Chapter Eighteen Carter
Chapter Eighteen
Carter
I’m at Olivia’s apartment at eight twenty-five.
Couldn’t help myself. Spent the entire night tossing and turning, thinking about that message, about her, about everything that’s gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours.
Derek came over like he promised, brought whiskey, and tried to talk sense into me. Told me to let her have her space. To focus on getting back on the field. To remember women come and go but football is forever.
I told him to get the fuck out.
He left the whiskey.
Now I’m standing outside Olivia’s door, coffee in one hand, a bag of pastries from her favorite bakery in the other, trying to figure out how to do this. How to give her space while also refusing to let her face this alone.
The door opens before I can knock.
Olivia stands there in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back, face bare of makeup. She looks exhausted and yet beautiful. She didn’t sleep any better than I did.
“You’re early,” she says softly.
“I know.” I hold up the coffee. “Brought breakfast.”
Something flickers in her eyes, gratitude, maybe, or relief? She steps aside, letting me in.
Her apartment looks the same as it did last night, but somehow different. Cleaner, if that’s possible.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says, taking the coffee I offer her.
“I know. I wanted to.” I set the pastries on her kitchen counter. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“Olivia.”
She sighs, setting the coffee down. “I’m terrified. I barely slept. And I keep thinking about that message, wondering if it’s real or if someone’s trying to set me up for something worse.”
“That’s why I’m coming with you.”
“I know. And I’m grateful. But Carter—” She stops, biting her lip. “About last night. What I said—”
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
“Yes, we do.” She moves closer, and I force myself to stay still. To let her come to me. “I was scared. I am scared. And I pushed you away because that’s what I do when things get hard. Maya called me an idiot last night, and she was right.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
“I am. Because I have this incredible man who’s willing to fight for me, and I keep telling him to leave.” Her eyes glisten. “I don’t want space, Carter. I never wanted space. But didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
“Too late.” I close the distance between us. “I’m already hurt. But not because of the scandal or the media or any of that bullshit. I’m hurt because you keep trying to protect me by pushing me away, and that’s the one thing I can’t handle.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Just promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you’ll stop running. Whatever happens today, whatever we find out from this meeting, we face it together. No more pushing me away. No more trying to protect me from consequences I’m willing to accept.”
She nods, tears spilling over. “I promise.”
“Good.” I kiss her forehead, then her cheeks, tasting salt. “Now eat something. We’ve got an hour before we need to leave.”
We sit at her small kitchen table, sharing pastries and coffee, talking about nothing and everything. She tells me about Maya’s visit, about the wine and ice cream and the harsh truths her best friend delivered. I tell her about Derek’s attempt at comfort and how I threw him out.
“He means well,” she says, picking at a croissant.
“He’s an idiot.”
“He’s your friend.”
“He’s an idiot who happens to be my friend.” I lean back, studying her. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I am. Spent all night thinking about you.”
Her eyes soften. “Carter—”
“I know we’re supposed to be taking things slow. Giving you space to figure things out. But I need you to know something.” I reach across the table, taking her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens with your job, with my career, with any of this, I’m in. Completely.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if we can’t fix this?”
“Then we’ll deal with it. Together.” I squeeze her hand. “But I’m not walking away from you, Olivia. Not now. Not ever.”
She stands abruptly, rounding the table. Before I can react, she’s in my lap, arms around my neck, kissing me like she’s drowning and I’m air.
I kiss her back just as desperately, hands sliding into her hair, pulling her closer. She tastes like coffee and sugar and something that’s purely her, and I never want to let go.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.
“I love you too.”
“Even though I’m an idiot?”
“Especially because you’re an idiot.” I smile against her mouth. “My idiot.”
She laughs, the sound is watery but genuine. “We should probably get going.”
“Probably.” But neither of us moves. We sit there, wrapped around each other, stealing a few more minutes of peace before we have to face whatever’s waiting for us.
Finally, I stand, setting her on her feet. “Ready?”
She takes a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
We drive to Joe’s Coffee in my truck, Olivia’s hand clasped tightly in mine. The morning traffic is light, and we make it to Fifth Street with ten minutes to spare.
The coffee shop is small, tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner. Through the window, I can see a handful of customers, but no one who screams ‘former security guard with information.’
“You see anyone?” Olivia asks, scanning the street.
“No. But let’s go inside. They said ten.”
