BEHIND ENEMY LINES

CHAPTER 4: One Mistake Too Many

Jace's POV

“The club installed security units in those vents five years ago, Jace,” Coach Frank Delaney said, leaning over his desk as Mason set the small black camera down between us.

It was barely seven in the morning and the head coach looked as exhausted as I felt. I had spent the entire night staring at my ceiling, replaying Gideon's text message over and over in my head.

“It was done for insurance and liability reasons,” Frank added, staring at the little lens. “I swear to you on my family, nobody is watching your private rehabilitation sessions for entertainment. I don't even have access to those feeds.”

“Then who does?” I asked, my voice rising. “Because my agent texted me about my extra time in that room ten minutes after the lights went out.”

Frank sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Gideon talks to Pruett's office every single day. Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, take your rehab somewhere else in the facility.”

I wanted to believe Frank, but a cold knot tightened in my stomach. For six years, I had assumed my private life was my own, yet every move I made seemed to echo in places it didn't belong.

Mason grabbed the camera off the desk, dropped it into his canvas bag, then looked at me.

“Follow me. We're moving down to the basement.”

I followed him down three flights of concrete stairs into the old youth program gym, a quiet space the main team rarely used. The air smelled faintly of dust and old rubber. As we walked down the narrow corridor toward the lower training room, Mason suddenly slowed.

He stopped in front of a long wooden frame on the wall, filled with faded team photos of high school players from past seasons. His eyes locked onto a picture near the middle. His expression became so still and distant that he looked like a statue.

I stepped up beside him and looked at the photo.

“Did you know someone in this picture?”

Mason blinked, pulling his gaze away as if coming out of a dream. He zipped his jacket higher around his neck, then kept walking.

“It was a long time ago, Jace. Let's get to work.”

Three nights later, I dropped forty-one points on Miami in a home victory that had the entire arena shaking.

When the final buzzer sounded and my teammates swarmed me on the court, my eyes automatically scanned the crowd near the tunnel. I wasn't looking for my dad, Gideon, or even the fans screaming my name. I was looking for a calm, composed face with gray-green eyes.

The spot near the team bench was completely empty.

After showering and dressing, I walked past the main locker room toward the old medical wing. Most of the lights were off, but a single lamp shone in the back office.

Mason stood near the examination table, packing a stack of folders into his backpack. He looked up when my shadow hit the doorframe.

“Great game tonight,” Mason said quietly. “Forty-one points. Your jump shot looked effortless.”

“My hip feels a little strange,” I lied, stepping into the room and pulling the door shut behind me. “Can you check the alignment before I drive home?”

Mason studied me for a long moment, clearly knowing I was making an excuse, but he didn't call me out. He set his bag down, then pointed to the table.

“Sit down.”

I sat on the edge of the vinyl cushion, watching him step closer and place his hands on my right knee. His touch was warm and steady through my sweatpants.

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, until neither of us was looking at my hip anymore.

I stood from the table, closing the small gap between us.

Before my head could catch up with what I was doing, I reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, then pulled him in.

The kiss happened fast and hard, a sudden release of weeks of built-up pressure. Mason froze for half a second before his hands came up to grip my waist. He kissed me back with a fierce intensity that made my chest ache.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was rough, his hands lingering on my hips.

“This is a mistake, Jace,” Mason whispered, staring at my mouth.

“I know,” I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Neither of us moved an inch.

The next evening, I was forced back into my real world at the annual Pittsburgh Athletic Gala.

The banquet hall was packed with wealthy donors, team executives and photographers. I sat at a front table in a dark suit, playing the part of the perfect superstar beside Sloane Whitaker. She looked stunning in a red dress, holding my hand for the cameras whenever a flash went off.

Across the room, Gideon held a glass of champagne, enthusiastically telling a group of reporters about a fake romantic weekend trip he had planned for Sloane and me in New York. My father sat beside him, grinning proudly as he shook hands with local business owners.

I felt like an action figure sitting in a display box.

Under the white tablecloth, my phone vibrated in my lap. I slid it out, checking the screen beneath the edge of the table.

Don't forget to ice that hip for twenty minutes before you go to sleep tonight, the text from Mason read.

A genuine smile broke across my face for the first time all evening.

Sloane caught me looking down at the screen, her sharp hazel eyes taking in the soft look on my face. She didn't ask who had texted me. Instead, she gently squeezed my wrist under the table, offering a silent touch of comfort that almost made me weep.

Two days later, we flew to Chicago for a road game and secured another tight win.

By midnight, the team hotel was quiet, but I couldn't sleep. My mind was spinning, my body restless, so I pulled on a hoodie and wandered into the quiet third-floor hallway. I knew Mason had a room on the same floor, but I didn't dare knock on his door.

Instead, I pushed open the heavy door to the concrete stairwell, looking for somewhere quiet to get some air.

Mason stood on the landing below, resting his elbows on the metal railing as he looked down the stairwell shaft. He turned his head sharply when the heavy door clicked shut behind me.

“You shouldn't be out here, Jace,” Mason said softly, though he didn't step away.

“I can't sleep,” I said, walking down the steps until I stood on the landing with him. “We need to talk about what happened in the medical room.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Mason said, looking up at me. “You're the star player of this franchise and I'm the therapist trying to keep your body from falling apart. If anyone sees us...”

“I don't care,” I interrupted, stepping closer.

This second kiss was slower, deeper, completely impossible to take back. I leaned into him with my whole weight, my hands tangling in his dark hair as he pushed me back against the cold concrete wall. His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that erased every voice in my head.

Click.

The sharp sound of an opening door echoed from the floor above us.

Mason pulled back instantly, his eyes wide. High above our heads, quick, hurried footsteps slapped against the concrete stairs, retreating rapidly toward the upper floors.

“Hey!” I yelled, breaking away from Mason and bolting up the stairs two at a time.

I reached the fourth-floor landing in seconds, throwing the heavy metal door open, but the hallway was completely empty.

I looked down at the gray floor in front of the door.

Resting right on the clean tile was a single, wet sneaker print pointing straight toward the guest rooms…