Even the first-class lounge appears to have eyes judging me as I sit in solitude waiting for an attendant to tell me it’s time to board my flight. Meanwhile, I scroll through the social media feeds the publicist for my family’s vineyard has been forwarding to me practically round the clock since the rookie’s girlfriend scrolled through his phone while he was inthe shower and took—righteous—offense to what happened at Bryce’s.
They say actions speak louder than words. Nowadays, they go viral faster. Between TikToks, Reels, and Lives—not to mention the fucking GIFs showing Bryce doubled over with me standing over him like Lucifer—I’m making as many headlines as the Oklahoma Lightning for having a fucking moral code.
Just then, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. When I recognize the familiar name flashing across the display, I answer it, “What do you want, Arek?”
“The truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God.” Arek Ronan turned StellaNova from trash paparazzi into one of the world’s largest social and human news empires. He’s not only a journalist I respect, but when he steps down from his ownership role and puts his fingers on the keyboard to write, he does so with the belief that truth matters.
I take a quick drink of my whisky before muttering, “What the hell is wrong with people?”
“If someone could answer that question, I would go out of business.”
I bark out a quick laugh, drawing looks from several people. “Do I need to guess why you’re calling? The last time you wanted advice on what wine to buy your wife.”
“Thanks for that tip.” He waits a beat. “I heard you were getting out of Dodge.”
“Did you?”
“How’s the lounge at JFK?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Your sources continue to amaze me. What do you want to know?”
“From what I’ve seen, the video is damn clear. Parry came at you for defending his now ex—it is ex?—fiancée?”
With some relish, I recall the bowl of vomit on Bryce’s desk. When I went to find Maya to tell her the complete truth, Icouldn’t help but notice it because his study door was open. “Yeah. It’s one-hundred percent ex.”
“Thanks for confirming that. That’s the last piece I needed for our article.”
My brows wing up. “No one would? You haven’t been able to reach Maya? What about her friends?”Please, God, tell me she didn’t take him back.
Cheerfully, Arek tells me, “Haven’t been able to get a hold of Maya Cox. Apparently, she’s traveling for work. Her friends shared that much.”
I scowl. “So, you used me for backdoor information?”
“No. I wanted a secondary source who wasn’t associated with the damn Lightning. One of the team members gave me the…specifics…about how she ended the engagement.”
“Arek,” I warn. “Don’t you dare print that.”
“Am I that man?” He sounds wounded.
“You used to be,” I remind him.
“Maybe, but I have a moral compass of my own, now.” I think about his moral compass and how long it took him to win her back. He clears his throat. “Off the record. Why did you get so pissed?”
The question doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known Arek for years. He was a huge Lightning fan when I played for them. Staring out at the rose-colored night, turning the jet fuel into gold smudges, I grip my phone tighter. “Because it was wrong. Because someone had to. Because no man should ever say things like that about the woman they’re going to marry. And Maya’s just—” I pause, a lump forming in my throat. “It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve that.”
Arek makes a noise of understanding. “You care for her.”
Silence fills the air for a long moment before I finally admit. “Yeah. I care.”I have since the first night I met her.
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Head back to the vineyard. Lie low.”
“If you ever need anyone to talk with,” he offers.
“On or off the record?” I snicker.
“Either,” he says seriously. There’s a long pause that makes me check my phone to ensure he hasn’t disconnected. When he speaks again, there’s nothing but respect in his tone. “Only a few people wouldn’t have let that guy play his game.”
