Chapter Thirty-Three

Justin

JUSTIN DROVE THE three hours back Sunday afternoon, arriving in the dark. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, took one look, turned, and went back down the stairs. He called security and waited in his truck and called Coach Richardson.

"Sorry to bother you so late, Coach," Justin said.

"Not a problem. I'm actually at work and was just finishing up. Is something wrong?"

"I got home, and two girls are waiting at my front door. They look like strippers."

"You called security?"

"Yes, they just pulled up."

"Keep me on the line," Richardson said, and Justin heard keys jingling in the background.

Justin got out and told the officer that two females were at his door that he didn't know, and they didn't belong there.

"My coach is on the line," Justin told him.

The officer spoke with Richardson, and Justin waited as he talked with him, and another police car pulled up behind the first.

"Yes, sir, we'll give you the report number when you get here," the first officer said and handed Justin his phone back. "Mind waiting in your truck? He'll call you back."

"Yeah, and thank you for getting here so quick."

Justin watched as two skimpily dressed women were escorted down his stairs in handcuffs and driven away. He waited until another unit arrived, and then the two officers went back upstairs and were there for a long time.

Justin's phone rang, and he answered. "I'm on my way; just sit tight."

He waited as a man was brought down in cuffs. When a van arrived and people with crime scene equipment went up the stairs, Justin really got freaked out. His finger hovered over Ethan's name, but he didn't want him to worry, and he'd already be asleep. He waited, wondering what in the hell had happened until a few minutes later, Coach Richardson's SUV pulled up next to his truck, and he got out.

"Coach, I'm really sorry," Justin said. "I'm not sure what's happening. They told me to wait, and that's what I've done."

Coach Richardson leaned against Justin's truck next to him and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll need to move you after this. What all did you have in the apartment?"

"Next to nothing, other than a TV and a gaming system, my clothes, some gear. Nothing personal, no paperwork or anything. I'm pretty paranoid about personal information."

Coach seemed to understand that, and they continued to wait. Finally, he got on his phone and arranged a hotel room for Justin for the rest of the week until they could find a more secure place for him.

Justin glanced at his watch. "It's my birthday."

Coach shook his head and seemed just as disgusted with the situation. They both turned as the crime scene people returned with tripods and professional cameras, and the two officers followed them down.

"Let's see, but I don't like the looks of this," Coach said.

"They gained access to the vacant apartment next door," the officer said. "The male had a camera set up, and they damaged the apartment and drilled a hole through the wall. The females have already given statements they were paid to make a film with you. Since there's forced entry, and this guy's got a history of fraud and illegal distribution…"

An unfamiliar rage grew in Justin as the words blurred together, and he stared at his coach in horror at what they had tried to do.

"We're pressing charges against all parties," Coach Richardson said, equally pissed. "Can he get his things?"

"Yes," the officer said, and Richardson motioned for Justin to go on.

Justin packed his shit, and Coach came in with the officer, who agreed to stand by while they got everything.

"There isn't much," Justin said, and Coach helped as Justin zipped duffels full of his gear. "I'll return for the rest, just taking my clothes and gear now."

Coach carried two bags down, and the officer helped as Justin, still in a state of fury and shock, locked up.

"Shit," Richardson cursed, peering out past the security gate.

Justin turned also and closed his eyes as a media van parked outside was already rolling tape. Justin changed his direction, went to the passenger side of his truck, and loaded his bags. He crawled through, and Richardson and the officer piled in the rest.

"I'll escort you guys out," the officer said. Richardson agreed, gave him his card, and asked if they needed to go down to the station or if their legal team could respond. The officer confirmed they had all they needed for now. A detective would contact the team's legal department since the apartments were team property, and Coach Richardson told Justin to follow him.

Justin called Ethan, putting him on speaker as he drove. He waited as Ethan got up, searched the station's website on his tablet and watched their live coverage. Justin could faintly hear it in the background.

"It's on the news now," Ethan said, upset and worried. "They're saying your apartment was broken into and team property was stolen."

"That's not what happened, but good, someone's doing damage control," Justin muttered, rubbing his face. "Is this how it's going to be?"

"I don't know. Hey, Dad's calling. Call you back," Ethan said.

Coach pulled into a downtown high-rise, and Justin parked behind him. A man in a suit was waiting for them as a porter rushed forward to collect Justin's bags. Coach shook hands with the man, who gave Justin a nod. They followed him into the lobby, past the desk, and up an elevator ride. He swiped a key card, and they headed inside the suite. The porter unloaded Justin's bags, and he was given the key cards as the manager assured Coach that security was aware of their guest and protocols were in place with access to the floor only by Justin's key card. He'd need to use it on the elevator and the door. If he needed anything, just pick up the phone. And then he left them.

"What the hell?" Justin said.

