I don’t slow down until her voice sharpens with that practiced bite. “Try not to scowl in every photo, would you? You look constipated instead of professional.”
My jaw ticks, the muscle twitching before I can stop it. I drag a hand down my face, then turn halfway toward her, sunglasses hanging low on my nose. “Yeah? Maybe I’d smile more if I wasn’t paraded out here like a show pony every damn week.”
Maggie crosses her arms, glaring at me. “Maybe we wouldn’t have to do so many press releases if you didn’t fuck up all the time.”
Her eyes narrow, and her mouth parts like she’s about to give a lecture, but I shake my head, already fucking over it. “Funny. I thought football was about playing the damn game, not babysitting reporters.”
She taps her fingers on her arm, looking a little bitnervous. “Football’s about image too, Hayes. You don’t just play, you sell.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Then tell ‘em to buy someone else, because I’m fresh out of fake smiles.”
Her mouth opens, ready to fire back, but I’ve already turned away, my grip on the keys digging into my palm.
Sitting in my SUV, the silence feels heavy. Amelia’s at work, so there’s nothing to distract me from the growing frustration in my chest. I call Carter first, but there’s no answer; just a quick message saying he’s busy.
Reed answers on the first ring.
Forty-five minutes later, I walk through the front door of Boots & Bourbon. The place reeks of aged whiskey.
Reed stands behind the counter, wiping a glass with an unreadable expression.
“You look rough,” he says, sliding a bottle of water my way.
I twist the cap and drink until my throat stops burning. “Feels worse.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on the bar. “Talk.”
Leave it to Reed to say one word that instantly makes me feel a little bit better.
I tell him about the press conference, about having to apologize to the one man I’d rather put through a wall. I tell him about how Amelia’s been on my mind since the moment we met, how the marriage is supposed to be fake but feels more real every day. My eyes sting, and I don’t bother hiding it.
Reed comes around the counter, drops onto the stool beside me, and stays quiet.
“I’m shocked the marriage is fake, but you’re not wrong for wanting her,” he says after a while. “You’re wrong if you don’t tell her.”
I breathe in slowly and steadily through my nose, then stand up.
“Where are you going?”
I reach for my keys. “To spend some money.”
“On what?”
“On my wife. Something I should’ve gotten her from the start.”
The bellabove the jeweler’s door rings softly as I enter, and the warmth of the shop wraps around me. The air carries a faint scent of metal polish, leaving a metallic taste on my tongue.
Joe Larson, behind the counter, straightens the moment he sees me. “Mr. Hayes. How can I help you today?”
“I need a custom ring,” I tell him, without hesitation. “Exactly how she described it.”
His brow lifts. “And how’s that?”
“Four-carat emerald cut. Silver band. Clean. No halo. No pave.” I lean forward, my voice low but confident. “And not a diamond.”
He pauses, pen poised over his notepad. “Not a diamond?”
I shake my head. “No. Everyone has diamonds. Amelia needs something that’s truly hers, not a ring that looks like it came from the same case as everyone else’s. She’s bold. Unique. I want it to reflect her personality and feel personal. Her ring should stand out as one of a kind, just like her.”
