The day in Auckland

The morning light was a heavy, warm curtain draped across the room, pooling in gold bands on the rumpled bedsheets. I was the first to stir, tracing the quiet, even rhythm of Vic’s breath beside me. He shifted, his eyes fluttering open to give me that familiar, sleep-softened smile that instantly dissolved the morning's tension.

“Morning,” I whispered, sliding carefully out of the warmth.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble. “Sleep well?”

I paused, noticing my dress and his suit, neatly hung and  our shoes lined up. “Did you do this?” I asked.

He rolled onto his side, a faint grin tugging his lips. “Just didn’t want you starting the day with a tripping hazard.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Ridiculous.”

“Thoughtful,” he corrected, his voice warm and possessive. “You yourself are a tripping hazard and didn’t want you to take a risk.”

We moved through the routine in tandem, side-by-side at the twin vanities, our reflections meeting in the mirror with shared smiles. A light knock on the door let us know that breakfast was there. Vic went to the door and grabbed the tray of food. It was fruit, yogurt and hard boiled eggs. We ate at the small desk as there wasn’t a larger table in the room.

“I plan on checking out Auckland today,” he announced. “Want to join?”

 “Here’s some money,” I handed him a few crisp notes. “I'm going to dive into those psych evals for the players and coaches first but I definitely will later. I’ll text you when I’m done..”

He pocketed the money. “Thank you. My phone is useless here. How will we link up?”

“I have a backup burner phone just in case the phone from home stops working here and the original New Zealand phone isn’t charged. I’ll put in the phone number of the original New Zealand phone and my name in the burner phone so that way when I text or call from either phone, we can figure out our plans.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, pushing himself up. He looked at me, a different kind of spark in his eyes. “Since my exploration starts in an hour, what do you say to a quick shower? I think some fun times are definitely meant to be had in this hotel bathroom.”

“Sounds like a fun plan,” I agreed.

We headed to the bathroom. As we showered, I was able to wash and condition my hair this time. As I leaned over to grab the soap, Vic kissed and nipped at my neck as he grabbed my hips. I felt his hard dick harden even more.

I spread my legs, leaned against the shower wall and shifted my hips back, grabbing onto the handle against the shower wall for more support. Vic slid his hard dick into my waiting pussy. We both climaxed immediately and he shot his cum deep inside of me.

While his dick was still inside of me, he began to slowly thrust in and out of me, allowing me to catch my breath before carefully picking up the pace. He reached around to squeeze my tits and pinch my nipples. I moaned in pleasure, tilting my head back under the spray. "Just stay right there," he murmured, his pace becoming relentless. We both climaxed again, a slower, drawn-out climax, and he shot another load of cum deep inside of me.

We caught our breath, Vic’s heavy chest pressed against my back and his dick still providing a powerful, comforting weight inside me. "Can you handle another round?" he whispered, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

"Yes, Papa," I managed, the rush of water muffling my panting.

He began to thrust faster, driving into me with energy. He was still pinching my hard and now bruised nipples, the friction adding a delightful edge to the deep penetration. I moaned and screamed his name in pleasure. He reached his climax first, letting out a roar that was cut short as he drove his hips forward, shooting a massive load of cum in me. As his dick was pulsating and twitching in my pussy, I was gripped by my own hard climax, clutching the handle for dear life as my body dissolved in pleasure.

He leaned back, resting his weight on the shower wall beside me, his arm bracing him.

Then, with a final, deep groan, he pulled out of my pussy, and as he did, he shot another load a warm, thick splash deep of cum deep inside of me. "That was... perfect," he rasped, his eyes closed.

We finished our shower in quiet, our bodies tingling with a deep, satiated pleasure. As we dried off, he looked down at me, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Get on the bed. Lay down on your back and spread your legs for me."

I didn’t hesitate. I walked over to the mattress, lay on my back, and opened myself up. He joined me, kissing and caressing my body with slow reverence before sliding down. He began to use his tongue and teeth on my pussy. I don't know how many times the man made me climax on his tongue; it felt like a relentless wave of pleasure. He moaned, a guttural sound of triumph, the more I screamed his name. When he finally gave up eating my pussy, he pushed his hard dick into my sore pussy. He was rough and I kept climaxing hard on his dick. With a grunt, he placed my ankles onto his shoulders and tilted my hips up to the ceiling. He began to thrust with devastating power and kept pouring his cum deep inside of me. The last load of cum he shot in me was the largest he put in me; it took him several minutes to finish. He finally unhooked my legs and pulled out, unable to cum in me anymore as he was drained.

He collapsed next to me, chest heaving. "Remind me again why we ever leave this room?" he whispered, pulling me close.

"Because the All Blacks pay me to leave the room," I managed, kissing his sweat-damp shoulder. "And you have Auckland to explore."

Vic got up, got dressed, and put in his contacts, his movements slow and satisfied. As he was leaving, he grabbed his wallet and my burner phone off the nightstand. I tossed him a small bottle of spray sunscreen I always carry with me.

He caught it one-handed and laughed. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm brown, baby. I don't burn like you do."

"Don't whine and complain when you return looking like a lobster," I warned, but I was smiling and caught the bottle when he tossed it back to me.

"Try not to have too much fun," he said giving me a kiss.

"I’ll try to stay bored,” I said. “Have fun, Papa.”

Once he left, I immediately opened up the lock box on the desk, retrieving the psych evals. I read through the assessments for each player and the coaches, taking copious notes on my laptop. I composed an email to the owners.

To: NZR, Silver Lake and private owners

Subject: Psychological Evaluation Recommendations

Hey all,

Following my review of the player and coach psychological evaluations, I am making an immediate and firm recommendation. The majority of the team and coaching staff require mandatory, ongoing therapy two to three times per week in the privacy of their homes. This needs to be implemented immediately.

Additionally, due to the complexity of his situation and his proximity to me, I recommend that Scott receive therapy at the arena four times per week. This can be cut down to three times at his house once I find lodging elsewhere. He is in denial of his need for help; he is currently separated from his wife, Jane, as she is currently in rehab for alcoholism and sex addiction. He doesn’t believe that he is part of the reason why she’s in rehab but she does have a family history of alcoholism. Finding me in bed with Scott caused something to trigger the addiction. Had I known that he was married prior to starting my sexual relationship with him, I would  not have become involved with him. As per their prenup, she won’t get anything if he files for divorce and she would if she filed but she is accustomed to the lifestyle he has set her up to. He often blames others for things that are known to be his fault and can hardly take the responsibility.

The team's success depends on the mental health infrastructure we put in place now. Let me know the next steps.

Best regards,
Deppgrl Smith

The replies came back within a few minutes. All owners agreed to the therapy recommendations. Charlie's email was slightly different: "We agree to all your recommendations. The rest of the owners and I are concerned about the current living situation and want to help find you a separate place to stay while you're here. We can move you out of the house as soon as possible."

