nod, but as I follow them to the gangway, my mind is still racing. Whatever Penn’s hiding, it’s bigger than I thought. And if we’re going to help him, we need to figure it out before it’s too late.

“You,” I hear from my left and cringe as I recognize Callum Derringer’s voice.

I turn to see the Titans GM standing there, expression dark with anger. Clearly, he witnessed that altercation, but he’s approaching me and not Penn.

He makes a crooking motion with his finger and I get a sympathetic look from my buds before I head his way.

“What the hell was that?” he asks in a low voice delivered through gritted teeth. It gives me the impression he wants to yell but is containing himself.

This doesn’t bode well for me as Callum Derringer is about as cool, calm and collected as they come.

“Just some frustrations being played out,” I reply vaguely, not about to give Penn up. While I hoped to spur something from him by scratching open his past, I don’t want to get him in trouble. “Just know I deserved his anger, but it’s all good now.”

“Doesn’t look all good,” Callum retorts, glancing back at the line where Penn is waiting. Shoulders hunched, head down, anger still vibrating off him. When Callum’s eyes return to mine, they’re glacial. “He is our star player and while every man on this team is important, we cannot afford to have his head fucked with.”

“With all due respect,” I say quietly, “his head is already fucked and everyone knows it. Maybe it’s time for management to do an intervention with him.”

Callum blinks at me in surprise, his expression softening. “Is he in trouble?”

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