“I knew it. I fucking knew it. All that charm, all those promises…and I still let myself fall for it.”
“Could be nothing,” Danny tried.
“Nothing?” I snapped. “It’s a perfect fucking shot Danny. That’s not nothing. That’s him doing exactly what everyone’s been warning me about.”
I shoved his phone back at him and was halfway to the stairs before he could say another word.
“Orla…”
But I was already taking them two at a time, my pulse in my ears, every muscle tight with fury.
My suitcase was already packed at the end of the bed, ready for my flight in four hours. I slammed the door behind me hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
Leaning against it, I tried to breathe, but the anger felt like it was choking me.
His hoodie was draped over the chair, the one he’d let me take when I left Canada. It still smelled like him. That clean, masculine scent that used to make me weak. Now, it hit me like poison and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to launch it out of the window.
My hands were shaking with rage and hot humiliation.
I thought about the stupid date he’d taken me on, the way he brought me coffee in the morning. The way he’d whispered things that sounded like forever. I thought about the way I smiled like an idiot every time he touched me, how he made me feel like the only woman who had ever existed to him.
Lies. All fucking lies.
A knock came on the bedroom door. Danny’s voice was quiet and uncertain. “Orla, you okay?”
I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle the sob. “Fine,” I lied. Danny didn’t push further. We both learned years ago not to do that to each other. He knew better. The Sheehan temper was like a storm. You didn’t walk into the middle of it. You waited until it burnt itself out.
Tyler didn’t deserve me walking back into his room tomorrow like nothing had happened. Fine. I wouldn’t. By the time I’d reached the airport, I’d have spoken to Ben and transferred Tyler to his caseload. I’d rearrange my schedule so I didn’t have to see him at all in New York. I’d keep it professional, keep it distant. The team already had my own hotel room booked and when this tour was over, I’d be on the first flight to London. Done.
No conversations. No explanations. No more Tyler fucking Reed.
I sat down on the bed, hugging my knees, tears stinging hot and relentless. But these weren’t the soft tears of missing someone, they’d been replaced with the angry, self-disgusted kind you cry when you realise you’ve been played.
My eyes flicked to my phone. Middle of the night in New York. He’d be fast asleep, completely unaware that the world had already shown me exactly who he was. I shut the phone off without hesitation. He didn’t get the chance to explain, to lie, to twist. Whatever excuse he eventually scrambled for could die in his drafts.
I wasn’t going back to him.
Not after this.
Chapter 41
Tyler
New York
6 a.m.
My alarm draggedme out of sleep, the dull buzz cutting through the quiet of the suite. I groaned, slapped it off, and threw it to the foot of the bed. My legs were still heavy from yesterday’s drills, but I was wired enough. Ready for another day. I threw off the covers, rolled on some deodorant from the nightstand and tugged on my gym clothes.
I threw my towel and my other gear in my gym bag, ready to call Orla before practice. I needed to hear her voice. Maybe calm the ache in my chest that’d been there since she left. It was too late over in Ireland to call her last night after I got back from dinner so I did what any responsible pro player would do and got an early night and sent her a quick good night text that I re-read more times than I cared to admit.
The suite was ready for her. I’d spent the last few days essentially nesting like a lunatic, packing up everything she’d left behind before she flew to Ireland. Her shampoo, her hair ties, those navy silk pajamas she looked irresistible in. I’d even gone out and bought a fresh bottle of that expensive Kilian perfumeshe wore—mostly because the scent of it still clung to my pillow and I was losing my mind without that familiar smell in the new hotel. I might have picked up some new lingerie, too. Just because.
The place felt wrong without her, slightly undone in all the wrong ways. She had this habit of tidying while she talked, lining up the water bottles on the counter, smoothing the crumpled sheets I’d already sat on. I used to tease her for it, but now the small messes just felt empty without her hands fixing them. I missed finding her coffee cup half-full on the nightstand because she was physically incapable of drinking the whole thing before it went cold. I even missed her claw clips in the bathroom, the sound of her accent chatting away while she got ready in the morning.
And sleep—Jesus, I hadn’t slept right since she left. It was like my body knew when she wasn’t there. The bed stayed cold on one side, my arm twitching for the weight of her tucked against me.
Everything I touched still had her fingerprint on it, but it wasn’t enough. I’d tried to fill the quiet with conditioning sessions, recovery and PR events, but nothing worked. God the PR events were the worst without her.