I replied to all of them: "Thank you all so much. I truly appreciate the support and the quick action on the therapy. Charlie, I would especially appreciate the assistance with finding a new place, given how things are between Scott and I right now. It’s making the current living arrangement untenable."

I put my laptop in my bag and placed the evaluation paperwork back in the lock box, locking it securely. I got dressed, put in my contacts, did my makeup, and grabbed a small over-the-shoulder bag. I filled it with my wallet, passports, sunglasses case, hand sanitizer, phones, and their chargers. There was just enough room left for the spray sunscreen, which I tossed in as well.

Stepping onto the balcony, I found a spot where I could spray on the sunscreen after shaking it. It was SPF 15 and not nearly strong enough for my skin in this intense sun, but it would do something to help prevent me from going from Casper the Friendly Ghost to a cooked lobster in a New York minute. I threw the bottle back into my bag, then texted Vic.

Me: Hey, you find anything cool yet? Where should I meet you?

Vic: Found the biggest needle in the world, ha. I’m heading to the Sky Tower now.

Me: Perfect. I'll be there in a few.

Vic: Got it. See you soon.

I used the ride share app and booked a lift to the Sky Tower. The driver and I didn't talk, which was fine; it gave me time to be productive. I quickly booked a reservation at the bar at the tower, booked the All Blacks Experience for both Vic and me so he could better understand what I was involved in, and booked the Sky Walk experience for us.

When I got there, Vic was just walking up, looking up at the massive structure. I got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride," I told the driver as I closed the door.

Vic and I greeted each other with a long, satisfying kiss. "Missed you," he mumbled against my mouth.

"You've been gone less than two and a half hours but I have missed you too," I replied. I led him past the line toward the check-in counter and gave my name.

"Welcome," the attendant. "Here are your tickets for the Sky Walk. And because we've flagged your name as one of the All Blacks coaches, we're happy to tell you that the All Blacks Experience is complimentary. You'll receive a full refund to your bank in a few days for that portion of your booking."

Vic raised an impressed eyebrow at me. "I knew you were a big deal, but free access?"

"Perks of the job," I shrugged, though I was secretly thrilled. "Come on, let's go learn about rugby."

We did the All Blacks Experience first, immersing ourselves in the roaring crowds and history of the team. The noise, the lights, and the simulated Haka were intense, giving Vic a real sense of the power and culture behind the sport I was dedicated to. We then took an elevator up to The Sugar Club bar, where we relaxed with cold drinks and some light fare, taking in the sweeping panoramic views of the harbor and city spreading out below us. Finally, we moved to the Sky Walk experience, a thrilling walk around the exterior ring of the tower, 192 meters up. It was an incredible rush of adrenaline, leaving us giddy and slightly breathless from the height and the exposure.

When we were finished with the Sky Walk experience, we spent a few hours walking around the city, taking in the sights and the bustling atmosphere, enjoying the feeling of being outside together. We passed colorful markets, modern architecture, and historic streets. The sun was absolutely blazing, forcing us to seek out any patch of shade we could find. We stopped a few times so I could reapply my spray sunscreen, meticulously covering every exposed patch of skin, shaking the small bottle vigorously before each application. After about two hours, Vic started to feel his skin prickle with heat and I could see a faint redness on his neck.

"Okay, I was wrong," he admitted, pulling the bottle from my bag. "I think I'm starting to crisp around the edges."

"Told you so," I teased, but I watched him mist the spray onto his arms, legs and face before quickly rubbing it in. In no time, I had to throw the empty bottle away as we had used the last drops of the spray. It was incredibly hot, and I was definitely not used to the relentless sun exposure that came with being outside the perpetually air-conditioned arena. The heat was physically draining. We stopped a few times to get bottled water as we were tired and rather dehydrated.

"We are super close to the hotel, like maybe an eight-minute walk," I groaned, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I don't think I can make eight more steps."

Vic chuckled. "Agreed. Dehydration station needed immediately."

I booked a ride share back to the hotel, and while waiting, I quickly texted the hotel manager.

Me: Hi, this is Deppgrl from the All Blacks. Could you please have a few gallons of bottled water and some rehydration powder packets put in our room right away? We're heading back now.

Manager: Absolutely. We'll take care of it immediately.

Me: If you guys need more time, we can wait in the lounge for a few minutes.

Manager: Not necessary but thank you.

The driver came a few minutes later, and we climbed into the cool, dark backseat. "I apologize for our appearance and the smell of sunscreen," I told the driver.

He smiled in the rearview mirror. "Oh, don't worry about it at all. It's not every day I get a coach from the All Blacks in my car. And the sun's strong here, everyone smells like sunscreen. Is that a coral reef safe kind?"

"It is," I confirmed, smiling back.

The drive took just three or four minutes—a negligible amount of time for how exhausted we were.

It took us no time to get to the hotel. When we were walking past reception, Cosmos, the hotel manager, stopped Vic and me to give us bottled water with the rehydration powder packets already mixed in.

"Coach, Vic," Cosmos said, a small smile on his face. "We thought you might need this immediately. To ease my conscience, please drink it now before you head up." He handed each of us a cool bottle.

"You're a lifesaver, Cosmos," Vic groaned, already unscrewing the cap.

"Thank you so much," I added.

We chugged the slightly salty, sweet water, feeling the relief instantly. Cosmos just nodded, satisfied, and said, "Thank you."

We headed up to the room. A mini fridge had been placed inside the room, holding several water bottles, and the rehydration packets were laying on top. Vic grabbed a packet and combined it with a new bottle of water for each of us. Since the water was cold, we took our time drinking. In between big sips, we stripped our clothes off. I looked at the pile of our sweat and sunscreen-soaked day clothes.

"I think it's best we have all this washed and dry cleaned by the hotel. This pile is getting ridiculous," I mentioned to Vic, gesturing to the clothes on the floor and the hung items. "That includes your suit and my dress from last night, too."

"Agreed. That's a necessity, not a luxury right now," he confirmed, taking a deep drink.

I quickly sent a message to Cosmos—the reception manager.

Me: Thanks again for the water and packets. We are currently drinking the water and using the hydration powder packets that you and your team graciously put in the room. Could Vic and I please have our clothes from yesterday, last night, and today's adventures washed/dry cleaned?

Cosmos: Happy to hear you’re rehydrating! I can certainly arrange that. I'll come up shortly to grab the laundry.

Me: Perfect. I'll put them in a large plastic bag. How much would this cost? I know this isn't a normal service.

Cosmos: On average, it’s about $300 NZD, but I'll bill Charlie directly for this.

Me: No, please. I will pay for it.

Cosmos: Okay, in that case, I'll adjust it for you. It'll be $150 NZD. I'll see you in a few minutes.

