“I knew she wouldn’t be happy,” Brandon murmurs.
I turn back and jab a finger toward Brandon. “Stay the fuck away from me.” I get as close to running in these damn heels as I can manage without twisting an ankle.
“Lottie, wait,” Brandon shouts.
“No. You don’t get to call me that,” I explode over my shoulder.
A single sob escapes. And another. The click of my heels on the concrete mimics my racing heart. I refuse to walk past the other offices red-faced, so I dive into the storeroom. It’s dark and quiet, which is exactly where I need to be.
I crouch into a squat and tighten my grip on a shelf as I sob through labored breaths. When that’s not enough, I cross an arm over my knees and rest my head on my forearm. The tidal wave of pain and every emotion I locked away releases and rolls over me. The lump in my throat burns with a thousand razor blades, even with the release of tears.
I’m still here, right where he left me, doing the same things before he left. I’m pretending to move on, confident with my career choice, but I’m stuck in reverse, holding onto the past. No lessons learned. From the moment I saw him, my heart screamed, wanting what was lost. I am that same girl, no matter what anyone else sees.
I sob again. I fucking tried hard to be better.
The door opens, and I hide my eyes with the invasion of light. Through tears, I catch a silhouette, knowing exactly who it is before I smellhim.
No, no, no.
His woody aroma wafts around me like an ambush, and I can’t escape. Once upon a time, it calmed me. Now it’s suffocating because I feel trapped, embarrassed he has to see me like this when my shields are down. I’m not the powerful ex-girlfriend I pretend to be.
When the door closes, darkness encapsulates us in the tight space.
“Please go,” I choke out, sensing him close.
My heart races inside my chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I gasp with a muffled sob, unable to take the needed breath. There isn’t enough air in here with everything and him taking up space.
I shrug his hand off my shoulder. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Ignoring me, his warm air caresses my face as he crouches beside me, but I’m too weak to say anything. Instead, I close my eyes, wishing the curiosity of his jersey number didn’t draw me down to the locker room. I wish I’d listened to my brain and remained hidden in my office.
Forever.
Then, as if my wants don’t matter, two strong arms wrap around me. I want to let go of my knees and push him away. Only I don’t have the strength. Brandon tightens his hold, resting his head on my back.
Suddenly, the past collides with the present—everything I was trying to prevent. It feels right, the way we should have always been. We stay like this, our breaths the only sound in the dark room.
He releases a heavy exhale, his breath a whisper against my neck, and something stirs inside me. My shields rebuild, and my thoughts align. I shrug him off with a sense of anger rising. “What are you doing?”
“Holding you.”
“You lost that liberty years ago.”
“I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere.” His smooth voice wraps around me, and as much as I want it to be true that he is here for me, I can’t let it happen again. My heart can’t take it.
Another heartbreak will ruin me.
He is returning to Australia at the end of the season.
Determined to put space between us, I push up to my feet. “This is not happening.” I try to slide past him, feeling the wooden shelves for the way. “Excuse me. I have work to do.” With that, I open the door and don’t bother to look behind me or wait for a response. The last thing I want is for him to see my makeup-smeared eyes or the black streaks that trail down my cheeks, exposing how messed up I am over him.
I need to be Charlotte Hendricks, CEO of the LA Sharks, not a lovesick girl crying over her first heartbreak.
I’m not her anymore.
