Chapter 14 #2
He pocketed the phone.
"Does his Daddy know?" Carter asked softly. "Because I hear Vance Senior is a real hardass about focus. And rules. And... charity cases."
The blood drained from my face. The room started to spin.
"You're disgusting," I whispered.
"I'm the backup goalie," Carter said, his face hardening. "I've sat on the bench for three years watching King Nick get everything. The ice time. The scouts. The money. The girls."
He stepped closer, invading my space. He smelled like stale gum and bitterness.
"I want his spot, Jess. I want the starting job next season. And if Vance crashes and burns in Chicago... if he gets distracted... if a scandal breaks..." He shrugged. "Maybe Coach looks for a new leader."
"You would ruin him?" I asked, horrified. "He's your captain."
"He's an asshole who thinks he's better than everyone. And you..." He sneered. "You're just the collateral damage."
"If you post those," I said, my voice shaking, "Nick will destroy you. He has lawyers. He has money."
"Maybe. But the damage will be done. The scouts hate drama. And his dad? From what I hear, his dad hates you."
Carter checked his watch.
"He's on a plane by now, right? Can't really do much from 30,000 feet."
He leaned in.
"Here's the deal. You break it off. You end it. You move out of that penthouse. You create a nice, messy, public breakup that messes with his head right before the combine."
"Why?"
"Because if he's heartbroken, he plays like crap. If he plays like crap, his stock drops. And I enjoy watching the mighty fall."
"I won't do it."
"Then I send the photos to The Sin Bin. And to Mr. Vance's personal email. I think I have it somewhere."
He winked.
"Think about it, Red. You have 24 hours. If you're still playing house by tomorrow night... click."
He turned and walked away, whistling tunelessly.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, my legs turning to water. I grabbed the railing to keep from falling.
The Invincible Girl was gone. The happy, dancing girl was gone.
The trap had snapped shut.
I didn't go back to rehearsal. I couldn't dance.
I walked back to the Meridian in a daze. The snow was falling again, cold and wet, soaking through my coat. I didn't feel it.
I rode the elevator to the penthouse. It was empty. It was silent.
It felt like a mausoleum.
I walked into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa—Nick's sofa. I pulled my knees to my chest.
My phone buzzed.
Nick: Boarding now. Saving the note for takeoff. I miss you already.
A selfie accompanied the text. He was in his first-class seat, looking handsome and stoic, but there was a softness in his eyes. A secret smile just for me.
I stared at the picture. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
I should tell him. I should text him right now: Carter saw us. He has photos. He's threatening to send them to your dad.
If I told him, Nick would get off the plane. I knew it with absolute certainty. He would storm off the jet bridge, drive back to campus, and tear Carter limb from limb.
He would miss the Combine. He would miss the interviews. He would blow off the Chicago scouts.
He would destroy his career to protect me.
And his father... if his father saw the photos...
He threatened your scholarship. He said he'd ruin you.
If the photos leaked, Nick's dad wouldn't just be mad. He would go nuclear. He would ensure I never danced again. He would probably sue me for breach of contract. And he would cut Nick off completely.
Nick would lose everything. The money. The legacy. The freedom we were fighting for.
I looked at the text again. I miss you already.
I couldn't tell him. Not now. Not while he was in the air. Not while he was so close to the finish line.
I had to protect him.
I typed back, my fingers shaking.
Me: Miss you too. Be the machine. I'll be right here.
I hit send.
The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.
I put the phone down on the coffee table. I looked around the beautiful, cold apartment. The plants I promised to water. The kitchen where we danced. The bedroom where we fell in love.
Carter wanted a breakup. He wanted Nick distracted.
If I stayed, the photos leaked. Nick's dad attacked. Nick's career imploded.
If I left... if I disappeared... Nick would be hurt. He would be confused.
But he would be safe.
He would be angry. And anger was a fuel Nick Vance knew how to use. Anger made him skate faster. Anger made him win.
I stood up. I walked to the window, looking out at the city that looked so small from up here.
"I'm sorry, Nick," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm so sorry."
I went to the bedroom. I didn't pack a bag. I just grabbed my backpack.
I took the key card to the penthouse out of my pocket. I placed it on the nightstand, right next to the empty space where he slept.
I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
I needed to write a note. I needed to explain.
But I couldn't. If I explained, he would come after me. He would fix it. And fixing it would ruin him.
He needed to hate me. Hate was safe. Hate kept the lights on.
I wrote three words.
It was fun.
Cruel. Dismissive. The kind of note a "sugar baby" would leave. The kind of note that would prove his father right.
I stared at the paper until my vision blurred with tears. A drop fell on the ink, smudging the 'n'.
I left the note.
I walked out of the bedroom. I walked down the hall. I walked out the front door.
I didn't look back.
I took the elevator down to the lobby. I walked past the doorman who knew my name now.
"Heading out, Miss Monroe?"
"Yes," I choked out. "I'm heading out."
I walked out into the snow. I had nowhere to go. My dorm was gone. I had seventy dollars in my bank account.
But as the cold wind hit my face, drying the tears on my cheeks, I knew I had made the right choice.
I had saved him.
And it had cost me everything.