I quickly threw our clothing into a large plastic bag for Cosmos to grab. I threw on an old oversized shirt—one I had planned to launder once my new housing situation was sorted—and opened the door when Cosmos knocked.

"Here you go," I said, handing over the heavy plastic bag and the money. "And this is for the laundry and dry cleaning."

He took everything. "My pleasure, Coach. Anything for you," he said with a genuine smile. "Enjoy your rest."

Cosmos left, and Vic and I finished the water. Afterwards, we hopped into the shower together. I felt so gross from being covered head to toe in sunscreen and sweat that I washed my hair three times, conditioned twice, and scrubbed my body several times. Vic washed his hair twice, didn't bother conditioning his hair, and also scrubbed his body with soap for a few minutes. We finally turned off the water and toweled off.

We winced as we looked at our skin. Vic looked well-tanned, but his neck and shoulders were definitely a little pink. I, however, looked like neon pink lemonade.

"Ouch," Vic said, gently touching my arm. "You look like you feel."

"God, this is going to be painful," I sighed. "I'm going to pay for those few hours of walking in the sun for the next week."

After we both applied our individual antiperspirants/deodorants, I grabbed my large bottle of aloe-based lotion. I applied the cooling, thick lotion to Vic's lean and muscular, now-sore body, and he applied it to my chubby, sun-kissed body. The lotion felt amazing for both of us.

"If we had sex right now, the friction from the sheets would cause havoc," Vic giggled, testing the movement of his shoulder.

I laughed. "I agree. We'd end up peeling. Let's talk about it later before bed and go from there."

A few minutes later, the phone rang. It was Cosmos. "Coach, I just received an update from Charlie. A car will be sent in the next 90 minutes to take you and Vic to a very upscale Chinese restaurant. The attire is similar to what you wore last night."

"Thank you so much for the heads-up, Cosmos," I said.

"Are you two feeling okay? Or do you need me to call Bobby up?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"We feel fine, just exhausted and sunburnt, but thank you for asking," I replied. "We're just going to need more water, though."

"You won't have to worry about that, Coach. The water is already on its way up."

"Thank you again, Cosmos. You're the best." I hung up.

I quickly found two blank envelopes and put in $45 NZD in both. I then wrapped a towel around my sun-kissed body so I could open the door. His assistant, Lorraine, came up with more water—three one gallon jugs this time.

"Hi, Lorraine! Thank you so much for water," I said, taking the jugs. I held out both envelopes. "These are for you, and for the person who brought the water, the rehydration packets, and the mini fridge up earlier."

"Thank you, Coach, but that was actually Cosmos and I. We took care of everything," she replied with a friendly smile. “We love having you stay with us.”

"Oh, perfect! Then these are both for you two," I corrected. "I appreciate hearing that. I love staying here!"

Lorraine chuckled, covering her mouth lightly. "That is very kind of you, Coach. Have a wonderful dinner."

When she left, Vic and I shared one of the cool gallons of water and put the other two in the fridge to keep cold for later. We laid down for 45 minutes to rest before getting ready for dinner. Vic wore another suit—a loaner from Charlie—a sharp charcoal gray. I wore a dark emerald green dress. Like the maroon one, it was snug. Unlike the maroon dress, this one was low cut and my tits would fall out if I leaned any which way. The top half of the dress was a very similar cut to the shirt that I'd worn out exploring Auckland, so I didn't have to worry much about tan lines—or should I say "burn lines"—on my pasty skin. Thankfully, it was a side zip and didn’t help getting dressed.

Once I got my shoes on and put a few essential items in my clutch, I stepped out of the bathroom. Vic turned from the window, his eyes widening.

He let out a low, soft whistle of appreciation. "Wow. That color on you is... dangerous."

"You clean up pretty well yourself," I said, smoothing the fabric over my hip. "Ready to eat?"

He came over, wrapped his arms around me from behind, nipped my neck with his teeth, and told me how beautiful I looked. "I really don't want to share you tonight, you know that?"

I leaned back into his chest. "I don't want to share you either, but I am hungry and require sustenance before I become hangry."

Vic kissed the top of my head. "Duly noted. Your hunger takes precedence over my desire for you. It's almost time for the car to get us." Vic grabbed one of the spare key cards, gave it to me to put in my clutch, and headed downstairs.

When we got outside, the car was just pulling up, and the same driver from last night, Cathal, was our driver tonight. He quickly opened the door for me and helped me inside. Vic was on his own to get in from the other side. The driver gave me a subtle wink in the rearview mirror, and I smiled back.

Once Cathal was back in the driver's seat and headed to the restaurant, I leaned forward slightly. "Cathal, I hope Charlie booked a table at Huami. Their food is excellent, and their drinks are amazing."

Cathal chuckled. "You have great taste, Coach. How did you know Mr. Charlie was sending you guys there?"

"I didn't," I admitted, relaxing into the seat. "I was just thankful that Charlie had an idea of what food I was craving. I've been thinking about their dumplings all day."

As we were on the way there, Cathal realized we'd still be about 10 minutes early for our reservation, so Cathal drove us around the waterfront for a few more minutes prior to pulling up to the front of Huami. He parked, helped me get out of the car, and Vic slid out of the car on the same side, as the other side was alongside heavy Saturday night traffic. Vic adjusted his suit jacket, grabbed my hand, and we headed inside. I quickly turned to thank Cathal.

"Thank you, Cathal. We'll see you later," I said.

He nodded from his spot. "Enjoy your dinner, Coach." 

We entered the luxurious lobby of Huami, the air instantly cool and fragrant with fine wood and delicate spice. A host in a tailored jacket greeted us, already knowing my name, and led us through the main, dimly lit dining room to a quiet, semi-private corner booth flanked by decorative wooden screens.

We settled next to other, the ambient light catching the emerald sheen of my dress. Before we could even open a menu, the staff was already at our table.

“Welcome back, Coach,” one server said, placing a glass in front of me. “The Dragon’s Breath, and the Aged Whiskey Sour for you, sir.”

My cocktail was stunning: a vibrant, rose-hued drink in a coupe glass, garnished with a single, delicate dried lotus flower floating on the surface. Vic's was deep amber, served over a large, single spherical ice cube in a heavy tumbler. Another server followed, placing a small bamboo steamer basket and a black slate plate between us.

“And today’s appetizers to begin,” the second server announced.

The slate held three perfect Pan-fried Wagyu Beef Dumplings, the crimped edges lightly crisped, gleaming with a fine oil. The steamer held four translucent Crystal Shrimp Dumplings (Har Gow), the pink shrimp visible through the delicate, almost invisible skin.

"Xièxie nǐmen," I said smoothly, offering a small smile and a polite nod of thanks in Mandarin.

Vic blinked, picking up his chopsticks. He put them back down, staring at me. "Wait, you speak Mandarin? Fluently?"

