Page 51 of Rafferty

Then the words start to register.

“What about the allegations, Rafferty? Are you using performance-enhancing drugs?” one reporter yells, her question slicing through the murmurs like a knife.

My heart stops as I lock eyes with her. “What? No!” The denial springs from my lips, but it’s weak, shocked by the accusation.

I look around wildly, the throng of journalists hurling questions, sticking recorders near my face and cameras clicking.

“What the fuck?” North murmurs, moving in closer to me.

“Rafferty,” a male reporter says, stepping forward and thrusting a photograph in my face. “What do you say about the photos showing you buying PEDs?”

Someone else calls out. “And what about the lab reports showing positive results of drugs in your system?”

I can’t even respond. I try to focus in on the grainy photo but my head spins. I vaguely feel North’s hand on my shoulder. My mind races, trying to piece together this nightmare.

Suddenly, Callum Derringer, our general manager, pushes through my teammates gathered at my back and places himself in front of me, his mouth set in a grim line. “We have no idea what you’re talking about, but these accusations are false,” Callum declares, his confidence a solid shield thrown up in my defense. “The Titans stand firmly behind Rafferty. We’ll have a more detailed statement soon.”

I’m herded toward the bus the questions still coming, each one slamming into me like a weighted mallet. When I get on the bus, those sounds are drowned out by the team’s murmurs—a mix of confusion and concern—which somehow feels even more damning.

My legs feel like they’re about to give way so I slump into the first row of seats on the opposite side from where the reporters are gathered. My teammates file by me, mostly silent but every once in a while, someone gives me a supportive pat on my shoulder.

When we’re loaded, Callum is the last to appear and he stands next to my seat, looking down at me with worry. “I just defended you out there. Am I wrong?” His tone is severe, a direct challenge to my integrity.

“You’re not wrong,” I respond firmly. “I don’t dope.”

Callum’s frustration is palpable as he rubs his temples. “The reporters mentioned lab reports and they have photos of you buying drugs. It looks bad, Rafferty.”

“It’s fake, all of it,” I insist, anger rising hot and fast within me as my mind clears, an inherent response to defend myself. “I’ve never used performance-enhancing drugs. I’ll go get tested right now.”

He nods slowly, his expression genuine. “I believe you. But we’re going to have to suspend you until this is investigated.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, standing from my seat. The urge to hit Callum is overwhelming although deep down, I understand he’s only doing his job.

“It’s policy,” he replies firmly, a hard edge to his tone. “But we’ll jump on this fast. I’ll get our attorneys on it and I’ll arrange to have you taken to a medical facility as soon as we get to the hotel so you can get tested right away.”

“Fucking bullshit.” The protest dies in my throat, understanding the position he’s in. Yet, betrayal stings like a thousand bees.

Callum squeezes my shoulder. “It will be fine.”

And then he turns away, phone to his ear as he moves farther back into the bus, his voice a low rumble as he speaks with God knows who.

North and Atlas slide into the seats across from me, their expressions grim. “It’s got to be Tansy,” Atlas murmurs, voicing the suspicion that claws at my gut.

It was my first thought because there’s not a single person in this world who I could think would want to frame me. “I know. But there are photos… medical documentation.”

“It’s clearly been faked,” North says with conviction. “Tansy’s in marketing, for fuck’s sake. She can manipulate anything she wants. The truth will come out.”

“Yeah, but not before my reputation is ruined,” I snarl, my fists clenching and unclenching. Never in my life has anything so blatantly unfair happened to me.

The bus rolls toward the hotel, the various monuments and other notable tourist attractions blurring past as my mind races.

Accused.

Suspended.

My career, my reputation—everything I’ve worked for—threatened by a bitter, maybe batshit-crazy woman.

Once we arrive, I stay on the bus until the rest of the team disembarks. This time, they all stop to say words of reassurance and support. It’s meaningless to me at this point, the trauma of the false allegations still too fresh.

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