“HOW’S HE DOING?” Zayn asks Beckett the moment he answers his video call. “Can I see him?”
I lean my head on Zayn’s shoulder and watch the screen on his phone as Beckett walks over to where Dobby is laying, sound asleep, on the new orthopedic, custom dog bed Zayn had made for him. It was a rough couple of days after Dobby had his stomach pumped, but after some rest and lots of fluids, Dobby bounced back to his old, happy self again. It was very difficult for Zayn to fly across the country to California and leave Dobby behind so soon.
“He’s doing fine, Z. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him while you’re gone. I need you to focus and work your ass off during the big game so we can negotiate a solid trade for you,” Beckett tells him. “Now go eat and get back to the hotel and rest.”
Zayn laughs. “Yes, Dad.”
“Whatever, asshole. Just get take care of yourself and stop worrying about things going on here. I’ve got it all under control.”
“Okay,” he says. “Later, man.”
When he ends the call, Zayn stuffs the phone back into his pocket and turns to me. “Ready to go?”
I nod. “Yep. Let’s go get you fed and then get you back to bed early, like Beckett said.”
He leans over and presses a tender kiss to my lips. “Now we’re talking.”
I shove him back a bit, playfully. “I meant to sleep. No sex. You need to save your energy for your big day tomorrow.”
He frowns. “That’s no fun.”
I run my hand down his chest. “It’s not, but I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night after your win.”
A wicked grin crosses his face. “I like the sound of that. Are we talking kinky? Tie me up sex?”
I throw my head back and laugh. “If you win, whatever you want.”
“Hmmm. This can get very interesting. Winning this game just got a lot more interesting.” He stands up and pulls me up along with him. “Let’s go eat so I can get my rest. Sounds like I’m going to need it for tomorrow.”
We’re no sooner out of the hotel door, and hundreds of cameras are in our faces, taking photos of us and shouting questions directed at Zayn.
“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?”
“Is it true the Devils are looking to trade you?”
“Do you know who killed Gia Whitt?”
“Zayn, is that your niece from the video of the fight with Tabor Collins? Isn’t she the same girl you were kissing in the video Gia posted? Is that why you killed her?”
Zayn’s feet turn into concrete blocks and halts him in place. He turns his head and glares at the man who asked the last question. “First, I had nothing to do with Gia’s death. A woman named Annabelle Rogers, the woman who’s been stalking me, did and the police cannot locate her. Gia and I were never seriously dating. It was a setup for PR purposes, arranged by her grandfather, Bruce Bayne. Second, this woman—” Zayn wraps his large hand protectively around my hip as he growls, “She’s my girlfriend. Not my niece, and I love her.”
His admission of his love for me to the rest of the world surprises me. For something we’ve tried to keep so secret for so long, he’s not afraid to tell everyone now how he really feels about me. I he snapped it out while being angered by the accusations made by the paparazzi, but it still made me feel all warm inside.
Without saying another word, Zayn guides us through the crowd to an awaiting black SUV. He opens the door and I climb inside and he follows me before instructing the driver to get us out of there. Zayn lays his head back against the headrest and releases a frustrated breath.
“You all right?” I ask as I take his hand in mine.
His eyes soften as he turns to look at me. “Yeah. I’ve just had it with everyone trying to blame me for Gia. I’m sorry she’s dead, but I didn’t kill her.”
“People love to look for someone to blame, and it’s crazy the true killer’s name hasn’t been mentioned one time in the press. I’m glad you said something. Maybe now more people will be on the lookout for her and the police can find her.”
“Let’s hope,” he says. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this mess.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. You and I are a team, and your messes are my messes too. We’re in this together.”
“I love you, Vivi.” The sincerity in his eyes causes me to tear up.
“I love you, too.”
This man owns every beat of my heart, and I would do anything for him.
Sitting in the section with the rest of the Devil’s player’s wives has been an eye-opening experience. These women love to spend their husband’s money and aren’t afraid to brag about the shit they’ve bought to one another.
I could not care less about the money Zayn has. Sure, his home is beautiful, and he has nice things, but he worked hard for them. I make my own money. Granted, I don’t make nearly anything remotely close to what Zayn makes, but I’m happy with my job and can support myself.
These women don’t seem to have any other goals besides keeping their body perfect at all times and that’s just not me.
A sea of people as far as the eye can see fills every inch of the stadium. All the regular Devil’s games were fun, but this game is a party. The half time show was star-studded, but it was nothing compared to the last quarter of this game.
