“WHAT DO you think the Bolts will do now?”
“I’ll be honest, Bob. Without Brooks, I’m not sure the Bolts can pull it off. Team morale will likely plummet. Can’t imagine a coach sleeping with his player’s girlfriend will bode well for anyone, either. But things are looking even worse for the Langfields. Remember, Lukov is his uncle.”
“Thank God the holidays are over. Oh, to be a fly on the wall at dinner next Thanksgiving.”
Brooks snatches the remote from the cushion beside me and hits the power button. “I told you not to watch this garbage.”
I haven’t moved from this position since I woke up. What better way to start my day than by enjoying my coffee with pumpkin spice creamer while watching the entire city of Boston decimate my reputation?
With my head lowered, I let my hair fall around my face like a curtain. The embarrassment that eats at me now that the entire world knows about my affair with Seb has left me perpetually red. As if I’m walking around with it tattooed on my forehead. Might as well stitch a scarlet A to my shirt.
Adulterer.
Destroyer of the Boston Bolts franchise.
Slut.
Every social media outlet is flooded with comments, and none of them are pretty.
Brooks hovers over me, dressed in a pair of blue Bolts shorts and nothing else. His hands are purple from the fight, and his eyes are sunken and rimmed red. He barely slept last night. Neither did I. So I noticed how many times his phone buzzed and how many times he disappeared into the bathroom and turned the water on so I couldn’t hear his side of the conversations. That alone doesn’t bode well for me.
War dropped by with his wallet, his keys, and his phone last night, but he didn’t linger. Brooks’s list of notifications was out of control already, and it’s only gotten worse since then.
I duck my head again, wringing my hands in my lap. “What else am I supposed to do? I don’t have a job.” My stomach roils so violently I worry I’ll be sick. I love my job, but that’s the least of my concerns. Without it, I’ll lose my home. Without it, I can’t pay for my brother’s medications. Without it, I can’t stay in Boston.
Not that anyone in Boston would hire me after this. There’s no point in putting off the job search in North Carolina.
As much as I don’t want Brooks to see how absolutely wrecked I am, I can’t stop myself from peeking up at him. The man I love. The man I thought would be my forever.
Without this job, can we make it? Being apart for days at a time during the season is one thing, but if we’re forced to live states apart even when he is home, I don’t see how we can survive.
Not to mention the trolls. If they could climb out of my phone’s screen to protect Saint Brooks from Slutty Sara, they would. Better yet, they’d stick me in one of those contraptions they used to shame people in olden days. They’d leave me there with my head and arms hanging out and throw apples at me. Or maybe pie. Probably penis-shaped pies. Because they’re mean, and I’d deserve it. Slutty Sara deserves to be penis pied in the face.
“You’re not going to lose your job.”
“Easy for you to say. They can’t fire you.”
Brooks scoffs. “Pretty sure Gavin would like to. And he has that power. But they aren’t going to fire you. You did nothing wrong.” He steps in front of me and hauls me to my feet. “We’ll talk to a publicist. We’ll set the record straight.” With a huff, he drops down to the couch and pulls me onto his lap. “It’s been one fucking day. I’m not going to let him ruin us.”
I snuggle into his chest. “I don’t want to be penis pied, Brooks. But if they do, make sure it’s blueberry. Red isn’t my color.”
His chest rumbles beneath my cheek as he pulls me in tighter. “Crazy girl, I’m not even going to ask.”
“I’m serious.” My lips quirk a little, despite my best efforts.
“What about boysenberry? Or peach?” He kisses my forehead. “Ooh. Pumpkin would be perfect.”
I smack his chest lightly. “No one uses pumpkin in a penis pie.”
Brooks chuckles. “My bad.”
Reluctant to break our connection, I pull back and suck in a breath. “I should probably shower and get dressed. Maybe work on my resume.”
“They’re not firing you.” His brows are pulled low, and that surly frown I haven’t seen in months has returned. “I’m serious, Sar. It’s not happening.”
“Even if they don’t, how can I stay here? The whole city hates me.”
Fingers digging into my chin lightly, he forces me to look at him. Tormented green eyes study me. “I will fix this.”
It’s a relief that he isn’t offering to pay my way. He isn’t asking me to move in, and he isn’t offering to help with Ethan’s medical bills either, thank God. It would destroy me if he did. I’m too prideful.
Eventually, I want to live with Brooks. I want to rely on him, and I want him to feel the same about me. But not like this.
Throwing money isn’t Brooks’s style, which only makes me love him more.
Just as that thought brings me a modicum of peace, both our phones light up on the table in front of us, and my heart is in my throat again.
Liv’s name appears on mine.
Liv: We’re going to handle this. You know the drill. Keep your head down for a few days and let me do what I do best.
A tremor of relief works its way through me. Liv is a master fixer. Time and again, she’s done it for Beckett, for the organization. Hell, she did it for herself when her life blew up. If anyone can find a way to get the press on our side, it’s her.
But beside me, Brooks’s shoulders are slumped and he’s wearing a defeated frown. He offers me his phone.
Gavin: Be at Langfield Corp at 10 A.M. Aunt Zoe has called a board meeting. Don’t even think about bringing Sara.
A penis pie to the face is sounding more likely by the second.