We walk in together, and the smell of coffee and fresh bread hits me immediately. A few people glance up, recognition flickering across their faces when they see me, but no one approaches.
We grab a table near the back, positioned so we can see the door. Olivia orders tea. I get coffee. And we wait.
Ten o’clock comes and goes.
Ten-fifteen.
Ten-thirty.
“Maybe it was a prank,” Olivia says quietly, staring at her untouched tea.
“Give it a few more minutes.”
At ten forty-five, I’m ready to admit she might be right. This could be some twisted joke. Someone messing with us when we’re already down.
Then the door opens.
A woman walks in. Late fifties, gray hair pulled back in a bun, wearing jeans and a stadium security jacket. She scans the shop, her eyes landing on us, and something like relief crosses her face.
She heads straight for our table.
“Ms. Rivers? Mr. Storm?”
We both nod.
“I’m Carol Martinez. I worked security at the stadium for fifteen years.” She slides into the seat across from us, setting a thick envelope on the table. “And I know who leaked those photos of you.”
My heart kicks. “Who?”
“My nephew.” Her voice is heavy with shame. “Jake Martinez. He worked in the security office, and had access to all the camera feeds. When he saw you two together that night in the parking garage, he thought he could make some quick money.”
Olivia’s face goes pale. “He sold the photos?”
“And the story.” Carol pushes the envelope toward us. “I found out when he showed up at my house with more money than he should have. Started bragging about his ‘big score.’ When I realized what he’d done, I confronted him. He admitted everything.”
“Why are you telling us this?” I ask.
“Because what he did was wrong.” Her eyes meet mine. “I read the article. Saw what they’re saying about Ms. Rivers. And it’s not true. I know it’s not true because I’ve worked with her for two years. She’s professional, ethical, and one of the best people on that staff.”
Tears well in Olivia’s eyes. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Carol taps the envelope. “In here is everything you need. Screenshots of Jake’s texts with the reporter. Bank records showing the payment. And a signed confession where he admits that he fabricated parts of the story to make it more salacious.”
My jaw clenches. “He made things up?”
“The anonymous sources? Fabricated. The claim that Ms. Rivers leaked your arrest information? A lie he told to make the story more believable.” Carol’s expression hardens. “My nephew is an idiot and a liar. But he’s also willing to make this right. He’ll testify, go on record, whatever you need.”
“Why?” Olivia asks. “Why would he do that?”
“Because I told him if he didn’t, I’d turn him in myself.” Carol stands. “I’m sorry for what he did. For what you’re both going through. But I hope this helps.”
She leaves before we can thank her properly, disappearing out the door as quickly as she came.
I grab the envelope, opening it. Inside are exactly what Carol promised—screenshots, bank records, and a notarized confession from Jake Martinez admitting to fabricating parts of the story and selling the photos without permission.
“This is it,” I breathe. “This clears you.”
Olivia stares at the documents, hands shaking. “Oh, my God.”
“We need to call Ralph. Get this to Mark immediately.” I’m already pulling out my phone.
“Carter, wait.” She grabs my wrist. “What about Jake? If we do this, he’ll lose his job. Maybe face legal consequences.”
“Good. He should.”
“But Carol, she seemed so ashamed. She’s trying to make this right.”
“And Jake should face consequences for what he did.” I soften my voice. “Olivia, he lied about you. Made you look like a manipulative gold digger. He doesn’t deserve protection.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then nods. “You’re right. Call Ralph.”
I dial, and Ralph answers on the second ring. I explain everything, Carol’s visit, the documents, Jake’s confession.
“Get to my office,” Ralph says. “Now. I need to see these documents, and then we’re taking them straight to Mark.”
“On our way.”
We’re out the door and in my truck within minutes. Olivia clutches the envelope like it’s made of gold, and maybe it is. It will give her back her reputation, her job and her life.
“This is really happening,” she whispers as I pull onto the highway.
“Yeah. It is.”
“We can prove I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You never did anything wrong.” I reach over, squeezing her knee. “And everyone’s about to know that.”
She covers my hand with hers. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For believing in me. Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
“Always,” I say simply. “Always, Olivia.”
And as we drive toward Ralph’s office, toward clearing her name and fixing this mess, I feel something I haven’t felt in days.
Hope.
Because we’re about to prove the truth matters.
And that we’re stronger together than any lie that tries to tear us apart.