"This stuff happens. It's not you ." Coach stressed the word, and Justin got his meaning. "It's the position. The guy was likely trying to make a film or get something on video and blackmail a new, vulnerable player for money to keep him from releasing it. Justin, we deal with it every year. Pregnancy accusations…" Coach roughed a hand through his hair in frustration. "Nine months for those to clear, and when the DNA comes back negative, it's all just been a big nightmare and media storm."

"This is why," Justin said and pointed to himself.

"I get it. All right, I have things to handle with legal. Get some sleep. Practice in the morning, and I'll let you know what we work out about your living arrangements. You'll be here this week, and I'd strongly advise room service."

"Thank you, Coach."

*

ETHAN WAS UPSET , and Justin told him everything he knew as he watched the news. It was the same story on all stations now. The new QB's home had been burglarized. Once he finally got Ethan calmed down, Justin forced himself to get some sleep.

The next morning in the locker room, Justin dressed out and headed over to Holcombe. "Not today, man; rough night, but we'll get back on it tomorrow."

"I saw. You good?"

"Yeah," Justin said. "Thanks, man."

They had a relatively easy practice through half the day, and then they called Justin out for meetings for the rest of it while his backup took over. Justin sat in the head coach's office with numerous staff he hadn't yet met and what he assumed were attorneys. Coach Richardson came in with a detective, and he went through what they knew, what had been released in their press statement, the status of the suspects being charged, and the list of charges. A restraining order had been issued to all three. Justin was given copies of those, as were the team attorneys. Then the detective was gone, a discussion over where Justin should live ensued.

The team had several properties, but Justin said he'd make arrangements if they could find him a realtor.

"I'll just buy something gated and not in an apartment," Justin said, leaning back in the chair.

"I think that's best," Coach Richardson said. "You and the team will have security during all games and events."

"Media?" Coach Nellis asked.

"We've released the press statement reflecting what the police department put out and added a team statement about our players' safety and security," one of the media directors said.

"Legal?" Coach Nellis asked.

Justin listened as they gave their reports and recommendations, and then Justin and the head of security, Stan, were scheduled to meet with a realtor at two.

"No practice tomorrow. Get situated and keep me posted," Coach Richardson said, and Justin headed out with Stan.

"Stan—gated, cameras, alarms," Coach Nellis said, and Stan nodded.

Justin and Stan looked through the listings in the real estate manager's office. He was handling this case personally, and Justin appreciated it. He'd found several properties that met Stan's strict requirements, and they finally settled on a small modern house on a canal. It was gated with a guard shack and 24/7 security. Several other high-profile residents lived on the canal, and all residents had to sign NDAs to even make an offer. Stan agreed with this. So, it was between the canal house and only one condo he approved of.

"Will they take cash with an immediate occupancy?" the realtor asked on the phone. And he nodded to Justin.

It was more than he wanted to fork over, but he realized as Stan scowled at him that this needed to be done. Justin was thankful they'd gone the mortgage route with their real house and he'd not blown through his bank account balance. Still, this was going to sting a bit. Justin flipped through the pictures again and finally agreed.

"I'll have a contract faxed over in five," the realtor said, and then he went to work.

Justin messaged Ethan while they waited to give him an update. It all happened so fast as he and Stan drove to the new house, and his staff arrived with the rest of Justin's things from his apartment. He was grateful to not return to the old apartment and thanked them as they brought in his meager furniture and the few boxes they'd packed for him.

Stan went through the house, testing the security system, resetting everything, and ensuring all the cameras were functioning. He spent time outside, checking the exterior and walking the small inlet with five other houses, and returned feeling good about the location.

"Park in the garage. You're the last house, so no media can gain access through the gate or from the walls. He pointed out to the canal. That's your only weak point."

Justin glanced through the glass door out at the canal and understood. An eager pap on a boat had a clear line of sight. He'd be living in a one-sided fishbowl here. He gazed around the empty space at his one chair and television, his coffee table and game system. Upstairs only had a frame bed, a quick-assemble nightstand, lamp, and two alarm clocks. It seemed nothing like a home.

"Need help getting some furniture?" Stan asked.

"Thanks, but no, it's just me." Justin shrugged, and Stan nodded.

"If you need a keyholder—" Stan said and gave Justin his card. "If anything happens, no matter what time it is, you call me."

"Thanks for today; you really helped," Justin said, scrubbing his hair.

He shook Stan's hand and his staff's, who'd done everything, and then Justin found himself alone in a big empty house that felt more like a holding cell. He headed upstairs to call Ethan and then try to take a nap.

"The cavalry is coming," Ethan said. "Well, me, Mom, and your dad. Missy and John have to work, but we are coming down to make it at least livable. And with them there with me, it won't look like anything."

"Yeah, sounds good," Justin said, admitting, "I need you."