I laughed, picking up a har gow. "Fluently is a strong word, Vic. It's a struggle, honestly. But enough to be polite and get what I need in a lot of places."

"No, I mean, you just casually switched languages," he pressed, an astonished grin spreading across his face. "Does speaking French and Mandarin make it hard for you to remember to speak in Spanish?"

I dipped my shrimp dumpling lightly into the soy-ginger sauce. "It can be tricky sometimes, but I manage. I speak quite a few languages. French, Mandarin, yes, and Italian, Romanian, Dutch, German, and Russian. A little bit of Swiss German, too."

If his jaw could literally hit the floor, it would have. He sat back, his eyes wide, then slowly picked up his whiskey sour. He took a long, thoughtful sip. "You are honestly the most fascinating woman I have ever met. I thought I had you mostly figured out, and then you drop the polyglot bomb. Seriously, what do you do for a living? And don't give me the 'stocks and portfolios for the rich' line again."

"But that's the truth," I said, a slight shrug moving the low neckline of my dress. "My company manages the wealth and portfolios of some of the richest families in the world. It’s a very complex, very high-stress job that requires constant international travel and discreet negotiation."

"Okay, fine," he conceded, waving a hand. "But I meant, why does a renowned, high-profile national sports team keep hiring you, the wealth manager?"

I leaned forward, lowering my voice conspiratorially, though we were well-screened. "I wish I could say that I was an international spy, but I'm not. The truth is slightly less dramatic, but just as specialized. Sometimes, coaches and owners around the world come to me to help them with their national sports teams when there's internal conflict—be it between players, coaches, or ownership. I'm a mental health advocate and a conflict resolution specialist for professional and semi-professional athletes. It's my job to help the players, the coaches, and the owners realign their goals and repair the damage before it sinks the entire program." I took a careful bite of the Wagyu dumpling—the savory rich beef flavor was incredible.

Vic watched me chew, utterly captivated. "I'm still not entirely convinced you're not a spy."

I chuckled, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "I'm 99% sure I'm not, Vic. If I were, I wouldn't be able to work this job, because I'm very well-known in the sports world. Too many people have seen me, and it would absolutely blow my cover."

We spent the next few minutes savoring the dumplings and sipping our cocktails.

"Are you enjoying your time here in New Zealand?" I asked, setting down my chopsticks.

"More than I can say," he replied honestly, swirling the ice in his glass. "It's exactly what I needed. Everything about it."

I hesitated, gathering my nerve. "What happens between you and your wife if you stayed for a few more days, then?"

Vic looked down into his glass, the easy smile gone. "I don't know, but most likely? It would end in divorce. I think it's been heading that way for a long time and being here has just... clarified things."

That was the answer I needed. I quietly grabbed my phone from my clutch so I could text Charlie.

Me: Hey. Quick favor. Could you extend the hotel stay for a few days for Vic and I? Also, could you reach out to his wife and let her know he caught a stomach virus on the flight over, and the doctor said he needs a few more days to rest before he heads home?

Charlie: Is he truly sick?

Me: No, but he wants to stay for a few more days.

Charlie: I appreciate your honesty. Consider it done. I'll reach out to his wife now and confirm the room extension.

I put my phone away and smiled at Vic. "Charlie is extending the hotel room for a few extra days. The cover story is a nasty stomach virus you caught on the flight over, and the doctor advised a few days of rest before flying back."

Vic's eyes lit up, the relief washing over his face. "You did that?" he leaned over and kissed my cheek softly, his hand lingering near my ear. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Just as he ended the kiss, our main courses and fresh cocktails arrived. For Vic, they presented a generous portion of Wok-fried Black Pepper Beef, served alongside glossy, perfectly steamed rice, its sauce rich and dark. The server placed a new drink in front of him: a tall, smoky highball called the Shanghai Spice, garnished with a star anise and a chili sliver. My entree was a beautiful Whole Steamed Grouper topped with fragrant ginger, scallions, and a light soy dressing, served on a long, elegant white platter. My new drink was a crisp, pale yellow Kumquat Sparkler, served in a flute with tiny bubbles rising steadily to the surface.

"This looks absolutely incredible," Vic murmured, his eyes scanning the feast.

"It does," I agreed, lifting my Kumquat Sparkler for a small toast. "To extended, unplanned vacations."

Vic clinked his Shanghai Spice against mine. "To that. And to my incredible, multifaceted, definitely-not-a-spy lover."

The atmosphere of soft lighting and shared smiles shattered when my phone, resting on the white linen next to my plate, vibrated with a call from Barb. The blood drained from my face. She would only call here if it was an emergency. I slid out of the booth, signaling to Vic that I needed a minute.

"I need to take this, I'm sorry," I murmured, heading for the quieter, pillared end of the dining room.

"Barb, what's going on?" I asked, keeping my voice low and tight.

Barb’s voice was frantic on the other end. "Scott's been arrested. We went over to get your stuff and medication before the apartment was ready, and he went completely off the rails. He started yelling about you, the team, and how you were ruining his life. He threatened to end Charlie if he didn't get out of his house."

My mind instantly went cold and professional. "Okay. Deep breaths, Barb. Charlie's fine, yes?"

"Yes, but he's shaken. We had to call the police. They took Scott in."

"Good. Don't worry about the belongings right now. Just tell Charlie to go home and relax. I'll take care of this." I paused, considering the situation. Scott was angry about his failing marriage, the mandated psych evaluations, and was now likely infuriated and jealous over seeing me with Vic. This was a dangerous, predictable escalation. "Barb, tell Charlie and the officers that I want Scott kept there overnight. Do not bail him out. I will handle it in the morning."

"Overnight? Are you sure? The bail is going to be high," she questioned.

"I'm certain," I stated firmly. "When I post bail, it will be my money, not the team's. I will require a contract. He will pay back 100% of the full bail plus 50% interest within 15 days. He's also suspended without pay until further notice—and that repayment deadline stands regardless of his salary status. Get Kay working on that contract immediately and send it to the hotel. It needs to be approved by an overnight judge."

"The amount of interest is..." Barb trailed off, stunned.

"It's a penalty for his behavior. He needs a consequence he feels in his wallet. Now, go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Will do. Be safe."

I hung up, placing my phone back in my clutch, my hand shaking slightly. I took three slow, deliberate breaths before walking back to the booth, my emerald dress flowing behind me. I slid back onto the cushioned seat, forcing a slight smile that didn't reach my eyes. I was fuming, but beneath the anger, there was a stark sense of relief. 

Vic immediately set down his chopsticks. "What happened? You look like you just called a drone strike."

"Scott happened," I sighed, picking up my Kumquat Sparkler and taking a large gulp. "Charlie and Barb went to his house to get the rest of my stuff, and Scott threatened violence on Charlie. He was arrested."

