I didn’t know what the hell to do.
The clock was ticking, her flight was leaving soon. If she got on that plane already believing I’d cheated, she wasn’t going to walk into my suite tonight. Hell, she might not even walk into the same city as me. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel in control of a single thing.
I hadn’t fucked up. Not this time. Not even close. But the girl I was in love with was about to be strapped into a six-hour flight, convinced I’d cheated on her, and it made me sick to my stomach.
I stared at the stupid photo again. This was the second headline I’d dragged her into in as many weeks. She hadn't signed up for this— the lies, the absolute lack of a private life. Even after I explained that it was just Eve, even if she believed every word I said, she was still being pulled into the center of a circus she never wanted a ticket for.
What if this was the breaking point? What if she looked at my life, at the constant, suffocating media scrutiny, and decided she couldn’t handle the weight of it?
The way I was feeling, the last thing I wanted was to head to practice. My head was all over the place, couldn’t think straight, but I had her in the back of my mind, always. I kept telling myself that once I saw her and explained, she’d understand; shehadto. She was the reason I’d been locked in all season, the reason my game had finally felt solid. I saw the way she looked at me. I was sure she felt the same.
I dragged myself to the courts with Ted at eight a.m., running on caffeine and nerves. Her flight was due in at three. If she’d even gotten on it. By five, I’d know.
Ted was already waiting when I walked in. His face said the story before his mouth did.
“Tyler, before we start, I need a word.” He gestured toward the quiet locker room.
“What?” I snapped, dumping my bag hard enough that it echoed.
“Alan took a call early this morning…from Orla.”
My head whipped toward him.
“She’s on her way back to New York right now,” he said.
She was coming back. She hadn't stayed in Ireland. But then I saw the pity in Ted's eyes, and the relief curdled.
“Tyler, I don't know what's happened, but it’s no secret to the team that you two have been… seeing each other.”
I just grunted, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching it.
“She’s requested that Ben take over as your physio. She’s reallocated all your slots and matches to him, effective immediately.”
My stomach dropped into a void.
“She’s also given notice,” Ted added, his voice dropping. “She won’t be continuing with the tour after the U.S. swing.”
The floor tilted. My legs felt unsteady, a cold, sick heat flooding my chest. This was it, she was amputating me from her life. She was quitting.
I grabbed my bag without a word and headed for the door.
“Tyler…Tyler!” Ted called after me.
“Go to hell, Ted.”
I stormed across the complex, the fury on my face a warning to anyone brave enough to look. I couldn't think. I could only replay the image of that grainy photo and the sound of her voice in my head, wondering how the hell she could believe I’d ever breathe the same air as another woman.
I shoved the door open so hard it banged the wall.
“Fuuuuuuck!” The word ripped out of me, raw and helpless.
I picked up my phone and furiously searched for Alan’s number. “Come on, pick up you asshole” I muttered.
I hauled him into the suite by his metaphorical throat over a FaceTime call that probably scorched his retinas. “Tyler…”
“Don’t fuckingTylerme, you know this is bullshit!”
“Tyler, calm…”
