It feels like we’re all grieving. And in a way, I guess we are.
Grieving who I was. The career I had. Everything I’m leaving behind.
After this press conference, I’m hanging up my jersey, and I’ll do it with my head held high and all of them by my side.
When they step away, Olive slips into the space between us. She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her cheek against my chest.
I breathe her in. Vanilla coconut. Her shampoo overrides any logic I had left—but she steps away before I can make a fool of myself in front of everyone.
"Everybody is here to support you. No matter what you decide to do, Avery. But I will be by your side through it all." She cups my cheeks, and I rest my forehead against hers.
"I love you, Olive. In case you didn’t already know." I kiss her gently, tasting her tears on my lips.
"I know you do. And I—"
"We have to go, Avery. It’s now or never," Orlando says, slipping a piece of paper into my hand, like he somehow knew what she was about to say.
Knew how shit the timing was.
And how perfect, too.
Olive pulls away, nods once, then takes my hand.
Together, we walk out the door, and everyone else follows.
The cameras don’t flash this time. Not like they usually do.
But the clicking? Deafening.
I force myself to tune it out. To focus.
Focus on the speech Orlando drafted for me.
On the words in front of me.
Olive sits beside me, her hand resting in my lap.
Her knee bounces like mad under the table.
I draw a shaky breath, turn to face Olive one last time, then I look out at the people who ruined my life.
My career.
The ones who dragged it all through the mud.
I could call them out by name.
One by one.
List every lie, every headline, every rumor they helped spread.
Tell them how wrong they've been about me.
But I don’t have it in me to fight.
Not anymore.
"Good evening, everybody," I say, clearing my throat.
