Legend (Arizona Vengeance 3)

I’m skeptical but I nod. “Okay.”

“Now, where’s my Christmas gift?” he asks with a dubiously sly grin, but even though he’s putting on a good show for me, I can still see the concern deep in his eyes.Chapter 12LegendI hit the elevator button and flip through my playlists while I wait for it to arrive. It’s an hour and forty-five minutes until the puck drops and I’m going to head to the basement for some light jogging as part of my warm-up. Normally, I’d hit the stationary bikes in our workout room on the top floor but sometimes I like the solitude of the basement.

It feels like one of those days to me.

The elevator door slides open and I step in.

“Legend…wait up,” I hear Bishop and I see him trotting toward me. He’s dressed the same as me—workout shorts, T-shirt, running shoes. Unlike me, as I prefer earbuds to listen to music, he’s got a pair of Bose headphones looped around his neck.

I hold the door open with my hand until he enters and push the “G” button for ground floor.

“Getting in the zone?” Bishop asks as he leans back against the wall.

“Yeah,” I tell him, because that’s the whole point of warm-ups. But something has been on my mind and this is the first time I’ve seen Bishop since the holidays. “But there is something I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s up?” he asks genially.

The elevator comes to a quiet stop and the doors open. We step off into the cavernous basement. It’s roughly finished with concrete floors, painted cinder block walls, and heavy cement support pillars. On the north end are climate-controlled storage rooms for the food vendors as well as custodial. All of the electrical and HVAC units are down here as well, but for the most part it’s just big and empty. Bishop and I are the only ones down here at the moment, which is perfect for what I need to talk about.

We walk a few paces away from the elevator and we both automatically start with some casual stretches like lunges and knee lifts as we talk.

“I’m telling you this in our capacities as assistant captains for the team,” I begin by saying, doing a side lunge to the right.

“Shoot,” he says, his face taking on a more serious expression as he mimics my movements.

“You know Tacker spent Christmas Eve at my house…along with Dax, right?” I begin.

He nods. “Yeah. He spent a few hours on Christmas Day with me and Brooke over at her dad’s house.”

Brooke’s dad is none other than our head coach, Claude Perron.

I nod, because I knew that. “Well, Tacker was mostly Tacker for much of the evening. I mean…he had a great connection with Charlie and interacted with her a lot but outside of that, quiet and withdrawn as usual.”

“Sounds like Tacker,” Bishop says.

I nod, realizing everything we’ve said so far has probably just been wasted breath, but damn…it’s hard to talk about what I want to talk about.

I stand up straight and step in closer to Bishop. Even though we’re alone, I feel the need to quiet my voice. “As he was leaving, he said something that bothered me a little. He thanked me for the invitation and then said he didn’t know that he would have survived the night on his own.”

Bishop’s eyes widen as understanding dawns. “Oh man.”

“Yeah,” I mutter in agreement. “And well…I’m worried. I mean, I’ve always been sort of worried about him, you know.”

“We all have. He’s been through a terrible trauma and he’s our teammate. Our captain. Everyone worries about him.”

I nod, because that is also true. “Do you think we should be ‘more’ worried?”

“Like do I think he’s suicidal?” he inquires.

“I guess,” I say with no real certainty. “I don’t know how to interpret those words. Is there hidden meaning? Do we need to intervene? Or is it possible he’s just starting to be more open and sharing his feelings? Maybe it struck me so hard because he’s so closed off all the time. Him sharing that shit with me was totally unusual.”

Bishop looks away from me, staring across the expanse of empty concrete flooring as he considers my words. When he glances back at me, he says, “Think we should talk with him?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say with a sigh. “But…he’s not the easiest guy to talk to.”

“Maybe we start out by hanging with him more,” he proposes. “That will just naturally lead into some conversation.”

“Yeah…I think that sounds good.” I feel a relief that someone other than me is worrying about Tacker too. “Tomorrow…he works out in the mornings here at the facility. Let’s work out with him and invite him to coffee or something after?”

“He’ll probably say no,” Bishop snorts. Because Tacker is well…Tacker.

“Then we’ll keep asking until he says yes.”