Chapter 15 #2
“Let’s talk stats,” I said, leaning forward, voice steady but sharp enough to cut through the studio’s hum.
“Kieren Walker leads the league in interceptions by a defender. He’s top five in aerial duels won, top three in tackles completed, and he hasn’t been dribbled past once in his last eight matches.
He’s completed more progressive passes into the attacking third than any other center-back in the conference, and if you’d watched last week’s game instead of just scanning headlines, you’d know he’s been adjusting his positioning to cover for a younger, faster back line.
” I didn’t blink. “That’s not decline. That’s evolution. That’s what the best players do.”
Ryder blinked.
I wasn’t done.
“He’s not flashy, no. But he plays smart. Controlled. And if you think that’s a decline, maybe the problem isn’t Kieren. Maybe it’s your idea of what peak performance actually looks like.”
Ryder coughed into his hand, clearly not expecting the numbers. “Okay, but—”
“And before you bring up the suspension,” I said, locking eyes with him, “let’s be clear—he took the card standing up for a teammate.
And before that? He was anchoring a back line made up of first-year players, organizing the defense, absorbing pressure, and still being targeted as the one to beat every single game. ”
The smile dropped from Ryder’s face.
“I’ve watched enough players flame out,” I added, softer now but no less firm. “Kieren’s not one of them. He’s evolving. That’s what the best ones do.”
“You called him a fossil–”
“I know what I said,” I snapped. “I–” I cleared my throat. “I was wrong.”
Silence stretched between us.
The camera light blinked red—still rolling.
I sat back, smoothing my notes even though I didn’t need them. My pulse was racing, but my voice hadn’t cracked once. I met Ryder’s stare, cool and unapologetic.
“Next question?” I asked.
His jaw ticked. “Right. Of course.”
But we both knew the momentum had shifted.
He could try to paint me as emotional. He could try to turn Kieren into a tabloid storyline. But facts were stubborn. And I’d just thrown them like punches.
This segment wasn’t about optics anymore.
This was about truth. And I wasn’t backing down.
I barely had time to breathe after defending Kieren’s stats before Ryder’s smirk shifted—familiar, calculating.
“So,” he said, tone oozing fake curiosity, “how did all this start? You and Kieren Walker. That kiss looked… intense.”
I froze.
My tongue scraped the roof of my mouth, useless. I could feel every eye in the studio on me, even the ones behind the glass, and I had nothing. No PR line. No clever quip. Just the truth sitting like a live wire under my skin.
I opened my mouth to speak—God knows what I would’ve said—but a voice beat me to it.
“I told her she had terrible taste in players. She took it personally.”
I turned sharply.
There he was—Kieren—in a charcoal blazer and that smug, smirking mouth. A bouquet of wildflowers dangled in his hand, somehow both casual and lethal. The set went quiet for half a beat as he crossed the floor like he owned it.
“Looked like she needed rescuing,” he added, walking straight toward me.
My heart stuttered. I didn’t even know if it was from the shock or the fact that he looked stupidly good under studio lights. He sat beside me without asking, slid an arm around the back of my chair like he’d been doing it for years, and set the flowers in my lap like a mic drop.
I knew—knew—Cam had orchestrated this. PR gold, he’d called it. Of course he had.
But Kieren? He looked relaxed. Dangerous. Like he was enjoying every second of this.
Ryder blinked, recovering with a tight smile. “Well. That’s quite the entrance.”
Kieren shrugged. “She deserves more than secondhand gossip and clickbait questions.”
Oh. Oh no. He was going to burn the whole set down, wasn’t he?
Ryder straightened in his chair, eyes narrowing. “So is this official? Or just another media distraction?”
Kieren leaned in, resting his hand on my knee. “Is that what it looks like to you?”
Ryder’s smile tightened. “I just mean—public affection doesn’t always equal real connection.”
“You’re right,” Kieren said smoothly, not missing a beat. “But we’re not just public. We’re private too. And it’s real—no matter how uncomfortable that makes you. Or anyone, for that matter."
I felt Ryder recoil just slightly, like the jab had landed clean. Kieren was all sharp edges and velvet tone, a man who didn’t bluff when it came to what he wanted—and apparently, he wanted me.
I found my voice again, finally. “We don’t owe anyone our origin story.”
“Still,” Kieren said, flashing me a sideways look, “I kinda like the version where you hated me.”
“I did,” I muttered, cheeks flushing.
He smirked. “And now you’re stuck with me.”
Ryder tried to keep the interview rolling, but the shift was palpable. Kieren had flipped the script with one hand on my thigh and that wolfish confidence in his voice.
And for the first time all morning, I didn’t feel like prey.
I felt like power.
“That’s all the time we have this morning. Thanks to Daphne Sommers—and Kieren Walker—for joining us on Good Morning MLS. We’ll be right back after this break.” Ryder wrapped up the segment with the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
The cameras blinked off.
Everyone exhaled.
Kieren didn’t move.
He leaned in slowly, casual to anyone watching, his arm still draped behind me like a damn brand. But his voice—his voice dropped low and dangerous, silk-wrapped steel pressed just below the skin.
“You talk to her like that again,” he murmured so only Ryder and I could hear, “and I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
Ryder paled.
All that smug bravado drained out of his face, and I saw it—just for a second—the fear. The knowledge that Kieren wasn’t bluffing. That if push came to shove, there’d be no cameras, no crew fast enough to stop him.
Kieren leaned back like nothing happened, his fingers brushing my shoulder lightly as he stood. I didn’t look at Ryder. Couldn’t.
My heart was pounding.
And my stomach warmed.
I hated that it did. Hated the flutter that sparked low in my belly, hated the way my body responded to that growled threat like it was foreplay.
He was infuriating. Possessive. Unapologetic.
And somehow… mine.
I stood too, smoothing my skirt like that would help my pulse stop rioting, as we walked away together.
He turned to me, softening instantly. “You okay?”
I nodded, swallowing thickly. “Did you really bring me flowers?”
He glanced down at the bouquet like he’d forgotten it. “Of course. Couldn’t show up empty-handed, could I?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Cam told you to do this, didn’t he?”
Kieren grinned. “Cam might’ve suggested it. I just… made it better.”
I rolled my eyes, even as my lips tugged upward. The interview had been a disaster on paper.
But somehow—with him beside me—I walked off that set feeling like I’d won.
Even if my heart hadn’t quite caught up yet.