Troy shakes his hand. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Let’s get you guys to the team.”
Troy takes my hand again, and we follow Daryl the rest of the way into the tunnel. The deeper we go, the noise we thought we left behind intensifies. There’s music being piped in and very out of tune voices singing along with it.
When the locker room door opens, it’s bedlam. Players shout, music blasts from a speaker perched precariously on a bench, champagne arcs through the air in glittering sprays. Reporters hover near the corners, phones out.
Then someone spots us. “Holy shit — is that Troy with Maya?”
The music cuts off abruptly. Heads turn, and I catch each and every look. From the press, there’s nothing but the hunger for a good story. I mentally dismiss them. But from the players, some show definite respect. From those who partook in the night that tried to break me, there’s a quiet resignation before they turn away—as if they know that despite their win, they don’t deserve to breathe in my air.
Clearly, the repercussions of their actions left a mark.
Good.
Coach pushes through the crowd, grinning wide. “Walsh! Good to see you.”
“Always happy to support you—when I’m able to.” Troy’s words have a deeper meaning than what he’s saying.
Judging from Coach’s expression, he knows it. “And I want you to know I appreciate that. You could have…” His voice trails off and his expression softens when he catches sight of me. “Well, look who it is. I was hoping we’d run into one another someday, Maya. ”
“Good to see you, Coach,” I offer my hand.
“Didn’t think you’d ever set foot near this circus again,” he admits, shaking it. “Glad you did.”
I check Troy with my hip before smiling up at him. “Blame him. I do.”
Troy murmurs, “Usually when coffee isn’t available at your disposal,uvetta mia.”
Coach is gaping at the two of us. But before I can retort, the locker room door slams open behind us. Coach immediately cautions Troy, “Don’t start something.”
The news crews immediately start filming. Great, that can only mean one thing.
Bryce is here.
He shoulders his way past his teammates until he’s right in front of me and Troy. Ignoring the man standing next to me, Bryce demands, “Maya, why won’t you answer my emails? And him? Is he your way of punishing me?”
I jut out my chin. “Don’t flatter yourself, Bryce. I came for the game, not a stroll down Cheater’s Lane.”
Despite the muffled laughter from his teammates, Bryce recovers quickly. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You do love cameras.”
“Yeah, when I’m the one holding them,” I retort. I tap my chin. “Oh, you must not have seen my latest spreads in National Geographic or Travel + Leisure. I guess I understand why, since you were too busy trying to save your reputation after you admitted to cheating on me for the whole of our relationship.”
Pure steel has replaced the softness in my voice.
The room falls utterly silent.
Bryce approaches, jaw tight. “Maya, maybe we can go somewhere and talk?”
“No. You publicly humiliated me, so you don’t get to treat anything about us like there’s unfinished business. You cheated, lied, and when it all blew up, you know what I never received?”
“What’s that,uvetta mia?” Troy asks my unanswered question because everyone else is afraid of the storm brewing in front of them.
I cast my eyes in his direction. “A public apology. Granted from this worthless…being…it wouldn’t have meant much, but he hid behind a PR machine. Half the world apologized for him and his lack of morals, but he never once stood up and said, ‘Yes. I did this, and it was wrong.’”
“I apologized in email,” Bryce smirks, as if that’s his trump card. His ace in the hole.
“Funny you should bring that up, because I’ve got your recent emails memorized.” I cock my head to the side and question my ex-fiancé. “Should I quote a few? You’ve been so sorrowful, it’s almost poetic.”
