"We've all lost games," he begins. "That's part of this sport and part of life. You lose, you learn, you come back stronger." He pauses, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. "But when you lose yourself, that's when it's really over because you've got nothing left to fight with."
The room is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
"I've watched the team suffer this season because one of our best players has become a shell," Jake continues, his gaze landing on me. "Whatever's happening in your life, you need to decide what matters more—protecting your image or fighting for your truth. Because right now, you're doing neither. You're just vanishing."
The words hit me like lightning.
Protecting your image or fighting for your truth.
I’ve been protecting an image Gregory created for nine years while my truth suffocated beneath it. Playing the role of the playboy while hiding the man who raised his siblings and fell in love with a brilliant woman who saw through his bullshit.
And now I'm about to lose Ivy the same way I've lost everything else that mattered. By staying silent. By protecting myself instead of fighting.
Jake sits down, and the room slowly empties. But his words repeat again and again in my mind.
Fighting for your truth.
I head to the showers, strip off my gear, and stand under water hot enough to scald. The steam fills my lungs as I try to wash away the humiliation of tonight's performance. My muscles ache from tension more than exertion. Every mistake plays on repeat behind my closed eyes.
When I finally emerge, towel wrapped low around my waist, the locker room is empty. Water drips down my chest as I cross to my locker. I'm reaching for my jeans when heels click against the concrete floor.
"Declan."
The voice stops me cold. I turn.
What is she doing here? And how did she get in?
Sienna Hartley leans against the doorframe in a dress that's barely there. Black, tight, strategic cutouts revealing golden skin. Red lips curve into a knowing smile. We hooked up twice last season. Quick, meaningless encounters that Gregory arranged for photo ops and I went along with because it was easier than fighting.
"Sienna." I grab my shirt, pulling it on quickly. "You can't be in here."
"Security let me through when I said I was your girlfriend." Her smile widens as she pushes off the doorframe, hips swaying as she approaches. "I saw the game. You looked so tense out there. So frustrated."
"Yeah. It was a rough night."
"I bet." She's standing too close now, her cloying perfume filling the space between us. "You need to blow off steam. Let me help you release all that tension."
Her hand lands on my chest, fingernails dragging slowly down over my shirt. My body responds instinctively. Heat pools low in my belly, blood rushing south. I'm sexually frustrated. And she's offering exactly the kind of uncomplicated release I've taken without question dozens of times before.
But not tonight.
"Sienna, stop."
"Remember how good we were together?" Her other hand slides up my arm, squeezing muscle. "How I made you forget everything else? You need that right now, Dec. I can see it in your eyes."
She presses closer, and I can feel the heat of her body through the thin dress. Her breasts brush against my chest as she tilts her face up, lips parted in invitation.
"Come home with me," she murmurs, her breath hot against my jaw. "Let me take care of you. No strings. No complications. Just you and me and all that gorgeous frustration I can help you work out."
Her hand slides lower, over my stomach, heading for the towel. My body is betraying me, responding to the sheer physicality of someone willing and eager.
But my mind is somewhere else entirely.
On brown eyes that look at me like I'm more than my body. On a petite frame and soft lips that somehow takes up all the space in my thoughts. On the way Ivy's hands felt in my hair, gentle and demanding at once. On how making love to her felt like coming home instead of just getting off.
On Ivy.
I grab Sienna's wrist before her hand reaches the towel.
