Marco shakes his head. “You’re being a dick.”
The room goes quiet again. Not stunned silence. Just enough pause to let the line draw itself.
I say nothing. Again. The guilt is immediate and suffocating.
Afterward, Marco corners me near the exit. “You don’t owe him your silence,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I reply, and the words feel worn already.
“Then why?—”
“I can’t,” I cut in, too fast. “I just can’t.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he nods, slow and understanding in a way that makes my breath snag. “Okay,” he says. “But don’t let it eat you alive.”
It already is.
Once I’m home, I finally watch the interview everyone’s been quoting. I don’t want to. I put it off until it’s too late to pretend I won’t. The apartment is quiet, Rafe still out of town, the couch holding the shape of where he should be.
Elliot sits beside him on the screen, angled in just enough to read as intimate without crossing any obvious lines. They’re both relaxed, confident, unafraid.
The host asks about the video.
“It was important to us,” Rafe says, voice steady, “that it felt honest.”
Elliot smiles at him. “It was easy to be honest with you.”
The audience reacts exactly the way they’re meant to, and my chest aches with it.
I mute the television and stare at the screen, watching their expressions without sound. They look good together. Not romantically—not really—but aesthetically. Cohesive. Aligned. Easy. Everything I refuse to be with him in public.
My phone buzzes before the thought has time to settle. It’s a text from Eric.
Eric: Hey, heads-up. Media requests picking up. Might want to be careful about affiliations right now. Nothing bad. Just optics.
I stare at the screen for a second, then lock it and drop the phone onto the couch like I don’t care. I do.
Five minutes later, it buzzes again. This time, it’s a call. I answer after switching the TV off completely, unable to look at it anymore. “Hey.”
“Ollie,” Eric says, brisk but not unkind. “You got a minute?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Couple things,” he replies. “First—sponsorship interest is ramping up. Nothing locked yet, but a few brands want meetings. Apparel, wellness, that kind of thing.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
“We don’t have to rush,” he adds. “But it’s worth thinking about. This is usually when momentum matters.”
“I know,” I say. “We can talk about it later.”
“Fair.” There’s a brief pause, and then he clears his throat. “Second thing. There’s a charity gala coming up next month. Big one. League-backed. A bunch of your teammates will be there.”
I hold back my sigh. “Okay.”
“They’d like you to attend.”
“Okay.”
