Miss you most. And please. I’m having vitamin E deficiency
Marshmallory
Vitamin E? Eat some peanut butter
Me
Lol. No. Vitamin Edwards
Marshmallory
Good one. I’m stealing that – Kenneth :)
My laugh falls short when I open my email and see hundreds of unread, urgent messages. It may be Saturday, but I never get a day off. A few of Trevor’s requests—demands—are simple enough, but the rest are him passing off his work to me.
The most recent email is from Andy. We may be colleagues, but I can’t remember the last time he emailed me separately.
Andy Walker: Not sure what happened. Doesn’t seem good
I click the link he added, expecting bad news, but it’s worse than I could imagine.
Carolina Pilots shortstop and golden boy, Cade Owens, stormed out of media.
My elbow connects with the coffee table as I roll off the couch, but I’m too preoccupied with opening my contacts and scrolling down to the C’s. It took six months to lose the itch to call him every night, but in thirty seconds, the desperation to talk to him returns.
Then the doorbell rings, and I can’t even be happy about dinner because my phone starts vibrating.
Chapter Sixteen
Calling my agent whenthings go wrong is part of her job description, right?
Getting under my skin isn’t easy. I’ve had years of practice keeping my smile on through tough times. Like when my dad jumped ship and left me to take care of my mother and newborn sister. Or when I moved across the country, leaving behind my friends, family, and the woman I loved. Or every time Jon spoke to me as if I were a child.
I’m too aware of the familiar squeak her front door lets out, and I wilt into the hotel’s comforter as her voice fills the room. Did I disrupt something important? A date?
Please don’t let her have been on a date.
“Sorry,” she breathes, returning to the phone.
“No, I’m sorry for interrupting whatever you’re doing. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for bothering—”
“Stop it, Cade. You can call anytime you need me.” The words are simple, but they hit me like a punch, forcing the air out of my lungs. “Where are you?”
“The hotel.” After rushing out of media, I battled Seattle’s windstorm and walked back before Rio could stop me. Marcus, Dawson, and a fewothers have knocked on my door, but I couldn’t answer. I’ve been too busy reading every headline about me.
Golden boy can’t take the heat? Maybe he should get out of the kitchen.
This can’t be the same golden boy who never loses his cool.
Golden boy Owens isn’t looking so golden.
“Cade?” Shay’s voice is cautious, as if she’s worried I might break into a million pieces. “What happened during media?”
A dry laugh slips out as I open another article. “Didn’t you see the stories? The video?”
“No. That’s perfectly constructed bullshit. I want you to tell me what happened.”
“Video call?” I ask, fully expecting her to say no. But the chime in my ear surprises me, and I wait for the woman of my dreams to fill the screen.
