L.
I flipped it open, just a page or two. The handwriting was tight, fast, and something about it hit me low in the gut.
“L?” I asked. “Any idea who that is?”
Suzanne leaned in a bit. “Could’ve been someone who lived here.”
I nodded but didn’t ask anything else. I just closed the book quickly and tucked it right back where I found it, pressing the board back into place.
No bad juju for me.
This house had history—not the kind you read in the listings, but the kind whispered about in town for years, the exact reason it sat empty for so long.
Somehow, that didn’t scare me. If anything, it made me feel…protective. This place didn’t need to be gutted and flipped. It deserved someone to love it.
I stood slowly, glancing around. The carpet was hideous. The windows needed replacing. Overall, it was a mess.
But still, it felt like mine.
“I’ll take it,” I said before my brain had a chance to catch up.
Suzanne blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll take it. Don’t need to see any others.”
She stared at me a beat too long, probably doing commission math in her head. “Well, alright. We can head back to the office and start the paperwork.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I opened it to find dozens of texts, alerts, mentions, and ESPN notifications flooding my screen. Here it was, early December, and instead of talking about who was fighting for a playoff spot, everyone was replaying a damn GIF of me kissing Ellie.
Just like that, I was back in it: the adrenaline, the chaos, and the damn consequences of my own actions.
I was going to need a drink—a strong one.
Probably a call to my agent.
And definitely a plan.
“What the hell are we supposed to do about this?” Coach groaned, dragging a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he stared at the flat screen behind the desk in his office.
I shifted in my seat. “I mean…at least I look like the good guy, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, well, the good guy just kissed Ellie Miles on body cam footage that’s been picked up by every major media outlet in the country.” He dropped into his chair with a sigh.
“Sorry, Coach.”
He rubbed his temples and muttered something under his breath. We both turned back to the screen.
“Yeah, I don’t know if I can fix it, but I’m damn sure gonna try.”
“That’s the dumbest fucking line I’ve ever heard,” Coach said flatly.
“Hey, you try coming up with something better when there’s a crazy serial killer with a gun. It wasn’t a real kiss. It was just a distraction.”
“Real or not, the world thinks that—” he pointed to the screen where Ellie and I were still very much kissing— “is real, and coming off her breakup with that shitty actor? The headlines are already insane. The story still ends with you tangled up with a serial killer and making out with a pop star mid-standoff. This is the NFL, James. We want clean storylines. No drama.”
“Technically, I didn’t even know the guy.”
“I don’t care,” he snapped. “Right now, the media’s making you look good. Keep it that way. Don’t let this swing the other direction. I heard she’ll be at the game tonight. Use that.”
