It was all waiting for her, like I could trick time into getting her back to me faster. I just couldn’t wait to be with my girl again.
My phone buzzed again amongst the crumpled bedding, this time it was Travis.
Trav:
You might wanna do some damage control.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I hadn’t even opened it yet, and I knew it was bad.
One swipe and the photo filled my screen.
Grainy streetlamp light. A yellow cab blurred in the background. Eve’s hands cupping my face like she was making a move on me. Me, leaning in, smiling. A split second caught wrong, like we were about to kiss.
The headline screamed:
TENNIS HEARTTHROB TYLER REED BACK TO HIS OLD TRICKS AS HE LOOKS LOVED-UP WITH SECOND MYSTERY WOMAN IN AS MANY WEEKS.
“Fuck,” I muttered, raking both hands over my face.
My chest went tight, blood thundering in my ears. Orla. Jesus Christ. She’d already seen this—of course she had, Ireland was five hours ahead. She’d have woken up to it. Sat with it. Probably convinced herself it was true before I even opened my eyes.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t matter. The image was burned into my brain, her hands on my face, my smile. The perfect fucking shot to rip Orla out of my life. And I hadn’t even gotten the chance to explain. This was exactly the kind of tabloid bullshit I’d been trying to stay out of all season.
“Fuck.”
I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, thumb already hitting Orla’s name. Once I explained, showed her a picture of Eve, it would be fine.
Straight to voicemail.
I called again. Same thing. Again. Again. My pulse was racing now.
Come on, baby. Pick up. Please.
I dropped her a text
It’s not what it looks like. Call me.
Nothing. No read receipts. No typing dots. Damn it.
I left a voicemail, trying to keep my voice even and failing. “Babe, please. I swear it’s not what it looks like. It’s Trav’s wife. Call me when you get this.”
Sent another text. Still nothing.
And then it hit me: Washington.
The way I’d tucked her into my bed in that hotel, still in her dress from dinner, mascara smudged and eyes glassy from the liquor she’d been knocking back after seeing her ex’s Instagram.
She’d self-destructed that night. The whole day, really. By the time she came to me, she’d already decided it meant she wasn’t good enough, that she was replaceable, that it was somehow her fault.
I knew the same thing was happening right now. I could feel it, even from a thousand miles away. She was shutting down, locking the door in her head, deciding the worst before I even had a chance to explain.
And I didn’t have any other way to reach her. I was flying blind. I didn’t have her brothers’ numbers, or Gwen’s.
Jordan? Kate?
No. Fuck no. I didn’t need half the tour knowing my business before I’d even explained it to her.
I stood up, pacing the room, my hands in my hair.
