Three Sweet Nothings (Blindfold Club 5)

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nbsp; “Uh, pass.”

He stepped into the office, pulling my door shut. “The school’s unveiling their new McCreary theater, so a McCreary has to attend for the press release.”

I bit back the swear word I wanted to let loose. It wasn’t like they could ask Payton. She didn’t even hyphenate her new last name with her maiden one, as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

And my parents wouldn’t forgo anything with their precious partners. The plain expression on my father’s face said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I scrubbed away the wrinkle that was developing on my forehead. “All right, all right.” The old me would have just gone with it, but not anymore. If I was giving up my holiday to perform a symbolic ribbon cutting, I deserved something in return. “But I get my pick from the client list next time I have an opening.”

Displeasure was an ugly expression on my father’s face. I didn’t blindly accept his demand, and it was as if I had insulted him. He didn’t have a choice, though. His grimace faded into resignation. “Agreed.”

As he exited my office, my focus returned to my computer screen. I’d done what I could to ensure this was the last goddamn motion I ever wrote about spoons.

Soldier Field was thick with Bears fans, anxious for football. After taking an escalator, two elevators, and following a winding hallway, I arrived at the box suite. I’d taken Julius’s case pro bono, which allowed me to keep it under the radar from my parents, and as a thank you, Julius had invited me to watch the game with him. The Chicago Bears versus their arch rival the Green Bay Packers.

Tickets would have cost a fortune, but not for Julius. He’d played football in college with Tariq Crawford, a cornerback for the Bears. At least a third of the fans I’d passed coming up here had Crawford’s number on their jerseys.

I hung my coat in the space just inside the door and stared through the deep room out the glass to the stadium beyond. Players warmed up on the field, which was starting to yellow from winter.

The suite was half-full with people, more women than men, and a few children sat at a side table, engrossed in their tablets while adults mingled by the marble-top bar. Fancy-looking appetizers waited under heat lamps, while a black and white portrait of George Halas looked on.

Julius was already seated in the tiered leather seats facing the sloping window. He looked at ease as he stared at the field, and I wondered how many times he’d seen this view before.

“Hey,” I said.

“You made it.” Julius came to his feet and gave me a strong handshake. He was a bear of a man, who could look intimidating if you didn’t know him. His dark skin had a sheen on the dome of his shaved head, but when he flashed a warm smile, it became contagious.

I’d helped him through negotiations with the FBI. His club continued to operate under the FBI’s supervision, and as long as he fully cooperated, he received immunity, along with all of his staff. Including my sister.

Once his case was over, he’d stopped being a client and had become my friend. Payton had been right; it was impossible not to like Julius.

When he sat, I took the empty seat beside him. “You and Tariq must be tight.”

His face took on a strange cast. “Yeah, these are actually Court’s tickets.”

“Who’s he?”

“Courtney Crawford.” Julius’s pause wasn’t dramatic, but caught my attention. “She’s, uh, Tariq’s wife. She said she wasn’t going to use the tickets, so he gave them to me.”

A game against the Packers? “This is a big game to miss.”

“Yeah.”

What he didn’t say, and how he looked off in the distance, spoke volumes. Was trouble brewing in the Crawford marriage? There was more to the story there, but I didn’t ask.

We kept the conversation light and focused on the game. When the first quarter was coming to a close, Tariq flattened a running back and sprung the ball loose, sending all the players scrambling for recovery. The suite erupted in shouts, but Julius’s was the loudest.

“Do you miss playing?” I asked when the roar in the crowd finally receded.

“Nah. Maybe, but then Tariq talks about two-a-days, and fuck that. Or Court will text how he comes home looking beat to shit.”

Julius made a face and took a long sip of his beer, as if trying to shut himself up. What was this reaction? He didn’t want me to know Tariq’s wife had texted him?

I should have left it alone, but I was curious. “How come she’s not here?”

“She . . .” He sighed. “Ain’t a secret, I guess. It’s not working between them anymore.” He glanced around the room, checked that no one else was listening, and leaned closer, his voice going low. “Tariq’s my boy and all, but she can do better.”