Chapter Thirty
Emily
I was on my period the day my world came crashing down.
Practicing again with a bum wrist that I was still figuring out two weeks after getting my cast off was one thing, but doing it alongside cramps sent from the Devil himself was pure hell.
Add in that my emotions were as unstable as the WiFi connection at the stadium during a sold-out game, and you could say I wasn’t exactly living my best life.
On the plus side, I wasn’t pregnant — so that was a win.
Especially considering how insatiable Braden and I had been since my birthday.
Gone were the pretenses of playing it cool and seeing each other only a few times a week.
Now, we were lucky to get even one day without one of us flashing the Bat Signal.
Never enough.
His words echoed in my mind whenever I wasn’t with him, and I felt them down to my bones.
“How’s it feeling?” Marcus asked during a break, tilting his water bottle to his lips before chugging half of it down. The rest of our squad was pulling out their phones or grabbing a snack, some still running the choreo even though we were told to break.
“Terrible. I need a heating pad and to be horizontal.”
He blinked at me. “I meant your wrist.”
“Oh. Fine,” I said, holding it up to stretch like I could somehow show him how it was feeling. “Still a bit stiff, but much better than it was two weeks ago. I’m definitely not ready for handstands or flips any time soon.”
“But you can dance at the game!” Darcy said excitedly, plopping down on the floor next to me and Marcus. The room was alive with voices and phone pings now. “I’m so excited to have you with us again.”
My heart surged, like a clan of butterflies was preparing for liftoff. “Me, too. It’s been so long. And don’t get me wrong, I love watching all of you, but…”
“Don’t lie,” Marcus said. “I know it was killing you to be on the sidelines. It’s okay to admit it.”
“Fine. I hated it.”
Darcy laughed. “I would have, too. But you’re back now, baby!”
“Not fully,” I reminded her.
“You’ll be shaking that fine ass of yours next to us,” Marcus chimed in, threading his arm through mine. “And that’s all that matters.”
We all nuzzled together in a group hug, and then Darcy frowned, pulling away with her eyes roaming the room. “What’s with all the noise? Is something happening?”
I followed her gaze, noticing various groups of people huddled together around phones. I frowned. “That’s odd.”
Suddenly, eyes started drifting to me, one pair after another, until practically the whole room was looking at me.
“Shit, did I bleed through or something?” I popped up to stand, turning my ass toward Darcy. “Check me.”
“You’re fine,” she said, inspecting my ass. “I don’t know what—”
“Fuck.”
The curse came from Marcus, who had his phone in hand.
“What?” Darcy and I asked in unison, already bending over his shoulder.
My heart fell to the floor when I read the headline on his screen.
Seattle Seahawks Cheerleader Slams Franchise Over Pay, Alleges Gender Double Standard
My entire universe snapped to the size of a pinpoint, the noise around me fading, my body tingling, heart beat the only sound I could make out other than the distinct drags of my breath.
Beneath the headline was a subtitle: Viral podcast interview sparks backlash and renewed criticism of NFL cheerleader pay.
Darcy was at my side, asking something, but it didn’t register. And when Marcus scrolled down and tapped on the video, I knew before he played it what clip it was. I stood straight, tearing my eyes from the screen.
Which left me staring at the rest of my squad.
Okay… Okay, this is not the end of the world. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I didn’t say anything that was scandalous.
But even as I tried to assure myself it would all be fine, the sharp truth cut through my denial: It didn’t matter what I’d said.
It mattered that I’d said it out loud.
To the wrong people. In the wrong place. Where it could be clipped, twisted, passed around until it didn’t belong to me anymore.
If I had a problem with my pay, I should have taken it up with Claire — quietly and professionally and behind closed doors.
I hadn’t been thinking. And now, I’d become a liability.
This was the kind of thing that could get me benched again, or cut altogether. It could get me blacklisted.
It could follow my name long after I hung up my uniform.
“Hey!”
I jolted when Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face. He must have been saying my name and I hadn’t registered.
