“Chapman hid cameras in her office,” he says, ashamed.
“Fuck,” Myles hisses.
Violence coats my body. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” I start to storm off to fulfill my promise when Myles’ arm shoots out, stopping me.
“Let me go,” I seethe. All I can think of is getting my hands around that measly little fucker’s neck and snapping it.
“You can hate me all you want, but I’m not letting you do anything to harm yourself. Jade wouldn’t want you to hurt your career more than it’s already been affected.”
My stomach lurches at her name, and I reach for my phone, dialing the one person whose voice I need to hear more than anything, but it goes straight to her voicemail. Even the sound of her monotone voice ringing out over the speaker soothes a small part of me.
I try calling her another five times, getting the same result, so I send a text, not knowing if she’ll receive or ignore it.
“Fuck!” Frustration and devastation war with each other for top spot.
Our sudden break up made a lot more sense now, and if I know my girl, I bet Chapman used this to blackmail us. Jade being Jade, felt she needed to bear the burden by herself. My beautiful, brilliant, bold woman still doesn’t getit. She isn’t doing this alone anymore, and she never will, not as long as I draw air.
Coach Ballard comes striding down the corridor. “Do you two plan on joining us? We have a match in an hour, and everyone’s waiting on you guys to have our pregame.”
There’s nothing I want to do less. Ishouldbe running to Jade’s front door, not up and down on a pitch, but she won’t even answer my calls. Fuck, she may have already skipped town back to L.A.
“Stone.” Ballard grabs my attention. “The press wants to do pregame interviews with you for, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “obvious reasons. I can tell them to suck my ball sack if you prefer.”
I’m about to agree with him when a thought occurs to me: Jade might not answer my calls because she thinks she’s saving me, but if I know her, I bet she’ll still tune into the game.
“Actually, Coach, I would like to talk to them, but I need to talk to the team first. I need their help with something.”
I look to Harry, who’s been cowering in the corner this whole time. “Do you want to make it right?” Ballard looks between us with confusion, and Harry nods vigorously. “Good. There’s something I need you to do, but you’ll have to be quick and go unnoticed.”
“Going unnoticed is my forte, sir.”
That will work in my favor for what I’m about to ask him to do.
I am a certified masochist.
It’s the only explanation for why I pull the remote out of the sofa cushions after a lousy attempt at hiding it so I wouldn’t turn on the sports channel just to get a glimpse of Tieran.
Not talking to him for two days has been excruciating. I shut my phone off after I ended things, not able to bear looking at my background and the picture he took it upon himself to save as my wallpaper. It made my chest ache to see him smiling wide as he pressed his face into my neck.
It was a particularly cold morning that day, and I kept harping on how I needed to get out of bed to get ready, but Tieran banded his arms around my waist, holding me in place. A second later, his leg had joined his arms in locking me down, and he started peppering my face and neck with soft bites and gentle kisses.
An errant tear slips down my cheek. I would give up everything to my name for one more minute of lying in bed, wrapped in his arms.
I wipe it away, set the remote firmly on top of the coffee table, and go back to the files strewn in front of me. Don’t look; it will only make things worse. Just do what you always do and throw yourself into work. Ignorethat there's a gaping hole in your chest, and maybe, eventually, things will be okay.
Diving back into my job full force was jarring, and catching up on the things I let slip over the past couple months is already overwhelming, proven by the mountains of paperwork and no less than thirteen tabs open on the laptop in front of me.
I’m reviewing the latest line sheets for an upcoming Jaded collection, comparing the fabric composition of a belted wool trenchcoat to a version we had last year, making sure the improvements I requested were implemented, but my mind strays to the remote acting as a paperweight.
I reach out but snatch my hand back.No, it won’t help anything.
I move on to study last week's performance for e-commerce as well as the wholesale division, shifting back and forth between documents in front of me and ledgers on my laptop, trying to make sense of the small shift in revenue. I blindly reach for another page, but my hand grabs the remote instead.
Just a look—I just need to see him for a minute, and then I’ll let him go.
I start scrolling through the channels, hugging the large bowl of ice cream I’ve been having for lunch and passing over countless programs in search of the game. I nearly miss it, but my heart would recognize that flash of blue anywhere.
I backtrack, and there he is, standing proudly in front of the team's gryphon logo printed on a banner—a replay of a pregame interview that must have happened no more than a half hour ago.