Vic’s eyebrows shot up. "He was arrested? Because they went to get your clothes?"

"He's been volatile lately, between the psych evals and his marriage problems. They went at the wrong time," I explained, running a hand through my hair. "I told Barb I would bail him out in the morning, but only after he signs a contract guaranteeing he pays me back 100% of the bail plus 50% interest. He'll also be suspended without pay."

Vic frowned, his expression grim. "That's a nasty situation, especially for the team." He looked directly into my eyes, his tone softening. "Are you okay, though? Are you safe?"

"Yes, I'm safe," I reassured him, nodding. "He’s off the streets for the night, and that's all that matters. Please, Vic, I do not want this to ruin the night we were having."

He gave a slow, knowing nod, resting his hand on the table, not reaching for mine. "Yeah. I get it."

The energy was gone. The conversation died, replaced by a tense silence punctuated only by the soft, distant chatter of other diners and the clinking of our cutlery. We finished our incredible meals in quiet contemplation.

Soon, the servers returned, clearing our plates and placing a final masterpiece before us: Deconstructed Mango and Pomelo Sago in small, chilled bowls. It was a sweet, creamy, pale-yellow pudding, dotted with bright orange pomelo segments and served alongside delicate, crisp sesame tuiles dusted with powdered sugar.

"This is almost too beautiful to eat," Vic commented, finally breaking the heavy silence. He picked up the slender spoon. "What is this, exactly?"

"It's Sago, a classic Chinese dessert," I explained, feeling a fragment of my old self return. "A creamy, slightly tangy pudding with mango and pomelo pulp. It's traditional, but this presentation is elevated." I took a careful bite. The cold, sweet flavor was a welcome shock after the rich beef and spicy alcohol. "It’s heaven."

Vic took a bite and sighed in relief. "It is perfect. A little bit of sweetness to cut through the… well, the drama."

"Exactly," I agreed. "A necessary distraction."

We managed a few more polite exchanges about the dessert's texture and flavor before finally scraping the bottoms of our bowls clean. We were completely stuffed, and every muscle in my body felt the weight of the day, both the sun and the mental strain.

The main server approached the booth, offering a final bow. "Coach, sir. Your bill has been taken care of by Mr. Charlie. It was a pleasure having you tonight."

I stood, gathering my clutch and putting the strap across my body. I walked over to the host stand, catching the attention of the head chef who was talking to the owner near the kitchen entrance.

"Xièxie nǐmen gěi wǒmen dàilái de měiwèi wǎncān hé wánměi de yèwǎn," I said to all three of them—thanking them for the delicious dinner and perfect night.

They all bowed deeply. "Bú kèqi, Coach."

Vic joined me, and we walked out into the crisp Auckland night. The air was cool, but the streets were still busy with Saturday nightlife. I didn't want to think about contracts, bail, or Scott's unpredictable rage. I didn't want to feel the weight of responsibility. I wanted noise and oblivion.

I pulled out my phone as we walked.

Me: Hey, Charlie paid for dinner. We don’t need you yet. Meet us in a few hours. I'll text you the address then.

Cathal: Got it, Coach. Be safe.

Me: Always, boss.

I grabbed Vic's hand and started pulling him down the street toward the louder, more electric sounds. "No more thinking," I told him. "We're going dancing."

"A club? Are you sure?" Vic asked, slightly out of breath trying to keep up with my pace.

"Positive. It's two blocks down."

The club was everything I wanted: loud, throbbing with bass, and had a line snaking out the door. As we walked toward the front entrance, I adjusted the strap of my small clutch, pulling it securely across my body. A few people near the velvet rope stopped talking and stared. Then, a few others.

"And that, my dear Vic," I murmured, leaning close to his ear as I adjusted the strap, "is why I'm not a spy."

He laughed, a genuine, startled sound that was swallowed by the bass. "Point taken."

We reached the front. Two enormous bouncers stood guard. I met the first one's eyes, and he held my gaze for a moment, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between us. He looked at Vic, then back at me. I gave a quick, affirmative nod. The bouncers parted the rope, and I reached into my clutch, pulling out two crisp $100 NZD bills and pressing one into each of their massive hands.

The second we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The DJ cut the pulsating EDM, and the massive, crowded dance floor instantly went silent. Every head in the room turned toward me. Then, a heartbeat later, the entire club erupted in cheers and whoops.

I quickly spotted the DJ, a massive, muscular man with a gentle face—Cheech, an old, close friend of my brother Bob. He was already nodding and gesturing for me to come to the booth—alone.

"Give me just one minute," I shouted to Vic over the noise, squeezing his arm.

As I approached the booth, Cheech dropped the needle on the track, and the music roared back to life, the beat instantly making the air thick with energy. He caught my eye, and using a series of quick hand gestures—a secret language he, Bob and I had devised years ago—I asked him if he had any THC oils.

He gave a slight, quick nod. Then, using our signs, he asked if my 'friend' wanted any as well. I shook my head, making a tight circle with my thumb and forefinger. No. He had a flight, and he didn't need the hassle of a random drug test. Cheech nodded in understanding. He held up his five fingers and nodded his head three times, the signal: Wait five minutes, then head to the bathroom on the far left. I raised a single eyebrow in the agreed-upon signal for pure and safe. He nodded once, definitively. We exchanged a quick, hard fist-bump.

I went back to Vic, who was already at the bar waiting for me. The sound was too loud for anything but shouted platitudes. We sat down on two stools. I kept my eyes scanning the crowd, watching for Cheech's signals. I saw his girlfriend, Bunny, a small, blonde woman in a stunning red dress, slip out of the door of the women's bathroom. Cheech immediately caught my eye and nodded in my direction.

I leaned toward Vic, placing my hand on his back to get his attention. I pointed quickly to the bartender with the vibrant purple hair. Then, I measured about eighteen centimeters between my two hands, holding the space for a second, and then handed him my NZ passport. He looked at the bartender, looked at the passport, looked at the measured space, and nodded, confirming the visual cue.

"Be right back," I mouthed.

I slipped off the stool and headed straight for the bathroom. Inside, the noise was dampened but still intense. I quickly scanned the room, finding the chunky, industrial-looking air freshener bolted to the wall. I gave it a hard tug, and the poorly secured plastic housing came apart in my hand. Inside, nestled on a small ledge, were three small plastic vials. I grabbed them, quickly stuffing them between my tits, the cold plastic a small shock against my skin. I snapped the air freshener back together and quickly walked out, giving Cheech a nod as I passed his booth.

I returned to Vic, who was still leaning against the bar, nursing his beer. I took a loud, fake sneeze, covering my face with my free hand. As I did, I quickly slid the topmost vial from my bra. The lid was loose and popped off easily with my fingernail. Vic handed me my passport back and then turned back to the bar to order a round of shots for us. I took the opportunity, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing to a figure across the room, far off in the darkness.

