“I should be the one mad at her. What’s her problem?” I mumble to myself when Roman finds me lounging on the sun deck. “I don’t understand her, man.”
I push my phone to the side, and he shrugs. “Maybe she saw the pics.”
I wave that thought off. “That’s nothing. She knows that. We went out often and women wanted a pic and an autograph.”
“Are you fucking stupid?” he asks me with an incredulous stare. “You left in a somewhat fight, and then she sees the pics of you on a yacht, partying.”
I gnash my teeth. “I wasn’t partying.”
“She doesn’t know that. And with two different women.”
“If that’s it, I’m going to kill you,” I say, stabbing a finger at him.
I didn’t even consider the possibility. That would explain why she’s mad. I know I would be. Fuck. I rake a hand through my hair. “We need to go back.”
“We stillhave another day.”
“I’m going to throw you overboard.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare him down. “Now, which alternative is preferable to you?”
“Fine.”
I am debating about calling her, but face-to-face, I can read her every micro-expression. I still can’t believe she’d be jealous. Lilly has no fucking reason. I don’t even perceive other women. She’s consuming every thought, pulsing in my heartbeat.
We’re not made to stay apart. She surely realized that with our brief separation. Yes, that will be it.
TWENTY-ONE
LILLY
I just finish unpackingwhen there’s a knock on my door. When I open it to see my dad standing there, I force my lips into a smile, knowing I will lie about my vacation by omitting the biggest part—Ian.
I already miss him. It’s been only a few minutes of separation, but the loss weighs heavily on me, pushing me down into the pits of misery.
Surprisingly, my dad hangs around until dinner time. I cook something light, but my father looks at the salad with eyes filled with appreciation. When I get a text from Ian, I reply quickly. My father’s presence reinforces my thinking that a bit of time apart is the best decision.
I am on autopilot, moving around robotically.
We eat our meal in silence when his phone pings and his eyes darken, his brow furrowing.
“These guys are going to turn me gray,” he says, shaking his head at his phone.
Trepidation stills my heartbeats. “What happened?”
He shows me his phone. My heart sinks when I see Ian with glassy eyes, holding a beer. He has been photographed with two different women by his side. I try to make sense of it. I zoom in on the photos with trembling fingers.
“Do you know if he has relationship troubles? It’s always a woman involved when an excellent player goes off the rails.”
There are too many thoughts crowding my mind to make sense.
My father’s words linger, and I gulp. “Why would you say that?”
He looks at me with a raised brow. He was a player once too.
Guilt treads through my muddled thoughts. If Dad only knew that I was the reason for Ian’s uncharacteristic behavior.
“Guess the first OTAs will include a reminder to not act stupid. At times, it feels like I am coaching a bunch of high school kids.”
After my father leaves, the volcano of emotions breaks free. Like I’m possessed, I scroll through the gossip sites on my phone. The sudden stress skyrockets my blood pressure, and I don’t rule out the possibility of a heart attack.
