“And you could’ve retired knowing that you are a champion and a two-time cup winner,” Brody pointed out. “Now you’ll go out a criminal. How’s Mary going to like that?”
Becker said nothing. He looked beaten, weak. “I messed up, kiddo, and I’m sorry,” he whispered after several moments had passed. “I’m sorry about the games and the article and—”
Brody’s jaw tightened. “The article?”
His friend averted his eyes, as if realizing his slipup.
Brody stood there for a moment, wary, studying Becker. The article…the one that had been in the paper two days ago? The one that featured a source who insinuated Brody had taken a bribe?
His blood began to boil, heating his veins, churning his stomach, until a red haze of fury swept over him.
“You spoke to the reporter about me,” he hissed.
Becker finally met his eyes. Guilt was written all over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? Why the hell would you do that?” Brody clenched his fists, knowing the answer before Becker could open his mouth. “To take the blame off yourself. You were too close to being caught, weren’t you, Sam? You thought my relationship with Hayden would get the press going, put some pressure on me instead of you.”
The sheer force of Brody’s anger was unbelievable. He wanted to hit the other man, so badly his fists actually tingled. And along with the rage came a jolt of devastation that torpedoed into his gut and brought a wave of nausea to his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Becker murmured for what seemed like the millionth time, but Brody was done listening to his friend’s apologies. No, not his friend. Because a true friend would never have done what Sam Becker had.
Without another word, he brushed past Becker and stalked into the arena.
He felt like slamming his fist into something. Becker, his best friend, had betrayed him. Becker, the most talented player in the league, had cheated. And why? For money. Goddamn money.
Money. Power. Ambition. She married me because of my career.
And suddenly Brody found himself sagging against the wall as the truth of his own stupidity hit him. Didn’t he, too, place importance on financial success? Hadn’t he just thrown away the woman he loved because of his damn career?
And, God, but he did love Hayden.
He loved her so damn much.
Maybe he’d fallen for Hayden when she’d first strolled up and proceeded to wipe the pool table with him. Or maybe it happened the first time they’d kissed. Or the first time they’d made love. It could’ve been the night she’d put on the pair of skates and stumbled all over the ice, or the day she’d dragged him around the museum talking passionately about every piece of art.
He didn’t know when it happened, but it had. And instead of clinging to the woman whose intelligence amazed him, whose passion excited him, whose soft smiles and warm arms made him feel more content than he’d ever felt in his life—instead of hanging on to her, he’d pushed her away.
And why? Because he’d been implicated in a crime he hadn’t committed? Because his family never had money when he was growing up? So what? His parents loved each other, and their marriage had thrived despite their financial difficulties. What did money and success really matter when you didn’t have someone to share it with, someone you loved?
A laugh suddenly slipped out of his mouth, and he noticed the receptionist giving him a funny look. Releasing a shaky breath, he crossed the lobby toward the hallway off to the left and walked back in the direction of the conference room. Lord, he was an ass. He’d been searching for a woman who’d look at him and see past the athlete, and, damn it, but he’d found her. Hayden didn’t care if he was a star and she didn’t care how much money he made, as long as he was there for her.
He wasn’t willing to lie to protect Hayden’s father, but he should have told her he’d stand by her no matter what happened with her dad. His relationship with the team owner’s daughter might place a negative spotlight on him, but wasn’t it worth it if it meant keeping Hayden in his life?
“Brody?”
He almost tripped when he saw Hayden standing at the end of the hall, right in front of the conference-room door.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She stepped toward him, and he noticed her red-rimmed eyes. Had she been crying?
“I came to talk to my dad,” she murmured. “And then I remembered that you were being interviewed, too, so I thought I’d find you before you had to go in…” Her voice drifted, and then she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry the team didn’t make it to the second round.”