BEHIND ENEMY LINES

CHAPTER 5: Whispers

Jace's POV

“You looked real fast in Chicago, Jace,” Callum Ferris said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his jersey.

We were back in Pittsburgh, wrapping up a brutal two-hour practice and the rookie hadn't stopped watching me all morning. He wasn't making his usual obnoxious jokes about my age or my joint brace anymore. Instead, he kept lingering near the baseline, asking strange, casual questions about Mason's schedule.

“I just did my job,” I grunted, bouncing the ball on the hardwood as we set up for a final defensive drill.

“Must be nice having a therapist who takes such good care of you,” Callum said, stepping into my path as Coach Frank blew the whistle.

Instead of playing normal defense, Callum leaned into my right hip with a sharp, illegal elbow, pushing me past my limit. My knee buckled on the slippery varnish. I went down hard, sliding three feet before crashing into the metal base of the hoop.

Pain exploded through my leg like a white-hot spark.

Before the team trainers could even grab their tape, Mason was on the floor beside me. He dropped to his knees, his hands moving quickly across my joint to check for swelling. His face was tight with concern.

Callum stood over us, hands on his hips, breathing heavily. He looked down at Mason, then at me, a cold little smirk touching his lips.

“Chicago is a nice city,” Callum said softly, loud enough for only the two of us to hear. “Lots of good stairwells in those downtown hotels.”

My blood went completely cold. My throat closed up and I couldn't form a sentence as Callum turned around and casually walked toward the locker room, leaving me staring after him in total panic.

Two days later, Mason handed me a spare key. He had rented a small, quiet apartment on the edge of the city under a friend's name, giving us our first real haven away from team cameras, gossip sites and my father's endless visits.

For three weeks, it felt like living in another world.

We cooked terrible dinners together, burnt garlic bread, watched old college games on a tiny television, then fell asleep on the worn couch without worrying about who was watching through a window. It was the happiest I had felt in years, a quiet taste of what a normal life could look like.

Then came a rainy Tuesday night.

We were clearing the dinner plates when Mason leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at me with a serious, quiet expression.

“I need to lay down one ground rule, Jace,” Mason said, his voice dropping into that calm, steady tone he used when things mattered. “I won't stay hidden in the dark forever. I need to know you want a real future before we go any deeper into this.”

I stepped closer, wrapping my hands around his waist.

“I do want this, Mason. I just need more time to sort things out with my team, my dad and Redline. I promise you I mean it.”

“Time is fine,” Mason said, looking straight into my eyes. “But say the word out loud, Jace. Just once.”

I froze, my fingers stiffening against his shirt.

“What word?”

“Gay,” Mason said softly. “Say it out loud.”

The air left my lungs. I opened my mouth to speak, but the single syllable locked in my chest.

Instantly, my mind flashed to my father's furious face, his voice booming over the kitchen table, warning me never to ruin the family name. I stood there, silent and paralyzed, unable to push the word past my lips.

Mason looked at me for a long, painful moment, the hope fading from his gray-green eyes. He gently removed my hands from his waist, then looked away.

I left the apartment at ten o'clock to grab my gym bag from my truck.

As I stepped into the damp night air, a pair of headlights flashed twice from a dark sedan parked near the curb.

The driver's side window rolled down. Sloane Whitaker leaned out, her long honey-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Get in,” Sloane said quietly.

I climbed into the passenger seat, my heart beating against my ribs.

“Sloane? What are you doing here? Did Gideon send you?”

“Gideon doesn't know,” she sighed, resting her hands on the steering wheel. “I followed you from the facility. Jace... I know about you and Mason.”

I swallowed hard, my instincts taking over immediately.

“You're crazy. He's just my therapist, Sloane. We were going over my recovery plan...”

“Stop lying to me,” Sloane interrupted, turning to look at me with fierce, honest eyes. “I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm not going to ruin your life, Jace. I have my own secret to protect.”

I blinked, thrown off balance.

“What secret?”

Sloane took a deep breath, her shoulders dropping slightly.

“I'm in love with Tessa. Your sister and I have been together for four months.”

I stared at her, completely speechless.

The image of my quiet, perceptive little sister flashed through my mind. She had been carrying the exact same heavy, terrifying secret right in front of me, enduring the same fears about our father, completely alone.

It didn't bring me any comfort. It only made me terrified for both of us.

“Does Dad know?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“If Walter found out, he would destroy us both,” Sloane said softly, touching my arm. “So we protect each other, okay? All four of us.”

When I walked back up to the flat, the living room was quiet.

Mason was fast asleep at the wooden kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms beside an open laptop.

I walked over softly, intending to close the screen, but the bright text on the display caught my eye.

It was an open email from an unknown address, displaying a scanned medical chart from six years ago. The name printed at the top in faded red ink read ELI REID.

I leaned down, reading the handwritten notes. The dosage of heavy painkillers listed on the page was astronomical... far more than any teenage player in a youth program should have been given.

At the bottom of the page, written in sharp, confident cursive, was Dr. Edwin Pratt's signature.

I read the document twice, my stomach churning.

Mason stirred, blinking his eyes open as the glare of the screen hit his face. He saw me staring at the laptop, then immediately snapped the lid shut.

“Jace,” Mason said, standing up quickly. “You shouldn't be looking at that.”

“Who is Eli?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What did Pratt do to him?”

“I need you to trust me for one more week,” Mason begged, reaching out to grasp my arm. “Please, Jace. Just one week and I will explain everything.”

I looked at him and nodded, but my chest felt completely hollow.

I was falling in love with a man whose entire reason for coming into my life was built on a shadow he refused to share with me.

Overwhelmed, I walked over to the bay window to catch my breath, looking out at the quiet street.

Parked directly across from the apartment building was a black SUV with tinted windows. The streetlamp illuminated the driver's side, where a heavily built man was staring straight up at our floor.

He had a completely bald head, cold gray eyes and a thick, jagged scar running right through his left eyebrow…