He kept going. “Management’s furious. You’re both benched for the next match.”
“Fine,” I said, wiping a hand across the back of my neck. Sweat still clung to my skin, cooling fast.
Cam blinked, incredulous. “Fine? You’re losing game time, pay, maybe endorsements. You realize what that means?”
I looked up then, meeting his stare. “I said I don’t care.”
“You should,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Because this—this self-destructive crap—it’s exactly what everyone expects from you. You’ve worked too hard to prove you’re not that guy, and now you’re handing them proof on a silver platter.”
His words hit, but not the way he meant. Because yeah, maybe I was wrecking something. But at least I knew why this time.
“The truth’s out, Cam,” I said, voice low but steady. “Let them spin it however they want. At least it’s real now.”
He just stared at me for a long moment, like he couldn’t decide whether to argue or just give up. Finally, he exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, heading for the door. “I’ll try to keep this contained, but you better pray she can weather it too.”
The door shut behind him, echoing off the tile.
I leaned back against the locker, letting my head thud against the metal. My heartbeat finally started to slow, but it didn’t bring peace—just exhaustion.
Water dripped from the showers somewhere down the line, steady and hollow. The rest of the team had cleared out fast, giving me space they didn’t know what to do with.
I pulled my hands down my face and laughed once, rough and humorless.
She didn’t ask for this.
That was the part that burned. Ellery had fought her whole life to build something clean, solid, good. And I’d just dragged her through the mud with me, even if I hadn’t meant to.
Still, when I closed my eyes, the only thing I could see was her—standing under the gala lights, chin lifted, eyes bright and sure.
They could call it scandal, chaos, whatever they wanted. But I knew the truth.
She wasn’t my mistake.
She was the only thing I’d ever done right.
The room emptied out one voice at a time until there was nothing left but the low hum of the vents and the sound of water dripping somewhere near the showers. The air felt heavy—thick with sweat, soap, and the ghost of a fight I shouldn’t have let happen.
I sat there on the bench, head down, elbows on my knees, just breathing. Slow. Deliberate. Trying to make sense of what was left to do when everything had already gone to hell.
It’s done.
That thought circled through my head like a mantra. No pretending. No hiding. No more PR scripts, no more “we’re just colleagues.” Everyone had seen it now—the cracks, the truth, the thing I’d been pretending didn’t exist. The mess was mine.
I dragged a towel across the back of my neck, the fabric rough against my skin. My knuckles still ached from clenching too hard. My chest felt hollow.
The locker room lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too steady. I reached for my phone on the bench beside me and thumbed the screen to life. Nothing. No messages from Ellery. Not even a missed call.
Probably better that way.
If she was smart, she was keeping her distance. Cleaning up what I’d dirtied. Fixing what she could still save. That was who she was—steady, composed, impossible not to care about.
I leaned back, letting my head hit the metal behind me with a soft clang. The sound echoed through the empty space, sharp and small.
You wanted to protect her.
That part stung the most. Because it was true. Every choice I’d made, every time I’d stepped between her and someone else, I told myself it was about keeping her safe. From gossip, from fallout, from me.
But that was a lie.
