Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,37

it, no one even knew, but if felt monumental to me. Tate relayed horror story after horror story to me about his time with Lacey as we winged across the states. By the time we landed at TIA any doubts I may have had about him had been wiped away. I felt bad for ever doubting the man, as his grief was palpable.

We’d only just landed when two men in cheap suits appeared from the terminal, badges flashing. Tate stiffened at my side.

“Mr. Collins, Detectives Polkowski and Harrison, Tucson Police Department. We’d like to ask you a few questions about assertions that have been made against you by a Ms. Lacey Mason. Regarding an incident of alleged aggravated assault that took place two months ago.”

Tate began to stammer. I edged around him as the team began to gather in a circle around us to listen.

“Are you arresting him?” The two police officers gave me that look. It said I should shut up and get out of their faces. “If you are not arresting him he does not have to go with you.”

“Are you his lawyer?” The tall cop, Harrison, asked me as his partner, the shorter, heavier one, was talking at Tate. Coach had waded through the crowd of players, and was now jawing at the pale cop.

“No, I am his team captain and his friend.”

“Ah well then, you need to step back and let us talk with Mr. Collins.”

“I will do no such thing,” I replied, squaring my shoulders.

“Vlad, no, it’s cool. I’ll go with them. I have nothing to hide,” Tate stated with confidence.

I threw a glance at Coach.

“We’ll have someone from legal meet you. Don’t say anything until you have counsel, Tate,” Coach Carmichael said as the cops were already steering Tate toward a gold sedan.

I followed the unmarked car all the way to the downtown police station. The tan brick building was large and a bit confusing. I ended up sitting on a hard wooden bench next to a water cooler for two hours. In that time I grew more than agitated, I grew pissed off as the Americans liked to say. No one in this massive place would answer any of my questions about Tate. I had no idea where he was, if a lawyer had arrived, if they were arresting him, or if they’d already thrown him in a cell where he would rot and none of us would ever see him again. I had to remind myself that America did not do such things. I paced, I cursed, I railed at whoever would listen, and then I was finally asked to wait outside or I was going to be spending some time in a cell to cool off. Four hours passed in total before Tate emerged from the police station with a short, fat man in a blue suit. Both appeared exhausted.

How I didn’t race up to him and hug him I would never know. I met him at the curb. He gave me a weary smile. His attorney was talking a mile a minute, his high brow breaking out in a damp sweat.

“Go home and don’t speak to anyone from the press. Ms. Mason is already suggesting her assertions we taken out of context, the police know that, and given your agreeable nature and willingness to talk with them I think this could be done and dusted by tomorrow. Meanwhile, the media is gorging on her vague social media posts and it’s a feeding frenzy. Keep your head down, don’t engage in any kind of outlandish behavior, no social media, and we’ll get this fixed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morton.” Tate and his lawyer shook hands, I nodded at the man as he passed. I’d seen him around the arena, mostly in his dealing with Penn. I didn’t envy our legal department or the owners anything. This team was a handful that even I had trouble keeping in line.

“My car is here.” I led Tate to my blue Audi. “We will go back to the airport to get your car.”

“I took an Uber,” he replied wearily falling into the passenger seat as soon as I unlocked the doors with my fob. “Why did you drive to the airport and then pay to park?”

“I don’t like others driving,” I replied as I slid behind the wheel after tossing his bag into the trunk.

“Control freak,” he muttered, then scrubbed at his face. “Just when I think my life is getting back in shape, more shit hits