Chapter 17 Rina
Rina
I stand at the back of the room beside Evelyn and Hugh, the tablet clutched in my fingers.
For days, I’ve been avoiding Oliver. Dodging his calls, leaving his messages unread, convincing myself distance was self-preservation. Safer than the truth I refuse to name.
That lie worked fine until now.
Until he’s in front of me.
He sits at the table with his teammates, broad shoulders filling out his suit, command radiating off him in heavy waves. The drone of reporters blurs around me. Every inch of him feels larger than life, and I hate that my chest still reacts as if he’s the only one in the room.
I look anywhere but at him—at the wires knotted beneath the table, the scuffed tile, the blinking red lights from the cameras. No matter where I aim my gaze, it keeps drifting back to him. Every time I glance up, I find him already watching me.
Unflinching and unapologetic.
The press conference hums with routine questions about team depth, the season outlook, and locker room chemistry. The players give polished, practiced answers. It’s a pattern I know by heart.
Then it’s Oliver’s turn.
He leans toward the mic, forearms flexing against the charcoal gray fabric of his suit. The room seems to lean with him, and that invisible thread between us pulls tight.
“Oliver,” a reporter calls. “Would you like to comment on your personal life? You’ve been keeping a low profile lately.”
The question hits like a ton of bricks.
He’s always been unpredictable. Reckless when cornered, brutally honest when silence would be the safest route to take. My hand curls around the tablet as I brace for his response.
His eyes find mine. “Actually,” he admits, “there is someone.”
My stomach hollows.
“She’s not ready to make it public quite yet,” he continues, leaning even closer to the mic. “Although, I’m all in and have been for a while where this woman is concerned.”
The room explodes.
Flashbulbs pop and white light sparks at the edges of my vision. Reporters surge forward, their voices overlapping in a rush of sound.
“Is she with the organization?”
“Is it Gabby Wellington?”
“Oliver, are you confirming a relationship with Gabby?”
“Is it someone else?”
The noise folds over itself until it’s impossible to tell one question from the next.
Heat floods my face as my fingers dig deeper into the tablet.
Evelyn turns toward me, brows lifting. “Did you know about this?” she whispers. “Who do you suppose he’s talking about?”
Even though I open my mouth, nothing comes out. My throat feels raw and scraped dry. The truth hovers like a confession pressing against my teeth. If anyone stares too hard, they’ll see it written across my face.
I force out a short laugh that sounds strained even to my own ears. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Evelyn studies me for a beat longer before turning back to the frenzy now unfolding at the front of the room. Hugh’s hand settles lightly at her elbow.
Across the table, Zane leans into his mic with an easy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just in case anyone forgot,” he drawls, “I got engaged. And my new show—”
A few reporters laugh politely, but the majority ignore him, focused on Oliver’s bombshell. The spotlight that used to feed Zane now burns through him. His voice rises, slick with desperation.
Evelyn mutters, “Zane Holloway is going to talk himself right into a trade if he keeps this up.” She smooths a hand down her blazer. “That stays between you and me for the time being.”
I nod, but the movement feels mechanical as my attention remains fixed on Oliver.
He’s not gloating, and there’s not a shred of smugness in his expression.
What’s left is harder.
More determined and unyielding.
He looks like a man who just staked a claim in front of the world and is daring anyone to challenge him.
Daring me to challenge him.
And God help me, part of me wants to rise to that dare. The other part wants to disappear completely.
The press conference disintegrates into a frenzy as chairs scrape, cameras flash, and voices clamor for a headline and soundbite. Through it all, his gaze stays locked on me.
The air in the room thins.
I can’t breathe in here.
“I need to get back to my office for a call,” I tell Evelyn, already edging toward the door. She barely hears me over the din.
I slip the tablet under my arm and push through the press pack before the crush can close in around me. Even without looking back, I feel the intensity of his gaze. The inevitability of the moment as it presses between my shoulder blades like a physical presence.
The hallway is dimmer, cooler, but the sound continues to linger. It’s a faint roar that trails after me. My hands tremble as I reach for the nearest wall to steady myself.
That’s when I realize it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.
And when he does, there won’t be anywhere left to hide.