Page 158 of Offside Devil

“He isn’t worth it,” she whispers, running her thumbs over my wrist. “Let’s go home. Please.”

“Better get going, lovebirds.” Carson waves at me, clearly having no idea how close he is to being in several distinct pieces on the pavement.

My vision is still red when I wrap my arm around Mira’s shoulders and walk with her back to the car.

“I saw him pull in after I was in the car. It’s like he was waiting for you.” Mira tightens her hold on my waist as if I might change my mind and sprint after Carson any second. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s desperate to be captain and willing to play dirty to get it,” I grit out.

Dirty enough to try to get my son taken away from me.

“You really think he’s the one who sent those pictures?”

I give her a sharp nod. “He did it or he knows who did. Either way, he’s behind it.”

Mira sighs. “What are you going to do?”

I pull out my phone and fire off a quick rallying-cry text. Then I pocket it and pin Mira against the passenger door. She gasps and then sighs as our lips meet, her tension softening into something hot and liquid.

Carson isn’t going to steal this from me.

Not my family, not my reputation, not my team.

I drop my forehead to Mira’s, holding her face in my hands. “Whatever it takes,” I breathe. “I’m going to do whatever it takes.”

63

MIRA

I glance up the stairs as I pass like I might be able to catch a snippet of what’s going on up there.

I was in the kitchen making a pot of coffee when Jace, Daniel, and Owen rolled in like three horsemen of the apocalypse looking for their fourth. Even Daniel, who can’t seem to pass by me without singing a line of some stupid song or ruffling my hair, didn’t do more than toss a stiff smile my way before heading upstairs.

I did school drop-off solo this morning and came back to find them still upstairs, with the door still shut. I’m about to bake my first-ever batch of cookies just so I have an excuse to knock on the door and feel out the vibe of the room.

Hey, boys! Can I interest anyone in cookies? Milk? Revenge plots?

Yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to wait in the hallway while Zane talked to his coach. Whatever is going on with the Angels and hockey and the race for captain is not my business.

Then I saw Carson Deluth’s smug, scheming, stupid face waiting outside the arena for Zane, and suddenly, it’s my business.

I’m contemplating a very casual slip down the stairs accompanied by some moaning that will be just loud enough for them to hear when there’s a knock on the door.

I jump at the distraction. I should thank whoever is on the other side of the door for saving my crazy ass from making a fool of myself.

Then I open the door and change my mind.

“Agent Morris,” I force out. “What a surprise.”

“That is the point of the random drop-ins.” His mustache twitches as he looks past me into the house. “May I come in?”

Screaming “no” like a petulant toddler and slamming the door in his face unfortunately isn’t an option, so I step aside and wave him in. “Zane is in a meeting, but I can make some coffee while you wait. It might be a while.”

He looks around the living room and makes a quick note of something on the pad of paper he whips out of his pocket.

I can only imagine what he’s writing. Toys scattered around living room; child’s joy is a tripping hazard.

He flips the notepad closed. “That’s okay. I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

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