Had Iris and Sarai. Maybe.
“In and out,” Jared says, breaking into my hostile thoughts.
“Huh?” I look over at him questioningly. “What’d you say?”
“We’re here.” He points through the window to the building where the Stingers train. “Find him, ask your questions, and get out. No fights. No scenes, bro.”
“I really hate it when you call me ‘bro,’” I say, matter-of-factly.
“I know. Why do you think I do it?” He studies me closely, the little bit of humor on his face fading. “You need me to come with you?”
“No, I needed a chauffeur, not a chaperone,” I say, climbing carefully out of the car. “Be right back.”
It doesn’t take me long to find Caleb. He’s pressing weights, spotted by a tall, lean man wearing a Stingers T-shirt. The guy looks up, his eyes widening when his eyes lock on me. Everyone in the league knows how bad the blood is between Caleb and me.
“Hey, you can’t be in here bec—”
I wedg
e myself between the trainer and the bench where Caleb is lying down. I grab the bar from Caleb’s hands and place it on his neck enough to cause discomfort but keeping the full weight from pressing down.
I bend over so he sees me upside down.
“I’m only asking you once, Caleb,” I say calmly, while his eyes bug and he starts to turn red. “Where is she?”
“He can’t breathe!” the trainer guy says, sputtering and pointing.
“That’s kind of the point.” I nod to the exit. “Get out. We got shit to settle. I promise he’ll still be in one piece as long as he cooperates.”
Caleb manages to shake his head, his eyes latched onto the trainer dude’s as he puffs air and claws at the bar I hold over his throat.
“I said, get out!” I yell at the indecisive trainer. He’s still looking back over his shoulder until he disappears through the exit.
I lift the bar just enough for Caleb to breathe and talk, but not enough that I can’t drop the full weight on his throat if he doesn’t give me what I want: answers.
“Fuck you,” he hisses, the blood vessels sprouting around his eyes.
“Wrong answer.” I drop the bar a little more, and he immediately starts gasping again. “I will break your fucking windpipe, Caleb, so I suggest you answer the question I already told you I would not ask twice.”
I lift the bar an inch, and his arms fly up, trying to dislodge me. I can hear Jared now if I actually fight this dude with my leg in its current state. Not to mention the insurance the San Diego Waves have on my body. I’m pretty sure there’s not a brawl clause in the multi-million-dollar policy. I step away and let him breathe while I compose himself.
“Answer the question,” I snap.
“What business is it of yours?” he rasps, sitting up and grabbing his water bottle to guzzle.
“I’m making it my business. Iris didn’t show up at the center, but Sylvia says she called to say she wouldn’t be coming back.”
He pauses mid-sip, narrowing his eyes at me. “Really concerned about finding another man’s girl, huh?”
“Not here for games, dude. Tell me what’s going on.”
He stands, mopping the sweat from his face with a nearby towel. “What is ‘going on’ is that she’s gone.” Bitterness corrupts the line of his mouth. “Iris left. Didn’t take her phone, so good luck calling it.”
I’ve seen Caleb with Iris—the way his eyes track her every move like he might miss something if he looks away. He would not just let her go. He’s as obsessed with her as I am.
Almost.
“Left and went where?” I persist, irritation pinching the muscles in my face.