“Take a breath,” he commanded. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
Darcy nodded. “I mean, hey, maybe this will wake up the owners. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
The words didn’t soothe me, even when they came from one of my best friends. Because I knew exactly how the Seahawks would see it.
Not as truth.
As disloyalty.
As bad press.
As a problem.
“Who posted the article?” I managed to ask. My voice sounded thick and unfamiliar.
Marcus dragged a hand through his hair, looking around at the rest of our team who was watching from afar. “WSO.”
Women’s Sports Organization.
The most well-known and respected news source for women’s sports.
I shook my head. “I didn’t realize the clip had gone viral. I mean, they tagged me in it and I think I commented saying something about being thankful they had me on the show.”
“Apparently, it blew up over the last couple of days,” Marcus said, thumbing through his phone. Then his eyes bulged. “Holy shit. Twenty-nine-million views.”
My vision tunneled.
Somehow, I found a wall and slid down it, collapsing into a heap on the floor. It was as if that sent the team into action. Dancer after dancer surrounded me, some rubbing my arm, some telling others to clear space, some still standing at the edges and just watching.
Twenty-nine million.
That wasn’t viral.
That was everywhere.
Every fan. Every coach. Every executive.
Every person who already thought cheerleaders were expendable, replaceable, lucky to be here at all.
My breaths came sharp and uneven, like my body had forgotten how to do it right.
How had I not seen this coming? How had I not realized what it could turn into?
I knew the answer before I let myself say it.
Braden.
I’d been so wrapped up in him — the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way everything else in my life seemed to blur when I was with him — that I hadn’t been paying attention to anything else.
My chest tightened.
Braden.
Oh, God.
This wasn’t just about me. This was about the possibility of us that we’d been flirting with ever since my birthday, since we’d both floated away on a glitter cloud of bliss and pretended like nothing could touch us, like we were safe.
The rules we’d already been bending felt like they were about to snap.
If the organization was already looking at me differently — already questioning my judgment, my loyalty — what would happen if they found out about us, too?
Somewhere in the midst of my meltdown, I was hauled up off the floor by two cold, small hands. I recognized them distantly. They belonged to our assistant coach.
I floated with her out of the room, past the locker room, straight down the hall, and to Claire’s office.
Only when I saw Braden and the head coach of the team sitting there with her did I snap back to reality.
My eyes found Braden’s first, and we shared a look of mutual destruction — the longing to go to each other, the pain of knowing we couldn’t.
His hands were wrung tightly in his lap, his left knee bouncing.
It had already reached us.
Somehow, it had already gone past the point of no return.
I managed to tear my gaze from his, sitting in the chair I was instructed to sit in. The door shut behind us. Claire steepled her fingers on her desk, sharing a look with Coach Palmer before she attempted a tight smile and spoke.
“Emily,” she began carefully, “we’ve been monitoring the clip from your podcast interview.”
My stomach turned.
“It wasn’t a major issue at first,” Coach Palmer added, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees. “Clips like that circulate all the time. They flare up, then die out.”
Claire nodded. “But this morning, it was picked up by several major outlets. That changes things.”
My pulse thudded in my ears, heart cracking right down the middle.
I’d been so close…
After weeks of recovering from the injury, of rehab and PT. I was finally back at practice. I was finally going to be on the field again.
And I had to go and ruin it.
I always ruined everything.
“Our PR team is in a frenzy trying to get ahead of it,” Claire continued. “And with that kind of attention comes… scrutiny.”
The word settled heavy in the room, and I couldn’t help it. I glanced at Braden. His focus was on Claire, but his eyes darted my way, and I saw the same fear echoing in my chest mirrored in that gaze.
I’m sorry, I mouthed.
Braden frowned, subtly shaking his head as if telling me not to say that, not to go there, not to take the blame.
But it was mine to take.
“People start digging,” Coach Palmer said bluntly. “Into you. Your history. Your social media. Your life.”
A chill crept up my spine. I hadn’t even considered that part of it yet. Of course, the comments would be crazy. Of course, they’d dig into me.
The injured cheerleader, not even dancing, complaining about pay.
