Page 89 of Hard Hitter
“Well done,” she encouraged them as their muscles began to shake in Ardha Chandrasana, or half-moon pose. “Balance is the key to all strength. Notice how your breath moves through the body in this pose. And at the bottom of the next breath, bring it back into a forward fold.”
She guided them into pigeon pose next, a hip opener.While they held it, she moved around the room suggesting corrections to make the stretch feel more natural.
“I never saw a pigeon do this,” Castro muttered when she stopped beside him.
“Mmhhmm,” she said, easing the position of his back leg.
Then she knelt beside Patrick, touching the fold of his hip. “Take it easy here,” she whispered.
He turned his chin so she could see his sharp, blue eyes, and she almost wish he hadn’t. That piercing gaze was unhappy. And even worse, it regarded her as a stranger.
“Are you okay?” She meant his hip, but it came out sounding like a bigger question.
“Sure,” he grunted.
“Are you on my schedule later?” she whispered. She’d glanced down the list of names on her phone in the elevator and had been surprised when his wasn’t there.
“Not sure it matters,” he said cryptically. Then he dropped his chin toward the yoga mat and ignored her.
Yikes. She knelt there a beat longer out of confusion. Then got up again to resume the class.
By the time it was over, everyone was sweating fountains, yet they appeared no less tense or unhappy than beforehand. She didn’t have many classes with the team that felt like utter failures, but this was going to go down as one of them.
“Namaste, class,” she whispered at the end.
“Namaste,” came the muttered response.
She’d hoped to catch Patrick and give him his present. But he bolted from the room immediately.
Ariana ducked into the empty women’s locker room for a quick shower. She changed into clean clothes and then set up for her first massage appointments of the day. In the treatment room she set up her iPod and fetched a stack of clean sheets and towels.
As usual, before a massage, she pulled out her phone to shut it off. Right on the front screen she found a text from Vince.Your boyfriend is in trouble now, he’d written.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck. What the hell had Vince done? She unlocked her phone and looked at her texts. There was one more:You think this is bad, just tell him I have video. I can make it look like the whole team is involved.
There was a link to a newspaper article in thePost.
BROOKLYN BRUISERS CAPTAIN ADDICTED TO PILLS
Ari gasped. “What the fuck is this?” Scrolling down the story, her eye zoomed right in on the name of the club where Patrick O’Doul supposedly bought drugs. It was Vince’s club. “This isbullshit,” she hissed aloud.
But there was even a picture—sort of. It showed a man who might or might not be Patrick taking something from one of Vince’s minions. She tried to zoom in on the man, but the resolution of the picture quickly went to seed.
“Ari?” Becca stuck her head into the alcove. “Are you okay?”
“No! This...” She held up the phone. “It can’t be him. Where is Hugh Major?” She had to explain what was happening to the GM. Vince had drummed up a smear campaign to make Patrick look bad because ofher.
She didn’t even wait for Becca to answer. She ducked past the massage table and jogged through the players’ dressing room. Pushing open the door to the hallway, she spotted Hugh and Patrick in a tense conversation. “Guys, this is bullshit,” she said, holding up her phone. “He’s making this up to get back at me. You can put me in front of that reporter. She should know that the owner of that club is just pissed off at Patrick because of me.”
Neither man said anything. They both stared back at her with tight expressions.
“Am I not speaking English right now?” she asked, her voice sounding high and squeaky. “This is all my fault.”
As if he hadn’t even heard her, Hugh turned back to Patrick. “We’ll talk in a little while.” Then he walked away.
“What the fuck?” Ari hissed. “Let’s just fix this.”
“Ari, has he tried to contact you today?” Patrick asked, his voice low.
