Page 137 of Wild Card 13

Ty remained silent for a moment. “Those things can both be true.”

“She said they would turn on me too,” I admitted.

Ty’s face changed. His jaw tightened once before he looked toward the open office door, as though checking that no one stood near enough to hear us. “Who?”

“The organization. Everyone.” I adjusted my glasses, though they had not moved. “She said I thought this place belonged to me now. Then she told me to give it time because eventually they would turn on me too.”

His attention returned to me. “And you believed her?”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You have no idea what it is like to walk into this building knowing half the people here think you were hired because of your last name.”

“No,” he said evenly. “I don’t.”

The immediate agreement took the fight out of me before it could fully begin.

Ty glanced down at his hands. “But I know what it’s like when someone says the thing you’re already afraid might be true.”

“Charlotte wanted to hurt me,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“She was angry.”

“Probably.”

“That does not automatically mean everything she said was a lie.”

“No.” Ty raised his eyes to mine. “But it doesn’t make it the truth either.”

I held his gaze. He paused for me to argue. When I did not, he reached for the packet and closed it carefully. “She wanted to leave something behind,” he said. “You didn’t let her keep the job, so she made sure you kept the doubt.”

Beyond the interior windows, the empty lower bowl disappeared beneath rows of dark seats. Bright work lights reflected across the glass, turning the office into a faint mirror.

I could see the outline of myself behind the desk. Small. Dottie’s head in my lap. Ty sitting across from me where no player had any reason to feel comfortable, his attention on me instead of the arena beyond the glass.

“I’ll get over it,” I said.

Ty stood, unfolding himself from the chair. Dottie lifted her head immediately.

“I know.” His voice held no doubt.

He bent to retrieve the stuffed frog and placed it back in the basket instead of leaving it on the floor. Then he collected his gym bag, tucked the packet beneath one arm, and finally picked up his phone. “You don’t need to worry about me tomorrow,” he said.

“That is not a commitment I’m prepared to make.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, but it disappeared almost immediately. “I’m not going to make this harder for you, Lucy.” He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Tomorrow matters. I’ll be ready.”

For years, I had built my understanding of Ty Burns around one truth. When I needed him most, he had not shown up.

It did not matter that he had been eighteen. It did not matter that he had been scared or stupid or convinced silence would somehow hurt less than honesty.

He had let me walk away. And now he stood in my office telling me he would be ready. Telling me he would not make anything harder. Offering presence instead of explanations.

“I’ll send the remaining information tonight,” I said.