I want to scream and shout and cause him pain… but the words intended to hurt suddenly tangle, my voice disappearing before I can even begin, and a tear slips free.
Rhys steps in, tone sharp, but what’s one more cut at this point. “Olivia.”
That single, restrained sound snaps the air between us again. I can’t be the one to hurt another person because of this man.
I thought there would be a sense of relief by saying it out loud, but I’m quickly realizing that seeing Bethany crumble under the weight of a truth she doesn’t deserve to hear today will simply add to my shame. I’ve spent so long not wanting to feel that anymore, thinking I deserved to be free of it, but in the same way, she doesn’t deserve to be caught in the middle, just as much as I was… if I can save one person here, it should be her.
Rhys doesn’t look touched by the train wreck happening inside me, and the reality that none of it matters anymore makes my stomach lurch.
“I need some air,” I manage, voice shaking. My hands won’t unclench. “I—I’m sorry, Bethany. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t wait for her to reply. I just push past them, the bell above the door jangling as I step outside. The cold hits me like a punishment. Rain needles through my clothes, through skin, through everything I’ve tried to rebuild. I stumble around the corner, then bend over the curb, palms braced against my knees, and drag in air until it hurts to breathe again.
Chapter forty-seven
Jay
Theinterviewhasbeengoing on for over ninety minutes now, and I can’t deny that both Cole and Kate have been very easy to talk to. Sports is in our blood, not just our jobs, and it’s so good to remember that part of me, why I love capturing it again. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about the game without feeling like an outsider looking in. Every question, every shared story from the sidelines, pulls me back to that rush, the split second where everything aligns through the lens. For the first time in months, I feel like I belong in this conversation.
Kate shares a look with Cole, and he nods. “Well, I think I can speak for both of us when I say, we’re incredibly impressed by you, Jay.”
After months of rejections and radio silence, to have someone see the work and not the failures—it does something to me. I try to play it cool, but my chest tightens with something close to relief. “I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”
“We have a couple more interviews this afternoon, so give us today, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.” He stands, and I follow suit. “When do you fly home?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Good, keep your phone on loud,” he says with a small smile. “We’ll be in touch soon.”
I shake both their hands, the weight of the moment settling in. As I step outside, the late-afternoon light hits the pavement, warm and golden, and for the first time in months, that belligerent uncertainty that’s been weighing on me and my ability to take pictures doesn’t feel empty. It feels like possibility. Then the image of the one person I want to talk to pops into my mind.
Would she want this? Would she want me if I werehere?Or is she already building her own life back home, one that might not have space for both of us?
The thought twists in my chest, equal parts hope and fear. For the first time, the idea of success isn’t just mine anymore. It’s tied to her—to keeping her, too.
I pull my phone out and order an Uber to my hotel, then I find Liv’s number and hit call. Excitement thrums in my veins to hear her voice. I’m not going to blurt anything out over the phone. I just want to talk to her. When the phone rings out, and her voicemail greets me, I figure she must be in class.
So I call Hudson instead. When he picks up the phone, I’m greeted with a rendition of Katy Perry’s “California Girls,” except he’s changed Girls to Jay. It’s quite something having your best friend serenade you, and sadly, it’s not the first time he’s done it.
“Are you done now?”
“You never appreciate my singing,” he says, and I can almost hear his pout.
“If you can call it singing.”
“Why am I your friend, again?”
“Because you owe me for all the years of me being your go-to guy to get you outta shit with girls.”
He huffs on the end of the phone, and I can imagine his face right now, scrunched up and unimpressed. “Solid foundation building, if you ask me.”
It’s a good job I love this guy despite all that.
“Anyway, did the interview go bad, is that why you’re being a dick?”
I laugh because he couldn’t be more wrong. “Actually, no, the interview went great.”
“Well, that’s great,” he praises. “Tell me everything.”
