Gasps, murmurs, cameras firing rapidly. Phones rise, recording every second.
Beside me, the players shift in their seats, eyes flicking my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the AD’s jaw tighten.
And me? I don’t move. Not a twitch. Not even a breath.
Inside, I can feel the heat building in my chest. The familiar burn that used to send me straight over the edge. They think they know me. They’re waiting for me to hand them a headline.Hothead Barlowe loses it again.
But not this time.
I clear my throat. “My personal life isn’t your story to tell,” I say, voice low but clear enough to cut through the noise. “But since you brought it up, I’ll keep it simple. I’m proud of the people in my corner, and they have nothing to do with my job performance. If you want to talk about the game, talk about the win. Otherwise, I think we’re done here.”
The room stills.
No one moves. No one breathes.
I hold his stare across the rows of flashing cameras until he looks away first. Just barely—but enough.
The AD announces that will be all, calling an end to questions, and the players stand. I stay seated for a beat longer, waiting for the silence to sink in before I clear my throat.
Because this time, I didn’t give them what they came for.
This time, they don’t get to own the story.
My voice comes out low but clear enough to slice through the chatter.
“Yeah. It’s true.” I pause. “I’m with Tessa.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t back down. “Our families have been close our entire lives. We fought what we felt for a long time—even after people encouraged her to date my brother. I won’t speak for her, but I’ll say this: neither of us wanted to hurt anyone. We didn’t plan it. It just… happened.”
I draw in a breath. “This will be the last time I talk about my relationship before you. But I won’t stand by and let tabloids twist it into something ugly. So yes, I’m with Tessa St. James. Yes, she has a history with my brother. She’s the kindest, strongest woman I know. Everyone who knows her loves her, and I do. Love her.” My voice cracks. “I’m done letting fear or headlines dictate who I am or the decisions I make. You can believe what you want about me, but the only opinions that matter are from the people who actually know me.”
Questions erupt, everyone shouting over each other. Flashes pop. Recorders wave in the air like they’re searching for the next sound bite. The noise builds, but it’s different now—no whispers, no guessing. Just the truth they can’t twist.
I don’t flinch. Don’t look away. I let them see me sitting there, calm, not running from it.
Even with the chaos crashing around me, I feel that pull toward the back of the room.
I don’t have to look to know she’s there and heard every word. I needed her to know that I didn’t fold this time. I won’t hide her. Not from anyone. Not anymore.
They keep shouting, shoving their mics toward me, but I don’t hear them anymore. My eyes search through the crowd until they land on her.
She’s standing near the back, behind a row of reporters, like she thought she could slip in here unnoticed. But I’d find her anywhere. Even in this chaos, I can find her.
And the look in her eyes, shining back at me, glassy with tears she’s fighting like hell to hold back, hits me square in the chest because I know what this means for her. She’s being dragged into the circus she never asked for, thrown to the wolves in the same spotlight I’ve been fighting to survive. But there’s something else in her eyes, too. I’m not sure if it’s relief or pride, or both.
She heard me. She knows I didn’t fold.
That look nearly knocks the air out of me.
Their questions keep flying, but I tune them all out. They don’t even register in my mind. I just keep my eyes locked on her because I don’t need to answer them. I’ve already given them enough.
Relief hits, settling deep in my chest. It’s out there now—her name, the truth. No taking it back. No more secrets or pretending she isn’t mine.
And I don’t regret a damn thing.
My pulse hammers in my ears, but I stand tall, like I’ve been waiting for this hit my whole life.
Whatever comes next, I’ll take it.
