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“He doesn’t like any questions about Butch at all. I think he feels like people are thinking he should have refused the starting position, but that’s ridiculous. If he did, he’d have lost millions of dollars and might not ever play again. He’s a kid. He’s got a bright future ahead of him. He just needs to learn to manage the media better.”

“Trevon, we wanted to speak with you about something that Carigan told our guys. They went out to visit her and Lara, and Carigan said her father told him that the team was trying to kill him. She said that he repeated it several times. What do you think that’s about?” asked Gaspar.

Trevon looked around, seeing some coaches and other staff cleaning up the sidelines. He didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation, so he waved the men onto the field, standing at the forty-yard line.

“Butch wanted to finish his career here in New Orleans. One last year. But he wanted to do it his way, through the injuries and no sidelines.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” said Ian.

“No. No, it doesn’t. The team had said that he was injured and needed to leave because they wanted Kurt to move up to the QB slot. If he left due to injury, he wouldn’t get his full payout. The payout he wanted to have for Carigan’s future. If he died, as he obviously did, there would be an autopsy, and he said that the team would find themselves libel.”

“Libel? For what? His injuries?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing so. If you asked the owner, she would say they wanted Butch to play as long as he was healthy. Butch said they encouraged him to play until this last concussion when they wanted him to retire. It’s a million different stories, and none of them feel like the truth.”

“What do you think the truth is?” asked Gaspar.

“The truth is a mix of lies, man. Butch said he wanted to play but was blaming everyone else for his injuries. Coach said he wanted Butch to go on injured reserve but that the owners wanted him to retire. If you ask the owners, their line is that Butch was their guy. I can’t even filter through all the bullshit anymore. To top it off, I heard Glenda, the owner, yelling at coach this morning because the autopsy wasn’t complete yet.”

“Why yell at him? He doesn’t control that,” said Ian.

“That’s what he said, but apparently, the league is putting pressure on her to produce the autopsy so they can lay this to rest. It all fucking sucks,” he said in frustration.

“Hey, man, we didn’t mean to upset you,” said Nine. “We know you’ve got a big game tomorrow. Just focus on that.” He nodded.

“I’ll try. Hey, how was Carigan and Lara?”

“Our guys said they were good. They both loved Butch,” said Gaspar. He nodded again, biting his lower lip. “Trevon? What aren’t you telling us?”

“Lara and I had been seeing one another,” he said quietly.

“Fuck,” muttered Ghost. “You didn’t think to tell us this?”

“Look, she lives in Scottsdale, so it’s not like I could see her that often. We got to be friends the last few years, trying to help Butch. Lara’s three years older than I am, but it didn’t matter. We totally clicked. We kept it quiet because we didn’t want Carigan upset by it all, and we didn’t want the press to find out.”

“Did Butch know?” asked Ian.

“We think he did, but he never said a word to me. He loved Lara, but he wasn’t in love with her. He wanted what was best for their daughter, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” frowned Nine.

He stared at the four men in front of him, then turned, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Looking up at the press box, he saw the face of the owner and turned back to the men.

“Honestly? No.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“This is the place,” frowned Mac, staring at the rundown home. “I thought this guy was a teammate of Cavet’s.”

“That’s what Lara said, but damn, this is sad looking. Come on,” said Gabe. They stepped up to the door, knocking softly at first, then a little harder.

“Can I help you?” asked the young woman.

“Lara O’Connell called about us speaking to you. I’m Gabe, and this is Mac,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, it’s been one of those mornings. Come in,” she said, opening the door. Behind her, a large man stood from his chair, reaching for a baseball bat. “Dad! Dad, no! Dad, they’re friends of Butch’s.”

Gabe and Mac readied themselves for potentially having to take the man down, but he was a big bastard.

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