“Also, I read the reviews from Blancbourg. I looked into the timestamps of the various photos. They’re legit. To anyone with half a brain, B&S Media spun the whole thing for the lead on the infamous football player. You haven’t done yourself too many favors with the media lately, but that exposé on your past—I’ve had literary agents calling the training center asking if you want a book deal. That’s a story of perseverance. Why didn’t you ever tell me where you came from and what you’d been through?”
I’m nearly out of breath, keeping up with everything the coach says. I went from entertaining, giving up and boarding my yacht for parts unknown, to coming back to life.
“You there?” Hammer asks.
“Yeah. I’m just stunned. I thought it was over.”
“You know what we say on this team. It ain’t over ‘til we’ve won. We’re resilient, fighters. The name Bruisers isn’t fornothin’, son. We might get beaten down, covered in bruises, but we always get back up.”
“You’re right, Coach,” I say, my voice stronger now.
“Ah, those words are music to my ears. Never thought I’d hear them from you, though.” He chuckles. “Now, unstun yourself and get back on track. I want two-a-days. You got that? One workout in the morning. One in the afternoon or evening. These are going to be hardcore workouts, lifting, and stamina. No, make it three. Need you in fighting condition for the season.”
“You got it,” I answer, rising to my feet.
“When is the soonest you can get to LA? I reckon pretty quickly, given that jet of yours.”
“I’ll be there in under forty-eight hours. First, I have to make a pitstop in Florida.”
Omitting the extent of my life story from Maggie and not going after her was as bad as fumbling the ball in the last seconds of the fourth quarter. No, worse. I’m about to run upstairs and pack when I stop in front of the photo of my aunt.
It’s like her voice is in my head.Tell Maggie the truth.
“I did,” I whisper.
The other one.
I’ve been an idiot, that’s for sure, and have to fix things if it isn’t too late. As Coach said, I’m a Boston Bruiser, but before that, I’m a survivor. I’ve been knocked down, but I always get back up. Time to man up and fight for love.
36
MAGGIE
Never mind hot mess. My life has become a humid disaster.
Returning to Florida is like a step backward. There, I reunite with my inner troll while I fully embrace the Goblin mode life. Haven’t showered in three days. I’m pretty sure the hair tie fell out while I was lying on the couch, yet the messy bun on top of my head remains in place. Let’s not discuss the state of my fingernails, toenails, or other parts of me that routinely get groomed.
Cateline would fail me out of the Blancbourg program if I were a client. I haven’t heard from her and most certainly lost my job at Blancbourg. I’d liked to have explored Concordia, eaten some of that chocolate cake. I could look for an opportunity to work at a bakery or open one of my own.
No one there seemed to connect me to the Cinderella Spill viral video...or my parents. I could be anonymous. Drift into the sunset like Declan sailing off in his yacht.
My inner troll has an opinion on everything, including him.
Troll:You need to ditch him like yesterday’s news.
Me:No, I should ditch these hole-filled sweatpants and empty food containers.
Troll:Pfft. Don’t be ridiculous. Goblin mode is totally trending right now.
Me:I find that hard to believe.
Troll: That’s just it. You’re so out of touch. You prefer living your life instead of gossiping about others. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?
Me:Yes, but without meaning to. They taught me that I value real friendships over undermining other people’s relationships, publicly.
Troll:Well, are you all that different? *Cough, Declan, Cough*
Me:Yes, that was different.
