Page 52 of Hot Receiver

“What have you done to prepare the team for the start of the season?”

These were not the people I came down to talk to. These particular vultures are so interested in what I want out of the team and the season, but they’re all cut from the same cloth.They want answers, and they’ll do anything to get them… even twist the truth.

My pulse jumps into my throat, anger coursing through me.

Why should I give them a goddamn thing? I don’t owe them shit.

They’re playing nice now because they need something, but where were they over the past few weeks? None of them gave a crap about hearing my side of things. They just wanted to paint me as some kind of evil, gay villain who wanted to destroy the organization.

Fuck them.

I force my lips into a tight smile. “Thanks for coming. If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with my team.”

The flashes follow me. So do the footsteps.

How in the hell is my team not going to feel like I’m showing up in their locker room as a publicity stunt?

I pick up the pace. A low murmur of voices elevates into excitement behind me. I twist my head around to see what got them off my back, and my stomach free falls into my shoes when he looks back at me, a shit-eating grin on his smug ass face.

Brett fucking Travers.

He struts into the hallway wearing warm-up clothes, a wide smile on his face at the sight of the cameras.

More questions get hurled our way but only one stands out.

“This must be an exciting match-up for you both. Ohio State alums coming together for the first time in years, facing off for preseason,” one of the media dicks says in an animated voice. “Mr. Kacey, do you think the Crusaders have what it takes to beat them here at home?”

I hear more words but can’t drag my gaze away from Brett.He looks at me with laughing eyes, ones that shout, “I won, you fucking lost, and that’s the way it’s always gonna be.”

All the media assholes who’ve been tormenting me and my mom… they’re the same as Brett. Intolerant, ignorant, hateful, and not in any way giving a shit about who they target, who they hurt, who they ruin.

My spine tenses, lungs wrapped tight with angst. Sweat beads form along the back of my neck, and my temples throb, filling my head with white noise.

“That’s a good question, Kacey,” Brett murmurs through his scumbag smile. “But let’s be real. You sure as hell didn’t have it years ago when you ran away like a pussy. Why should anyone believe you have it now?”

Chapter 23

Matt

I’ve never seen Zak rattled before. Not after he was outed back at school. Not in front of the press. Not even when those protesting assholes were pounding on his ride outside Jase and Lucas’s fundraiser weeks ago.

He never cowers. He just gets angry.

Kind of like the Hulk, except he doesn’t bust out of his clothes or turn pea green.

But right now, he’s still as a damn statue, stiff, rooted like a deer staring into a pair of headlights. A deep red flush creeps up the sides of his neck.

My insides plunge into a deep freeze.

The same dickhead with the power to end me has his claws in Zak. I clench and unclench my fists, picking up speed as I get closer to the circle of press people facing them.

Something told me to take this route back to our locker room after my stretches, although I’m not about to gloat about my killer instinct right now. I stride past the press crowd, their camera flashes blinding me. I stop to clap a handon Zak’s shoulder, and it relaxes the tiniest bit, just enough for me to notice.

A wide smile stretches across my face. “Hey, so I’ve got a question for ya’ll. How many Raptors does it take to change a tire?”

Blank looks are all I get. I sneak a glance at Brett whose eyebrows are knitted together like he’s trying to work out the answer.

I stifle a chuckle. What a fucking dumbass.

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