“Got it. And the date on the file matches your story.” Her gaze returns to me. “Why would Blaire do this? Why put your reputation, as well as the magazine’s, in jeopardy?”
I let out a breath and shrug. “Jealousy, I guess. It’s not entirely her fault… she was manipulated into doing it.”
“By who?”
“My ex.”
Juliet’s brows shoot up, nearly disappearing into her hairline. “Your ex manipulated Blaire into doing this? That sounds crazy.”
“I know it does, but it’s the truth,” I insist. “His name is Miles Anderson and he works for Sportsforce Marketing. He’s been looking for an in with us so that more of his clients could get features in ICON.”
“Fuck,” she hisses. I’ve never seen her look so pissed. “Well, we’ll obviously have to print a retraction. Then, as long as the editor-in-chief agrees, we’ll publish the piece you wrote originally.”
“What will happen to Blaire?” I ask in a cautious voice.
Juliet licks her lips and appears to choose her words carefully. “I’ll need to look into this a little more and consult HR, but this type of conduct is unacceptable and likely grounds for termination.”
I feel a twist of guilt deep in my stomach. Still, she should face whatever consequences Juliet decides are appropriate. I rise to my feet and take Juliet’s hand, shaking it. “Thank you for believing me. I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Of course. You're a fantastic photographer, Rylee, as well as a journalist. Thank you for your honesty. I assure you, it will be taken care of. ICON is lucky to have you.”
After thanking Juliet again and telling her I’ll see her after the New Year, I walk out feeling relieved that I’m one step closer to making things right. Now it’s time to clean up some of my other messes and salvage anything I can with Zander.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: WALLS UP
ZANDER
Fuckthe world and everything and everyone in it.
I can’t remember ever being this pissed off, or this disgusted with myself. Making my way home after getting back from our away game, part of me wants to keep driving and not stop. Just continue out of Denver, out of Colorado, and never look back.
Last night was abysmal. I played the worst game of my life, which I’m really not surprised about. I couldn’t focus on playing. I couldn’t focus on anything, really. I’m so torn up inside that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to feel anything close to happiness again. As angry as I still am with Rylee, I’m even more furious with myself for yelling at her and ending things the way I did.
On top of all that, I’ve had to deal with the fucking attention that article has brought me! Both good and bad. If it wasn't for Coach saying absolutely no press conferences, I probably would have punched a reporter and been kicked off the team. What the hell was with the accusations in that article? I'm not a playboy. I have never been a person who doesn't care about people and discards girls like objects. I'm a one-woman man, and that woman was supposed to be Rylee.
Fuck. What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to get over this? Over her?
I drive aimlessly for a bit, not wanting to go home right away. It’ll just be painfully obvious how alone I am without her.
The guys offered to hang out with me and go out, but I turned them down. Now I’m thinking maybe I should stop somewhere - hit up a bar and get drunk so I don’t have to feel like this anymore.
I freeze at the thought. Shit… that’s what Rylee would do, isn’t it? Drink to avoid her pain. To not have to feel the things she doesn’t want to feel.
My heart aches and I shake my head. I can’t do that, not when I blew up on her for doing the same thing. Still, I can understand the appeal… which means I can understand her a little better.
Just a little, though.
Groaning in frustration, I decide to just go home. Face the loneliness and get it over with. Avoiding it is only going to get me in trouble.
I head home, feeling shittier and shittier the closer I get.
As I pass the front of my building on the way to the parking garage, I catch sight of a figure sitting on the stoop and my heart clenches. It’s Rylee.
Without a thought, I pull into a parking spot by the sidewalk and get out of the truck. She stands as I approach, and she looks so beautiful with her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a blue trench coat and knee high boots, my chest aches. Her eyes are red and slightly puffy. It looks like she’s been crying and maybe not sleeping much. I’m cautious as I draw near and am careful not to let my longing for her show in my face.
“Hey,” she murmurs when I come to a stop in front of her.
“What are you doing here?” I reply in a low, clipped tone. “I don’t want to talk right now. You should go.”