"Isn't that guy from the arena?" I shouted, pointing to a nondescript figure.

Vic craned his neck, trying to see through the pulsating lights. "I don't think so, babe, the angle's all wrong..."

In that split second, the club's lights plunged into darkness for a quick transition. I seized the moment, knowing my beer was the one in the 18cm glass that I'd identified with the bartender. I inverted the vial and poured the few drops of golden THC oil into my beer, then quickly popped the lid back on the vial and returned it to my bra. The lights flashed back on.

The purple-haired bartender and I made eye contact over the bar, both of us giving a quick, almost imperceptible nod before turning away.

Vic turned back. "Nope, not him. You good?"

"Perfect," I smiled, clinking my glass against his.

We both took long sips of our beer. As the oil began to take effect, the sharp edges of the night—the fear, the contracts, the sunburnt skin—began to dull. A wash of warm, heavy relaxation spread through my limbs, pulling me into the rhythm of the music. We set our glasses down, and I winked at the purple-haired bartender, who instantly snatched them up and tossed them into a bin behind the bar.

I grabbed Vic's hand, pulling him through the crowd toward the center of the dance floor. He was a man of slow dances and classic rock, not the relentless beat of EDM. He looked bewildered for a few seconds, but then, he just let go. He started to move, swaying, grinning, and letting the heavy bass shake the tension from his body. We danced for a long time, sweat mixing with the lingering traces of aloe and sunscreen.

My internal clock, honed by years of international work, kept ticking. At 3:30 AM, I knew we were running out of time. I grabbed Vic’s hand hard, weaving us through the crowd until we hit the sanctuary of the men's bathroom—the quietest place in the entire club.

"Wallet, ID, burner phone," I asked, my voice hushed, breathless from the dancing. "Do you have everything you came in with?"

Vic checked his pockets, his eyes wide. "Got it all. Why? What's happening?"

I quickly checked my clutch. NZ passport, check. Wallet, check. Two phones, check. "Listen to me, there is a back entrance we are taking. You have to follow me without asking any questions."

He started to open his mouth, a protest forming.

"I can't help you or get us out of here safely if you have questions. Ask me later."

He snapped his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing, but he nodded.

I turned to the wall and gave an old, unused paper towel dispenser a hard jerk. The front panel, which Cheech had obviously rigged, popped open. Inside, neatly folded, was a of new, cheap, wool women's slippers. I quickly slipped my feet out of my heels and into the slippers, the soft soles a blessing on my tired feet. I strapped my expensive emerald heels to the outside of my clutch bag.

The back door opened, and Cheech stood there, breathing heavily, his girlfriend Bunny beside him. "My break's started, guys. Time to go."

I grabbed Vic's hand, and we followed them through the door into a narrow, dimly lit alley.

"I mirrored your phone, Coach," Cheech said, his voice urgent. "Texted Cathal an address three minutes away—a five-minute walk. You have to be there in three minutes."

Vic and I quickly embraced Cheech, then Bunny. "Cheech, Bunny. I love you both. Call Kay if anything happens; she knows what to do. I love you both."

"Two minutes!" Bunny warned, her voice strained. "Go, now!"

I nodded, grabbing Vic's hand, and we bolted. We ran like mad, slippers slapping on the concrete, cutting through side streets and back alleys as adrenaline surged through my system. We reached the corner and saw Cathal’s car rolling slowly. He was about to leave, but he spotted us, slammed on the brakes, and quickly backed up.

We dove into the backseat. "Go! Now!" I gasped.

Cathal didn't hesitate; the car roared away from the curb. As we sped through the empty early morning streets, he reached back and tossed something over the seat.

"Catch!"

It was a rescue asthma inhaler. My breathing was already ragged from the run and the cumulative stress of the night. I caught it, immediately lifted it to my mouth, and took a slow, deep breath, feeling the relief instantly.

"Thank you," I wheezed, passing it back.

"Charlie and Bob figured it was best if you and Vic went to another hotel for the rest of his trip," Cathal said, his eyes focused on the road. "Your active stalker is loose. This place is secure, all your stuff is there, and the staff is expecting you both."

"The underground knew he was coming to the club, didn't they?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes,” he confirmed grimly. "We’re here."

He pulled up to a discreet, heavily secured hotel entrance, one I didn't recognize. He got out, came to my side, and pulled me into a quick, strong hug.

"I left a special present for you in the safe in your room, Coach," he whispered against my ear.

I pulled back, my mind racing. "A license?"

"Yes. Both of them. It's done. Now go."

"Thank you, Cathal." I grabbed Vic’s hand, and we hurried to the entrance. “Cathal? I owe you my life.”

He nodded and then he was gone.

We were immediately escorted to a luxury suite on a high floor. A discreet agent in a hotel uniform was already waiting. He professionally swept the entire room with a handheld device, giving me a thumbs up when he was done. All my luggage and Vic’s suit bags were neatly placed on a luggage rack. The agent stopped at the door.

"The room is clean. Half of the staff here are agents, Coach," he stated matter-of-factly. "We'll be here until the stalker is secured." He gave a curt nod and left.

I breathed a sigh of exhausted relief and immediately began to strip, desperate to get out of the clothes. I pulled off the emerald dress, and as it pooled on the floor, three small glass vials of THC oil—two of them still full—clattered onto the carpet.

"Shit," I muttered, staring at the bottles. The team had a mandatory staff-wide drug test on Tuesday. The THC content in these oils was high. I was going to be busted. "Double-shit."

Vic looked at the vials, then at me. I could only manage a tired smile.

"Stip and meet me in the shower," I told him. "Hot and long.”

He nodded, stripping off his suit and started the water. I quickly scooped up the three vials and opened one of the desk drawers. It immediately dropped a few inches, catching on its slide—a common trick for hiding things in hotel rooms. I tucked the vials deep into the crevice, closed the drawer, and rushed to join Vic in the shower.

I stood under the scalding hot water, letting it try to wash away the fear and the THC already in my system. As I began to lather my hair, I knew I couldn't keep lying anymore.

"Vic," I started, my voice strained. "What I told you at the restaurant—about my job—it was only the surface."

He turned off the shower spray so he could hear me, the only sound the running water. "I figured. Start talking."

"I am a wealth management executive and a mental health advocate for professional sports teams, yes," I confirmed. "But I also dabble in working for the intelligence sectors of the countries I stay in. Cathal, Cheech, Bunny—they’re contacts. So are many of the people we've come across. The teams bring me in to find the loners, the coaches or players who are too solitary, who refuse to integrate with the team. For the most part, they’re just introverts or have social anxiety. But in my entire career, only three people have proven not to be who they claimed to be. One of them is my stalker."

