He may as well have plunged a rusty butter knife into my chest and twisted it. “What?”
“Tieran. You can’t let another team snatch him up. He’s too good, especially now that he’s back to his old self.”
Right, the team. Because he doesn’t know Tieran and I are involved romantically. Not until tomorrow morning, when he finds out alongside the rest of the world in the worst way possible.
“He’s just such a raw talent. Look at him, anticipatingthe defenses moves here." Dad stands and moves close to the tv, pointing at a tiny image of Tieran running across the pitch. “And then, he literally dances around them like he’s toying with them. It’s brilliant.”
It was. I remember watching that moment live and feeling like I was going to burst out of my skin from the electricity pulsing through the stadium. Everyone around me buzzed with excitement, cheering and latching on to one another, and all I could do was stare at the number ten running across the grass with pure light beaming out of his eyes.
“There’s no way the National Team haven’t got their eyes on him. They’d be fools to let his potential pass them by.”
The knife twists further, slicing through arteries and soft tissue until I’m bleeding out on the floor, ending me where I stand, because I know what I have to do, and I’ve never felt more broken in my life.
I stand up abruptly, needing to put distance between me and the pixelated version of everything I’m about to give up.
“You alright, lovey?” Dad asks, concern etched across his lined face.
I smooth the wrinkles out of my dress and paste on another smile. “Of course. I’m just gonna go get some dinner started.”
I don’t linger to hear what else he might have to say, rushing to the sink in the small, outdated kitchen to splash my neck with cold water in an attempt to calm the full body shaking starting to take over.
My lunch threatens to rise in my throat when I reach for my phone and shoot off a text that effectively crushes my spirit.
Jade
Fine, you win.
Lawrence Chapman
I knew you were a smart girl.
My feet are heavy, the stilettos of my heels getting scuffed with every drag against the pavement as I walk up to the Victorian-style building of my apartment.
I don’t see him sitting on the front steps at first because my head hangs; I’m too tired to keep it upright any longer.
“Jade.” Tieran reaches out for me, but I step out of his hold, unable to stomach the feeling of him touching me and knowing it’ll be the last time. “Jade?” The confusion in his voice sends a dagger clean through me.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I try to move past him, still refusing to look into his eyes, but he stops me by grabbing my hand.
“Baby, what’s going on? Archie texted me and said you didn’t seem yourself. Did something happen?”
“Go home, Tieran.”
“I am home, Hellfire. You’re my home.” Tears flood my eyes, and my knees threaten to buckle. He’s my home too, and I’m holding a match in one hand and kerosene in the other. “You’re scaring me, Jade. Please talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.” The pleading in his voice nearly makes me turn around, throw my hands around his neck, and beg for forgiveness, but I’m doing this for him, for his dreams. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to give him the life he’s worked so hard for, and that includes flaying myself open to protect him.
I don’t know how I’m going to do this, how I’m going to make this believable enough for him to let me go without a fight. My mind races a million miles a minute, trying to come up with an excuse.
What comes out of my mouth is, “I have to move back to Los Angeles.”
“What?”
“My investors are getting too restless with me being gone and are threatening to pull out of Jaded. I have to go back as a sign of good faith.”
“Alright, you can go now, and I’ll join you when the season ends. We can make it w?—”
“No.”
“Jade.” It’s a plea—a prayer.
