Page 75 of Mongrels United
Grady nodded. “Which is why we’re keeping this very, very close to the chest, Jack. Nash and I have been prodding.”
“Hyson? You mean, he’s really a good guy?” Jack rolled her eyes. “He hides that well.” Her tone was dry. Then she raised a brow. “You’ve been prodding…and this was them poking back?”
Grady nodded again. “I want highest security around this pair, Jack. And when they’re medically fit, I want to suction out of them everything they know.”
“Oh, so do I,” Jack said, her tone low and fervent. “There was a knife involved, Grady. They weren’t trying to warn Hyson off. They were playing for keeps.”
“I know.” Grady shuddered. “Anyway, someone has to take Nash home. I’ll leave you to clean up this end.”
“The Chief of Staff taking him back home?” Jack lifted her brow again. “That’s extending Bridge courtesy.”
Grady tamped down her guilty start, and kept her face straight. “The man’s father died of Bellish, Lieutenant. He has no family left, and lately, he’s alienated all his friends because of the work he’s doing for me. So yes, I’m taking him home.”
“Right. ‘course. Got it,” Jack said, straightening up from her lean.
* * * * *
Grady held the apartment door open for Nash, as he walked gingerly and slowly into the apartment.
As soon as he was in the door, he called out. “Clip! Arena feed! Show me the game!”
Grady smiled.
Nash saw her face and shrugged. “I figured you’d want to see it.”
“Oh, I do. Absolutely,” Grady assured him, smothering her laughter.
Clip rolled up to them, a half-meter wide screen radiating over his head, the game feed on it. “The score is currently three-two,” it said. “Panthers lead.”
“They’re two-three against the Panthers?” Nash said, startled.
“They’re losing again,” Grady said with a sigh.
“No, that’s amazing,” Nash told her. “The Panthers win the finals every year the Dreamhawks don’t. They’re the Dreamhawks’ major opposition.”
Then he winced.
“Come on, I’m putting you to bed,” Grady said. “Doctors’ orders. Clip, please set the game up on the big emitter in the bedroom.”
“Yes, Grady.” The bot rolled ahead of them.
Grady kept pace with Nash’s slow walk, and they moved into the bedroom. The game was already up and running on the wall opposite the bed. While Grady helped Nash strip and get into bed without stretching the gro-skin, or knocking it, she stole glances at the screen—especially when the crowd screamed in delight or terror.
Then she settled on the bed beside Nash, who watched the game as intently as she.
The Mongrels fought hard, scoring two more goals to tie the game at the end of the last period, which put the game into overtime.
“I don’t think I can stand to watch,” Grady muttered, wringing her hands. “My stomach is cramping.”
Nash glanced at her. “Then I shouldn’t tell you that if the Mongrels win this game, they’ll make the finals. If they lose, they’re out.”
“Thefinals?” Grady stared at him. “Damn it, no! Don’t tell me that! Oh, this is worse than I thought!”
Nash grinned.
Grady squeezed her hands together, alternatively holding her fists against her face, or pushing them against her tight belly, as the overtime period ticked down toward zero.
Three seconds before the end of the period, the Mongrels scored.
