I pulled my hood over my head in the back of the plane the next morning, ignoring Vince, along with the rest of the team, as my phone continued to blow up. Reya and Camilla wanted me to call as soon as I landed. So did Livia.
When we touched down in Tampa, I bolted, getting my own ride downtown so I could make my calls in peace. But before I had the chance to call my best friend, my phone buzzed in my hands with my parents’ faces lighting up the screen.
It was a photo from Christmas two years ago, all of us in pajamas and huddled together for a selfie by the tree. Dad had taken it, his long arm stretched out and his smile wide. Mom was curled into his side, and I was there in front of them, a blend of the two humans who made me.
I always felt that I favored my mom — the same gold eyes, same slight frame, same warm smile. But my dad was evident in all my features, too. Our eyes were the same shape, we shared the freckles smattering our cheeks, and I knew I got my attitude solely from him. Dad’s skin was a pale white, though it turned red with emotion, alcohol, or even ten minutes in the sun. Mom’s skin was a deep brown, like the soil of Mother Earth. And I was a blend of the two.
Normally, I would have been answering their call with a smile, excited to hear how they were and to tell them about my life, too.
But today, I answered with anxiety bubbling in my gut.
“Hello,” I said just as I slid into the back of a cab. I quickly told the driver which building to take me to before my dad’s voice rumbled through the phone.
“Are you dating this hockey player?”
I chuckled, letting my head fall back against the seat as I stared out the window. “Well, good morning to you, too, Daddy. Yes, I’m doing well, thank you for asking. What was it like in Pittsburgh and Baltimore? Well, the weather was—”
“I don’t care about the weather,” he said, and even though his voice was deep in its severity, I still smiled. My father loved to act like a protective Rottweiler when it came to me, but in reality, he was just a teddy bear. “I care about this young man with a reputation who seems to have become very comfortable with my daughter.”
“What your father is trying to say,” my mom interjected, her voice sweet like maple syrup. I could picture her gently placing a hand on my father’s arm, could see the deep inhale that touch would force him to take. “Is that we wanted to check in on you and make sure you’re doing okay.”
“And that you’re keeping your head on straight and remembering that this is a job,” Dad added.
Mom sucked her teeth, and I tried not to bristle with defense as I slid in my earbuds so I could talk hands-free. “I’m not dating him, Daddy. It was a publicity stunt. Just giving the people something to talk about.”
My throat tightened a bit at that, because it had been an unplanned stunt that I did not actively participate in. I was trying not to blow a gasket. My bosses were clearly fine with that photo and the implications behind it, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a fool.
An unprofessional, simpering fool.
That’s how everyone else would see me. I was no longer the woman behind the camera, the one on assignment with my job at the forefront of my mind. I was no longer a content creator, a reporter, a force to be reckoned with, taking the sports world by storm.
Now, I was a joke.
The fact that my parents were calling me was proof of that.
“Some stunt,” my father said on a harrumph. “Don’t let your guard down, Maven. I know he’s a handsome young man, but keep your wits about you. He has a reputation, and no matter what he says to you, he’s probably only got one thing on his mind.”
“Dad,” I chastised.
“We just worry,” Mom said softly, and those words hung in the silence between the three of us like a loaded gun.
My parents had been there for me when everything blew up with James. They quite literally had to peel me off the floor and convince me that life was still worth living, that I needed to walk across the stage at graduation, that life would go on without James Baldridge.
And maybe they had a right to be worried.
Because had that stewardess not interrupted us on the boat, I might have let all sense leave me.
My skin burned from the memory, as if Vince were still naked in the water behind me, his knuckles dragging over my skin. I heard his words in my ear, felt my skin prickle with chills just like they had last night.
My stomach fluttered, but I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to snuff him out with the motion.
“You don’t need to worry,” I promised my parents. “Trust me — I am in no hurry to have my heart smashed again.” My next swallow was dry and painful. “Besides, like I said, it was just a stunt. Vince and I are nothing but professional.”
I’d never lied to my parents, and was surprised my voice didn’t shake more with that one. Because being half-naked in a hot tub with Vince rubbing my shoulders did not feel professional.
I was caught between being ashamed and angry, with a little dash of why do I feel like I would go back and do it again thrown in, too.
