I heard Katrina’s phone ringing as I snuck back toward the bedroom. I rushed through the door to warn her that it was Rhett, but she’d already answered and was holding a finger to her lips as I walked into the room.
His voice was calmer, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying to her. I sat down on the edge of the bed and listened carefully, trying to determine what his tone would be with her. She clicked the speaker button and let me hear him tell her to dig deeper into the story of my brother. “Maybe we can spin this so the bad light is taken away from Todd and placed on his brother where it belongs,” he said.
I shook my head vigorously, asking her to disapprove of his plan.
“It’s the only way I can see how to fix this major fuck up,” Rhett continued to say. “The media has Morris looking like a monster. If we show his loyalty to his strung out brother, maybe, just maybe the fans will understand.”
“Okay. I’ll check in with you when we land in Daytona,” she said and hung up the phone.
Was she planning to run the story? I’d already told her everything about Marcus, there was no need to dig any further. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
“I don’t want that story spun,” I insisted.
She sat up on the bed, propped with pillows behind her back. “Todd, if I don’t fix this, I could lose my job.”
“Fuck your job. This is my family, my brother. He’s had enough problems as it is. This could destroy him,” I argued.
“He’s already destroyed himself, why let him destroy you in the process?”
My fists clenched, my knuckles burning from the pain of open sores as I squeezed. No. There was no way. “I already let you invade my mother’s privacy, but I only agreed to that because of the good it would bring. This brings nothing good. It just fucks up someone’s life. Someone whose life is already pretty damn shitty.”
“It brings good,” she insisted, pleading at me with her eyes. “You don’t look like a monster. It shows the fans you had a reason for being in that part of town. Right now they can conclude that you were buying drugs, looking for trouble… anything.”
I stared at her, trying to understand her motivation. “You’re just worried about protecting your precious job. Or is it Rhett that you’re protecting?”
I couldn’t figure out what her angle was. Her face flushed. She cleared her throat like she was nervous but didn’t argue or defend herself. Her dad was loaded, she didn’t need this job. So it had to be Rhett, but why? If she was messing with Rhett, why was she here with me? Was all this part of their media game? Was I a PR stunt?
“I’m protecting you,” she said finally.
“Me?” I scoffed. “I don’t need you to protect me. In fact, I don’t need anything from you.”
The look on her face made my stomach roll and my heart ache. That wasn’t true. I did need her. Or at least I thought I did. The words my sister had whispered in my ear after dinner — keep your heart open, little brother — burned my brain as they ricocheted from my skull. Yeah, keep it open, look what that gets you… played!
I watched as she rolled from the bed. Her body was tense, obviously sore from the rough handling during her attack. I suddenly felt that remorse, that guilt flood through me again. This was entirely my fault.
“Fine. I’ll call a cab,” she snorted as she dug through her bag of clothes.
“I’ll just call the airport and get flights. There’s no reason to stay here,” I said, exiting the room.
I played the conversation over and over in my head as I fumbled on my phone for the airport's number. That look she gave me, what was it? Fear? It was obvious she was lying, or at the very least hiding something. If it wasn’t Rhett, then what?
I knew better than to open my heart. This was why I should never let anyone in. Damn contracts should have a “don’t fall for a woman” clause because that pain was worse than any motorcycle accident.
Holding my head gripped in one hand, I hit the call button to the airport. The woman on the other end of the phone was chipper, too chipper for the mood I was in. “Two tickets to Daytona. No stops. First available.”
“I have two tickets left for this afternoon's flight. First class okay?” she asked.
“Perfect.”
“The only problem is the seats are not together, but I’m sure—” she started to say.
“Even better,” I snarled, and then read her my credit card information.
"Todd Morris, from the Beasts?” she asked when I said my name.
“One in the same.”
“I certainly hope you’re okay. I watched that video of the fight last night. And that poor girl, is she okay?” Her words shook me.
“The girl?” I asked.
“Yes. The one in the video being assaulted by those men. She must’ve been so scared before you saved her,” she continued.
“She’s fine. Thanks for asking.” I finished the transaction and disconnected the call.
That same twinge of guilt rolled through my veins again. Katrina didn’t know that she had been videoed. I could only hope they didn’t expose too much of her on the Internet.
She exited the bedroom, stood in the living room with her bags in hand. “I got two tickets this afternoon. I’ll call the driver, we’ll grab lunch, and head to the airport,” I said, feeling a bit softer toward her than earlier.
“Just take me to the airport. I’ll get lunch there,” she said irritably, but I could sense the exhaustion beneath the sharp words.
Okay then. The feeling of remorse disappeared.
I avoided eye contact with her as I moved past her to the bedroom. I gathered my clothes, made the call to the driver, and then took a quick look at myself in the mirror. I was hoping I didn’t look as bad as I felt. No such luck.
“Let’s go,” I said to her as I walked for my front door.
Teresa was handling the move with our mother, Marcus would have to be someone else’s problem until I got back, and I needed to focus on the game, training, and winning. If I wasn’t going to use Marcus to explain why I was in that part of town, it would be a lot of hard work to win back the fans that had their own ideas about my intentions.
I searched through my phone for the video of the fight as we rode to the airport. I watched Katrina scrolling through her tablet, probably doing the same thing. The video was short, luckily only catching the tail end of the fight, but the one with Katrina, that was a bit longer, and caught much more than the tail end. I turned to her, her face was pale, her knuckles white as she tightly gripped her device. Tears slowly rolled down her cheeks as the driver pulled up to the airport drop-off.