Vic stared at me, his face a mix of awe and betrayal. "You're telling me you're essentially a corporate spy who moonlights as a human lie detector for professional sports?"

"In a sense, yes," I admitted, turning the water back on to rinse the shampoo.

I lathered the conditioner in my hair, continuing the confession over the rush of the water. "The stalker—his name is Patrick—somehow walked right out of the psychiatric facility where he was housed. No one saw a thing, even though the staff had worked there for years and knew him by sight and name. He's that good. That’s why Cathal rushed to get us here. Patrick was the reason I was going to stay with Scott in the first place."

Vic's face was a mask of disbelief. "So the whole reason you're here, the whole conflict with Scott, was a cover? And you've been leading me around Auckland, exposing me to this man, while you're operating like... a field agent?" He began to fire questions, his voice echoing in the small space. "Why does he stalk you? How long has this been going on? What does he want?"

"I can't answer all of that right now, Vic, I need to think," I said, running my hands through my hair to rinse the conditioner. “What I can tell you is that I am here to help the current players, coaches and owners of the All Blacks. After finding out about Patrick the last time I was here spooked the owners, rightfully so. The conflict with Scott is real as he still feels guilty for not protecting me last time. It took so long to catch the asshole and put him in a facility.”

"Why?" he demanded, his voice thick with hurt and exhaustion. "Why did you lie to me?"

I reached out and put my hands on his wet chest, looking directly into his eyes. "Because it was necessary to protect you! The less you knew, the safer you and I both were. Patrick heard I was at the club Cheech was DJing at, which is why we had to bolt like that. He was there minutes after we got there. . I didn’t know he was loose until after we got to the club. The person that I thought I saw at the arena, I did see at the arena earlier all week….that was Patrick,” I paused, letting that sink in. "I should find out in a few hours if he's been caught."

Vic took a step back, folding his arms. "And the safe? Cathal said he left a 'special present' for you. What did you mean by a license?"

"As a private citizen, I can’t carry weapons here," I explained. "Cathal had to apply for an emergency license for me to carry a taser—they’re illegal for citizens in New Zealand—and a handgun for protection."

Vic went completely still, his jaw slack. He said nothing, simply staring at me for a long moment before turning off the water, pulling his towel off the rack, and stepping out of the shower.

I followed him out a moment later. We toweled off in silence. I didn't put on any clothes, letting the towel fall to the floor. I walked over to the desk, grabbed the three phones, and plugged them all into chargers. Then, I opened the safe. I retrieved the two laminated licenses, the small, flat taser, and the sleek handgun. I slid the licenses into my wallet, placing the gun and taser on the nightstand next to where I planned to sleep.

It was 4:00 AM. I had to be at the jail no later than 7:00 AM.

On the desk, Barb had placed the legal contract that Kay and a lawyer friend from New Zealand created. It was laying on a blank envelope. I quickly signed and dated it, placing the contract into my tote bag. When I walked over to the bed, Vic wasn't there. He was curled up on the couch, already fast asleep, his back to me.

I sighed, collapsing onto the huge bed. The stress was too much, even with the THC. I slept for a total of 35 minutes before my internal alarm clock woke me up.

I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and got dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a comfortable long-sleeve tee, swapping my slippers for flip-flops. I scribbled a quick note to Vic: "Scott situation. Be back soon. Use burner phone if needed. See you soon." I took my two main phones, leaving the burner phone by the couch, and put the taser and gun into my purse. I put on my glasses.

I walked the four blocks to the jail, the early morning air crisp and cool. I stopped at a coffee shop, ordered a large black coffee, and then headed into the public restroom. I retrieved one of the vials I’d stashed, shaking just a little bit of the THC oil into Scott's coffee before stirring it and tossing the empty vial into the bin.

At the jail, I approached the reception desk and handed over both of my passports. "I need to post bail for Scott Robertson, please. I've been in contact with the overnight judge. Can an officer to bring me back to his cell, please?"

A few minutes later, an officer escorted me back. Scott was sitting on a hard cot, looking utterly defeated and miserable. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. I slid the cup of coffee through the bars.

"Deppgrl, thank you," he croaked, taking the coffee in both hands. "I knew you wouldn't leave me here."

"I didn't leave you here, Scott. You put yourself here," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. "Now, before I post your very expensive bond, you need to review and sign this contract." I held up the envelope. "It was pre-signed by the judge and myself this morning."

I slid the contract through the bars. "The terms are simple: you must pay me back 100% of the full bail plus 50% interest within the next 15 days. You are suspended without pay until further notice. You will still attend all coaches' meetings, follow through with mandatory drug tests, and therapy. Since you are suspended, your therapy sessions will now be daily, lasting anywhere from three to eight hours a day."

Scott scanned the pages, his eyes wide at the repayment terms. "What happens if I don't sign this ridiculous thing?"

"You have two options," I said, leaning closer to the bars. "You can stay here, wait for a trial, and hope you get a sympathetic judge, or you can stay here, wait for a trial, get fired from the All Blacks, and be permanently banned from all professional and semi-professional rugby arenas. Your choice."

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep, shaky breath, the THC oil already starting to take the edge off his nerves. "I need a pen."

I handed him a pen through the bars, and he quickly scrawled his signature.

"Thank you, Scott," I said, retrieving the signed contract. "Someone will be back within thirty minutes to process your release."

I walked away and headed to the adjoining courthouse via a set of subterranean tunnels. I went to the cashier's office and paid the $42,000 NZD bail. I asked for a receipt and all necessary documentation for reimbursement. They also handed me Scott's full arrest file as well as the receipt. I thanked the clerk and walked out of the courthouse, leaving Scott to be picked up by Charlie.

When I stepped outside onto the street, I called for a taxi to take me to the arena to meet with the team's lawyers—a calculated risk I was willing to take to get this documentation in their hands immediately. The first two taxis that pulled up had drivers who seemed shifty, and I waved them off. The third one that stopped was a driver who had driven me a few years back, but he looked different. I decided to take the risk.

"The rugby arena, please," I instructed, climbing in.

He nodded, and we were off. I kept my head down, staring at my phone. Within minutes, we arrived. I grabbed my tote bag, making sure I had everything, and thanked the driver.

As the taxi drove away, I quickly took a screenshot of the license plate and sent it to Cathal.

Me: I’m at the arena and the driver I just had? My stalker. Poor disguise. Here’s a photo of the license plate.

Cathal: Got it. I'll take care of it. Stay put.

I went through the arena's heavy security, showing my ID. I headed straight to the boardroom to meet with the team lawyers.

"Gentlemen, thank you for meeting so early," I said, placing the contract and Scott's arrest file on the large table. "Scott's out, and the contract is signed. Here is the documentation." I then showed them my phone. "I was just driven here by my stalker, in a disguise as a taxi driver I've used before. This is the license plate. He is actively moving in the city."

