Sawyer (Carolina Reapers 2)

“Holy shit.” Cannon fisted his hand around mine as the line moved forward again, bringing us closer to the door. “What the fuck is that?” he questioned lowly, so only I could hear.

“I don’t know. It was in my jacket.”

He flipped my hand over and opened it. “Motherfucker,” he hissed, then closed my fist over the bag again. “Damn, dude,” his voice rose. “I have no clue if they brought your favorite fucking stick. Didn’t you leave it in the rack like usual?” His eyes narrowed pointedly at me.

“Uh, I don’t know…”

“Jesus, rookie. Okay, come on.” He tugged on my arm. “We need to check equipment for a second,” he shouted up to Coach Hartman, who stood at the door.

“Don’t take too long!” he called back.

We walked out of the line and headed along a line of hedges that bordered the small security checkpoint, toward the equipment truck.

“Give that to me right now,” Cannon ordered.

I gave him the bag, and he cracked it open just long enough to sniff above it lightly.

“Why the fuck are you carrying coke?” he growled, zipping the bag shut.

“That’s cocaine?” I stared at the bag.

“White powder, little bag, chemically sweet smell?” He looked at me like I was a moron.

“How the fuck would I know what cocaine smells like? I’ve never touched a drug in my life that wasn’t prescribed,” I snapped.

He tilted his head. “Know anyone who has? Or still does this shit?”

“No,” I protested immediately. Wait. Echo had, but she swore to me that it had been during a time where she’d been grief-stricken, and hadn’t touched it since.

Cannon sighed, taking in my fallen expression. “Okay. Follow my lead.” His eyes darted to our surroundings, and then he started walking.

“Hey, Marcus!” Cannon shouted at one of the equipment managers. “Did you grab McCoy’s favorite stick? He’s freaking the fuck out.”

Marcus hopped out of the truck as another bag was passed down. “We grabbed the stick he starts with and two backups from the rack. Plus Bauer is sending another four directly to Vegas. That sound like enough?” His eyebrows rose.

“I told you,” Cannon growled at me before turning back to Marcus with a sigh. “Sorry man. Didn’t mean to offend. Rookie’s got nerves, that’s all.”

Marcus eyed me but finally nodded. “Don’t you worry about us, McCoy. We’ve got your gear. You just worry about those Golden Knights.”

“Yes, sir,” I said to the man who was easily a decade my senior.

“Thanks, man. Say hi to Kim and the kids for me,” Cannon said in farewell, edging us toward the opposite end of the truck. He turned on me, staring me down with a glare that sent chills down my spine. “Don’t you ever fucking question something like that again!” he shouted, coming at me with deliberate steps.

I backed up with each word he said, unsure if he was putting on a fantastic show, or if he was really that pissed. “Okay, I’m sorry,” I said, meaning every word.

“You make us look like motherfucking divas when you pull shit like that!” He poked me in the chest. “You want to go all rock star in public? Fine, but not in our house!” He flung his arms out, indicating both where the team stood to our right, and the truck waited on the left.

If I hadn’t been watching his hand, I would have missed it. The baggie fell just a few inches into the large, black metal-lined trash can he’d managed to maneuver us to.

“You understand?” Cannon barked.

“Yes, sir.” I stared in awe at the man who’d just saved my ass.

He nodded, and turned, leaving me to trail after him back to the line, where only five or so of my teammates were waiting to enter the checkpoint.

My heart pounded as we came up to Coach Hartman, who simply raised an eyebrow at me.

“Fucking rookies,” Cannon muttered. “Don’t be too hard on him, Coach. He’s nervous as a virgin on prom night.”

Hartman shook his head at me, then looked at Cannon. “You were hard enough on him for the entire coaching staff. See you boys on the plane.”

Cannon grunted, and we headed into the checkpoint. My heart didn’t cease its chaotic beat until we’d checked in for the manifest and passed the dog.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but you almost just cost us the Cup,” Cannon said quietly as he took the seat next to me on the plane. “You honestly think that Zimmerman kid can pull us through? Because I don’t.”

“I have no idea how it got there,” I said quietly, my mind reeling.

“Anyone else worn it?” he questioned. “Or kept it for you?”

I nodded slowly, unwilling to say it, or even believe that the woman I loved was doing drugs. Not when she knew how they’d fucked up my life.