Page 147 of Broken Blades

The team bus ride back had been silent. Nobody spoke after a loss like that. Just twenty-two guys sitting in the dark, replaying every mistake, every missed shot, every second we'd let slip through our fingers.

Now it was past midnight.

And I couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.

Chastity in the stands at the last home game, cheering when I'd scored, smiling like I'd hung the moon. Chastity with her hair spread across my pillow this morning, soft and warm and mine. Her voice whispering my name like a prayer. Her fingers tracing the scars on my chest like they were something beautiful instead of broken.

I checked my phone again.

No messages.

The screen glowed in the dark hotel room, empty of notifications, and something in my chest constricted.

I wondered how the merger party had gone. If she'd worn the dress she'd mentioned. If investors had circled her like sharks the way they always did with Harrington's daughter. If her father had used her again—positioned her like a chess piece in his endless game of appearances and power plays.

I wondered if she'd missed me the way I missed her.

The thought hit harder than any check I'd taken tonight.

I ran a hand through my hair and swore under my breath, the words harsh in the quiet room.

This was supposed to be revenge. Use the daughter to destroy the father. Make Harrington watch as his perfect image crumbled. Force him to live with the same kind of public humiliation he'd inflicted on me when he'd crawled into my bed and touched my wife.

Not this.

Not her.

Not whatever had happened between us that had nothing to do with cameras or performance or the carefully constructed lie we were supposed to be living.

Not the way my hands had trembled this morning when I'd traced her spine. Not the way her laugh made something in my chest crack open. Not the protective rage that had surged through me when Barbara had threatened her.

Not love.

I couldn't love her.

Loving her would ruin everything.

A sharp knock hit the door.

I froze, phone still in my hand, every muscle going taut.

It was almost one in the morning.

Another knock. Harder this time.

I crossed the room in three strides and pulled the door open⁠—

And stopped cold.

Chastity stood there.

Hair messy, like she'd been running her hands through it for hours. Makeup smudged beneath her eyes. The dress she'd mentioned wearing to the party was wrinkled, fabric creased like she'd been sitting in a car too long.

And her eyes⁠—

Something in her eyes made my chest lock.