The lawyers, two sharp-suited men, quickly thanked me and assured me they would start the paperwork immediately.

Feeling the need for movement, I decided to walk the four miles back to the new hotel. I walked in the wide open, not caring that my stalker was loose and had just been in a confined space with me. I was past caring.

When I entered the hotel lobby, I was immediately surrounded by four agents who silently escorted me up to the room. Inside, the first agent I'd met was waiting.

"Coach, you need to stay put," he said, his voice grave. "Vic left hours ago. He hasn't come back and didn't take the burner phone with him."

I felt a surge of cold terror. I stripped off my street clothes—the jeans, tank top and flip-flops—and quickly changed into a pair of tight black leggings, t-shirt and running sneakers. I pulled on my utility belt, which had a holster for the gun, a taser, a secure pouch for my IDs and licenses, and a pocket for my rescue inhaler and a pouch for my phones.

"I'm going to help you find him," I told the agents, strapping the gun into its holster.

"Absolutely not. It's too dangerous," the agent argued.

"He knows me, and I know him," I countered, looking him dead in the eye. "You don't. I care too much about Vic to leave his safety entirely in your hands. I'm coming."

They argued for another minute, but my resolve won. They caved. While the agents started laying out maps, I searched the room. Everything was neat, except for a crumpled piece of paper on the nightstand Vic had used. I smoothed it out. In Vic's handwriting: "STEX".

Sky Tower Experience.

I bolted out of the room and out of the hotel, running the five miles toward the Sky Tower. I ran until I couldn't breathe, slowing to a walk only in the last hundred yards so I could catch my breath. I approached the pre-paid sales window.

"Hi. I was here yesterday," I gasped. "I'm looking for my friend. Is he here?"

The same woman from yesterday was working the window. "Oh, Coach! Yes, he's up there. Waiting for you."

"Thank you." I didn't wait, rushing to the elevator.

The ride up was agonizingly slow. I pulled the gun from its holster from the utility belt, kept it firmly in my dominant hand, but left the safety on. I stepped out, moving silently through the observation deck until I saw him. His broad back was facing me, silhouetted against the morning sky.

"Vic. Are you alone?" I asked, my voice low and steady.

He didn't jump. He just nodded. "I am."

I put the gun back in the utility belt and walked up to him. He turned around, and what I saw stopped my heart. He had an ugly black eye—already swelling and deep purple—and his nose was clearly broken, crooked, and bloody.

Before I could speak, he came over to me, cupped my cheek, and gently kissed me. "Hi," he murmured against my lips.

"What happened?" I whispered, tracing the damage with my thumb.

"An agent at the hotel—disguised as hotel staff—showed me Patrick's picture this morning, right before I went for a walk," he explained, wincing. "I saw him, recognized him from the photo, and he saw me. He started attacking me because he saw us together yesterday. I did my best to defend myself. I hit him back, hard and knocked him out. I’m afraid I killed him."

"What time was this?"

"Around nine this morning," he replied, touching his nose gingerly.

"He’s alive," I assured him, the relief making me weak. "I saw him around nine-thirty. He was my taxi driver to the arena. We are getting out of here. I'm taking you to Bobby’s house to get that nose and eye taken care of until we know Patrick is secured."

I grabbed his hand, and we took the back service elevator down and out through a discreet rear entrance. We walked the two blocks to Bobby's home.

Bobby, the team doctor, mostly asleep when I knocked on his door. He was shocked but immediately went to work after inviting us in. As he was examining Vic’s face, my phone rang. It was Charlie.

"Charlie, what's wrong?"

"The news is going crazy, sweetie. Conflicting reports everywhere on the news about Patrick. Is Vic okay? Are you okay?"

"We are fine, for the most part," I reported quickly. "Vic has a broken nose and a black eye, but no other serious injuries. Bobby is taking him care of him here at his house. Once Patrick is secured, I'll move Vic to the hospital for official care. Give me a few hours."

"Be safe," Charlie said, and we hung up.

The second the call ended, Cathal called. "Coach, it's done. Patrick was caught a few minutes ago. He's being placed in a high-security prison an hour away until he can be seen by several experienced mental health providers."

"Thank you, Cathal. Thank you."

I hung up, walking back into the living room where Bobby was applying a cold compress to Vic's face. "It's safe now. Patrick's secured. We can go to the hospital."

They both nodded, and we took Bobby’s sedan the two and a half blocks to the hospital. Vic was immediately taken for imaging to check for any facial fractures. Thankfully, there were no broken facial bones, just broken cartilage in his nose. Vic was brought back to the private exam room, and Bobby carefully inserted an internal nose splints to help the cartilage heal in a way no one know that Vic’s nose was busted.

When Bobby took off his exam gloves, he turned to me. "Your turn, Coach. Let's get imaging on your nose."

I went in, and the X-ray confirmed I was healing nicely. Back in the room, Bobby took out my internal nose splints through my nostrils. The removal was a weird, intense pressure, but the immediate ability to breathe freely through my nose again was a relief I hadn't realized I was missing.

As the three of us prepared to leave for Bobby's car, Cathal called me again. "Coach, I know you've had a rough morning, but I'm getting reports from the arena. There's an emergency team meeting. I need you to bring Vic and Bobby with you, immediately."

"Is Scott there?"

"He is. He doesn't look great."

I hung up and looked at Bobby. "Emergency meeting at the arena. Scott's there. Can you drive us?"

Bobby, already nodding, grabbed his keys. "Let's go."

We were at the arena in minutes. I flashed my ID to security, and they waved me through. They recognized Bobby and let him slide, and one look at Vic’s battered face was enough for them to bypass his sign-in entirely. We headed up to the boardroom.

Scott was there, and he looked high as fuck, and absolutely furious. Charlie, Barb, and the other owners stood at the head of the long table while the players, Bobby, Vic and I squeezed in. Charlie didn't even wait for us to sit.

"Everyone, we need to address a few serious issues," Charlie began. He explained everything: Patrick the former teammate now turned stalker, Scott's arrest, the signed contract with me, and, most damningly, Scott's positive drug test for THC—it was twice the acceptable limit. The room was silent, stunned.

Scott finally spoke, his voice strained but surprisingly measured. "I understand the severity of the situation. I will take this time for private therapy until my suspension is over and my next drug test is negative. I will uphold the contract with Deppgrl."

Charlie looked directly at me, and I gave him a quick, tired nod of acceptance. He turned back to the room, his voice taking on a heavy, final tone.

"Finally," Charlie said, his voice quiet. "I have just received word that Patrick...your former teammate and Deppgrl’s talker... ended his life while in the high-security prison about fifteen minutes ago, in between staff shift changes. Four medical doctors have confirmed his death."

I let out a single, shaky sigh, the accumulated stress of years and the chaos of the last twelve hours finally hitting me. Everything went black.