“You tell him to keep his hands to himself, or he’ll have me to answer to,” Dad said. I could picture his bright blue eyes hardening into the cerulean they did when he was angry, could picture him wagging his finger at me like he does the crew on work sites.
I chuckled, despite feeling like a senseless little girl. “I will do that.”
My phone buzzed in my lap, and when I glanced at the screen, I was already telling my parents I needed to end the call. I figured it was Reya, or Livia.
But it was a number I didn’t recognize.
I assumed it was likely someone from the team then, so with a promise to get lunch soon, I ended the call with my parents and switched over.
“Hello?”
“Maven King.”
My entire body froze as the familiar voice crooned in my ear.
“How’s it feel to be the hottest thing on the Internet?”
He chuckled on the end of that stupid fucking question, but I was too busy reminding myself to breathe, to blink, to not pass out in the back of a cab.
“Hello? Did I lose you?”
I snorted a laugh at that, my senses coming back to me in a whoosh. “Yes, actually. Years ago. Why are you calling me, James?”
I glanced down at my phone again, pissed that he clearly had a new number. I’d blocked his old one, making sure something like this could never happen. Then again, he was on the PGA Tour now. He probably had some fancy new phone on some fancy private plan that the normal population didn’t have access to. I didn’t even know if that was a thing, but I did know that he tied for tenth place at a tournament earlier this year and still made three-hundred grand. In one weekend.
I hated myself for knowing that, for the night I drank a bottle of wine and went down a Google rabbit hole with my ex as the target.
“Hey, easy now,” he said, his voice as deep and smooth as I remembered. I could still picture his smile, could imagine him holding up his hands like he came in peace right before he wrecked my whole world. “I was just thinking of you. It’s been a long time.”
“You were just thinking of me,” I repeated, deadpan. “Meaning, you saw the photo Vince posted of us last night.”
He barked out a laugh at that. “Transparent as an ice cube, aren’t I?” He let his laugh die off, a moment of silence before he added, “So… is it true, then? Are you two together?”
“That is none of your business.”
“No,” he agreed. “I just didn’t peg you for someone who would throw away a great opportunity for the chance to jump in bed with a rookie.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor of the cab.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just telling you to be careful.”
“Be careful,” I repeated. I actually could not believe the audacity of this man.
“Look, I understand how guys like him tick. I also know you’ve worked your ass off to get where you are.”
“Don’t act like you know anything about me anymore,” I spat.
“I just don’t want you to jeopardize your career because he’s spinning all the right webs and saying all the right things.”
“Oh, the way you did?”
The words popped out of me so quick, I didn’t have time to think about whether I actually wanted to say them or not. What I should have done was hang up. But instead, I was starting a fight like I wanted it, like I still cared about him and what happened between us.
It felt like showing my hand.
It felt like losing.
And it made me grit my teeth so hard I nearly chipped one in the process.
“I loved you,” James said, his voice just above a whisper. “You know that.”
“No, I don’t,” I clipped, fuming. “Thanks for your concern, but it’s no longer needed. You were the one who exited my life, James, so at least have the decency to stay gone.”
I hung up before he could respond, immediately blocking his number just in case he tried to call back. Then, I threw my phone in my purse and let out a frustrated growl that turned into a high-pitched scream.
My driver eyed me in the rearview mirror, and I muttered an apology just as he pulled up to the skyscraper I was calling home for the month. I tipped him graciously before kicking the door open and lugging my bag out of the trunk, dragging it behind me like it was a weapon, and I was going into a street fight.
I stewed the entire way up the elevator, flinging my bag into the foyer once I’d made it to the condo. I nearly cried at the sight of the place — all the furniture and art and appliances that weren’t mine. Everything was modern and expensive and cold, nothing like my bungalow that was just a twenty-minute walk from the beach, and tears pricked my eyes before anger washed them away again.
I roared, kicking off my shoes and pacing as I dragged my hands over my hair. I was so fucking pissed — at my parents, at James, at Vince, at myself. One night. One stupid photo and everything was blown to shit.
And I knew in that moment what I should have done.
I should have gone for a walk. I should have gone to the beach. I should have rolled out my yoga mat and found poses to ground myself. I should have meditated. I should have called Livia.
I should have done a million other things.
But what I actually did was pick up my phone and open Instagram.
Because I didn’t want to calm down.
I wanted to rage.
I wanted payback.
And I didn’t stop to think about the repercussions until it was too late.
