"Yes." Brent's tone is maddeningly calm. "And they've found a match they think aligns with the image the league wants to see. Someone who can give you credibility. Someone the public loves."
"Absolutely not." I stand too fast, the bench scraping loud against the tile. Heat crawls up the back of my neck. "I'm not pretending to date someone for PR."
"It's not pretending to date," Brent says carefully, like he's defusing a bomb. "It's… strategic companionship. A partnership. And considering your situation, it might be the only thing that keeps this from blowing up your contract."
I swear under my breath, pacing the narrow space between lockers. My cleats click against the floor, sharp and rhythmic, grounding me when everything else feels like it's spinning out.
I feel trapped. Forced into corners by lies, by optics, by everyone else's games.
The idea of opening my life to a stranger, letting someone have access to the private world I guard so fiercely, makes something inside me recoil violently.
I don't let people in.
Not anymore.
Not after what it cost me last time.
"You're asking me to invite someone into my life. Todatea stranger because my career depends on it."
"I'm asking you to consider a solution that protects everything you've built." Brent's voice hardens just enough to cut through my anger. "You think this goes away on its own? You think the league backs off because you're innocent? They don't care about truth, Cam. They care about image. And right now, yours is damaged."
The words land like blows.
I sink back onto the bench, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
He's right.
I hate that he's right.
But I also see the truth in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way he's already holding his phone like the decision has been made.
My career is on the line.
Everything I've worked for—every early morning, every brutal practice, every sacrifice—could vanish because of a lie I can't fight with just my word.
"Who is she?" My voice comes out flat, defeated.
Brent hesitates. Just for a second. But I catch it.
"ERS is keeping details confidential until the meeting. But I'm told she's… high-profile. Beloved. The kind of person who shifts public perception just by standing next to you."
High-profile.
Beloved.
Exactly the kind of person I've spent my entire career avoiding.
Brent lowers his voice, stepping closer so no one else in the locker room can hear.
"You meet her tomorrow morning. Nine a.m."
The world goes still around me.
The locker room noise fades into a low, dull hum. Jax's laughter. The spray of showers. All of it dissolves.
I'm not ready for this.
I'm not ready for anyone.