I was going to be sick.
Claire reached for her phone on the desk, her expression tightening just slightly. “And when people dig, they don’t really look for context. They just find what they can find and make up stories of their own.”
She unlocked the screen, tapped once, then turned it toward us.
I didn’t want to look, but I did, and the moment it registered what I was looking at, I knew it was over.
The photo was dark and grainy, taken from a distance by God knew who.
But it was unmistakable.
Braden and me.
Behind the stadium.
His hands on my face.
My mouth on his.
The room tilted, taking my composure with it. The breath I’d been struggling to grasp evaporated altogether.
I could handle my own demise. I could stomach getting cut from the team, being shamed in the industry. Surviving was what I did. I would move somewhere new. Find something new. Be someone new.
But Braden had risked everything.
And I’d betrayed his trust with my recklessness.
My eyes welled as I lifted my gaze to him, finding him ghostly white and staring blankly at the screen. I willed him to look at me, though I didn’t know why. I wouldn’t exactly be a grounding force in this situation, would I?
I’d only make it worse.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Coach Palmer exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “This is exactly what we’re trying to avoid when we have you sign a contract.”
Claire lowered the phone but didn’t look away from us. “As of right now, this hasn’t hit the outlets that picked up the interview.”
A fragile thread of hope flickered.
“But it’s circulating,” she added. “Fan forums. Message boards. Private accounts. It’s only a matter of time.”
The thread snapped.
Braden shifted beside me, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid. I didn’t dare look at him again. Not with that image burned into my vision.
Claire’s tone softened, just slightly. “Look, we’re not here to punish you.”
That surprised me enough to glance up, that thread of hope singing again.
“We’re here to contain this,” she clarified. “Before it spirals further.”
Coach Palmer nodded. “Braden, you don’t need this kind of distraction right now. Not with the season you’re having. Not with what’s ahead.”
Braden didn’t respond. He was so still I wondered if he was breathing at all.
“Emily,” Claire continued, “you’re going to be at the forefront of this situation whether you want to be or not. We have a lot to figure out in terms of messaging, media, and how we move forward.”
Each word felt like a weight added to my chest.
“But let me be clear,” she said, her voice firming. “We are not firing anyone over this.”
Air rushed back into my lungs. “Really?” I couldn’t help how pathetic I sounded.
“For now,” Coach Palmer added. “We’re not trying to be the bad guys. You both have earned your place here and we want you to stay. But no one is happy about this — least of all the ones who now have to work tirelessly to clean it up.”
“Consider this your warning. Your one and only warning,” Claire said. “You both signed contracts that include a no fraternization clause. It exists for a reason.”
My pulse stuttered.
Wait… were they going to—
“What happens between players and dancers doesn’t stay private,” Coach Palmer said. “It becomes a headline. A distraction. A liability.”
Claire leaned forward slightly. “So whatever has been happening between you two—” her eyes flicked between us, sharp and knowing, “—it needs to stop. Immediately.”
The words hit harder than anything else she’d said.
Again, I found myself wishing for it to only be me who had to suffer.
Take the job, I silently begged the universe. Take my place on the squad. Take my uniform and all my ties to this team.
But please, don’t take him.
“Cool it off,” Claire finished. “Before this becomes something none of us can control. Because if there’s a next time, someone will lose their job.”
I could feel Braden beside me, close enough to touch, impossibly far away.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
The sharp sound sliced through the tension.
All of us startled, turning toward him as he fumbled it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen and everything in his expression changed.
Color drained from his face, and he answered without explanation to any of us, the phone to his ear. “Hello?” His eyes slid to mine, and the panic I saw there gutted me like a fish. “I’m on my way.”
He lurched out of the chair, snagging his jacket and bolting for the door.
“Braden?” I said, pushing to my feet. “What’s going on?”
Claire and Coach Palmer looked just as thrown, the entire conversation derailed in an instant.
Braden didn’t look at any of us. He threw the door open and flew through it.
“It’s Ginny,” he said.
And then he was gone.