It’s tied up with less than a minute left on the clock. Everyone is on their feet as the Panthers snap the ball. The quarterback steps back and makes a throw, but before his teammate can make the catch, Zayn jumps into the air and intercepts the ball. Zayn flies down the field like a red streak, reaching the end zone and scoring the run that puts the Devil’s a head.
The roar of the crowd is deafening as Zayn and the rest of the defense run to the sidelines as special teams head out to kick the extra point. I smile proudly as the rest of the team tackles my man in celebration. This is what he needed. It’s been such a shitty year for him, it’s great something good has finally happened for him.
The clock keeps ticking down after the ball snaps and then kicked through the goal post.
I cross my fingers and find it difficult to breathe as the Panther’s offense takes the field once again. The time runs, and the team works quickly to get some plays in, but when it lands on the final ten seconds, the crowd goes off, screaming and celebrating even before the last snap goes off. The center snaps the ball. The quarterback drops back and rolls out of the pocket as the defense collapse in on him, causing him to take off. The QB runs as fast as he can, but Zayn is like a freight train coming full steam at him. Zayn wraps his muscled, tatted arms around the man and tackles him to the ground as the final seconds of the clock play out.
I scream along with everyone else. Zayn had a hell of a game and did exactly what Beckett asked him to do. Zayn went off, showing the world why he is one of the best athletes in the world. Any team would be lucky to have him and the Devils are insane for letting him go.
People rush the field. Police and security do their best to keep people back, but it’s hard to stop an excited mob. Reporters swarm Zayn, trying to get his take on the game during the mist of his teammates celebrating.
His gaze locks on me and I give him a thumbs up and he smiles as he continues to talk to the reporters. I’m proud of my man. He’s a beast, and he’s made me, the biggest anti-sports person on the planet, a football fan. But I’m not sure if it’s the sport I love as much as the man playing it.
A crew of people roll out a huge platform onto the middle of the field and set up steps to get up there. They arrange a podium and a table that has a massive silver trophy with a football on top. The team is still celebrating when I spot Bruce Bayne being driven by a golf cart to the stage along with a bunch of other official-looking people.
In the mass of people still wondering around the stadium, I hear my name being called.
“Vivi! Over here!”
I turn and spot Tina, the new publicist Beckett hired to work on Zayn’s image. “I didn’t know you came here too.”
She waves me off. “I flew out this morning after seeing the latest in the press about Zayn, where he named Gia Whitt’s killer and declared his love for you.”
I grimace. “You’ve already seen that?”
“It’s everywhere. I’m here to do damage control.”
I sigh. “Is it bad?”
“Not yet, but we need to do what we can to make sure Zayn appears believable, which is where you come in.”
I point to myself. “Me? What can I do?”
“I’ve set up an exclusive interview for you with Stacy Pullman, one of the top sports journalist in the business. She wants to let the world know who you are and your take on what’s happening with Zayn’s stalker. It could help paint a picture of Zayn also being a victim in this situation and change the way the public views him. Are you down to do this?”
“Of course,” I say instantly. “I’ll do anything to help Zayn.”
“Great. I thought you would. Come on. Let’s go do this interview. I’ll be with you the entire time, so you have nothing to be nervous about,” Tina assures me as she leads me up the stadium steps.
“So, the reporter is already here?”
“Oh, yeah. This is a tremendous event in sports, so all the journalists are here and Stacy wants the scoop on Zayn.”
“Got it.” I follow her up the stairs and then stop briefly to turn and look at Zayn.
As if Tina is reading my mind, she says, “Don’t worry. He’ll be busy for at least another half hour, probably longer. I’ll have you back before he even knows you’re gone.”
Zayn hates it when he doesn’t know where I am given the current circumstances we’ve been going through, but he’s busy and I won’t be alone, so I’m sure this is okay. Tina works for Zayn and once I explain to him I had to do this last-minute interview to make things better for him, he’ll understand.
Tina weaves in and out of the crowd, making her way down to a restricted zone. Two men wearing bright yellow shirts with the words security printed on the chest step aside and allow us to pass as soon as Tina shows them some sort of creditable badge.
We walk down a long corridor that appears to lead outside at the other end. “Are we going the right way?”
“Yes. The press tent is just at the end of this tunnel.”
Tina steps outside, and as soon as my foot hits the concrete outside, someone snatches my wrist. I squeal and a hand holding a white cloth is shoved in my face and my entire world goes dark.
