“What?” I toss the magazine aside and push up from the table, slamming my hand on the wood finish of his desk. “Don’t fucking mess with me.”
“I have a contract for you to look over.”
I grit my teeth. “After they told me I’d never play for them again, Charlotte Hendricks saidshewantsmeback?” I’m studying every inch of his reaction.If he is lying…
“W-well, not Ms. Hendricks h-herself,” he stutters. “The board. Her brothers have given their approval of the contract.”
“Her brothers?” I close my eyes and focus on breathing. “Then the answer is no.”
“Kid, I’m sorry. The Stingers have already agreed, as you don’t have a no-trade agreement in place. We have a few weeks to get this done and for the association to approve.”
“I don’t fucking approve,” I growl, pressing both hands to my forehead as the pressure builds. “I can’t go.”
The words taste bitter, sharp, like they’re cutting me onthe way out. Every second feels stolen, like I’ve been living on borrowed time, and now it’s running out. My chest tightens as if the air has been sucked from the room. A hole opens up beneath me, and I’m free-falling—spiraling, out of control, tumbling into an abyss I can’t escape.
“I need more time,” I whisper, the desperation clawing at my throat. My gaze snaps up. “You have to put a stop to it.”
There was a time when I wanted this, but now, I’m so fucking scared. It’s not about the game anymore. We need to start slow and make our way back to being friends, having coffee, chatting…
“I won’t get on the court.”
“They are paying you well. Why does it matter?”
“It matters because it’s been my entire life,” I snap, the words sharp enough to cut.
I stride toward the door, my steps heavy with anger. At the threshold, I pause, gripping the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding me steady. My chest tightens, and I turn back to Flint, locking eyes with him, my voice low but firm.
“If you don’t put a stop to this, then you and I are done.” The finality in my tone hangs in the air like a challenge, daring him to respond.
11
CHARLOTTE
My throat is burning,holding back the tears, the fear, the hurt that has killed me a little every day. It’s a struggle not to scream like a damn banshee.
The blood trust shattered.
I can’t look at my brother, knowing he agreed to this.
“We had to think of it as a business decision.” It doesn’t matter how gentle the words come out of Franklin’s mouth, every goddamn syllable is an arrow piercing my heart.
“I trusted you to stop it,” I murmur, looking out of the glass to the court below. Behind me, Franklin pours himself a whiskey, the crystal glass clinking against the decanter. He doesn’t say a damn thing. My chest is so fucking tight I can barely breathe. From behind the glass of my office, I look down and watch our players train, laugh, and pat each other’s backs. They are a unit and support each other, and it has taken years for them to get to this point.
“Do they know?”
“They will tonight.”
“Byron?”
“Yes.”
I spin around. “When?”
“Right before I came to you.”
I turn and rest my forehead on the glass, watching Byron shoot. “Was he okay with it?” I croak because I feel so alone and deserted by my family when they know my feelings about Brandon.
“No. He was fucking livid but understood the decision is best for the team. He said he’ll play alongside him and make the bastard look good, but don’t expect anything from him off the court.”
