Chapter 6
SIX
CAL
Monday morning comes too soon. Especially because I have to spend most of Saturday and the whole night away from Jo.
Our team always stays in a hotel next to the stadium the night before a game. I’ve never minded before.
But I also never had Jo.
After I left her bed Saturday morning, I didn’t see her again until pre-game warm-ups. But when I looked up to the suite and saw her sitting next to Beau’s wife, something healed inside of me.
After the game, I introduced her to some of my teammates. We had a private dinner in her hotel room.
We picked up where we left off.
She’s curled against my side, one leg tangled with mine, breathing slow and even.
Morning light spills through the gap in the curtains, painting soft gold across the room.
I don’t move.
I don’t think I could if I wanted to.
Because somehow...
This feels too perfect to disturb.
I spent weeks imagining what meeting her might be like.
Wondering whether the woman behind the messages would laugh the way I imagined.
Whether she’d smile the same way in person.
Whether she’d still like me once she met the real me.
I never imagined...
This.
Her hair is a mess.
She’s stolen half the blankets.
One of my T-shirts hangs almost to her knees.
She’s beautiful.
Not because someone spent two hours doing her hair yesterday.
Not because she’s wearing designer clothes.
Because she’s asleep with one hand wrapped around mine like letting go never occurred to her.
My chest aches.
Not painfully.
Just...
Full.
I’ve won playoff games.
I’ve held championship trophies.
None of it compares to waking up next to someone who knows every awkward, anxious, embarrassing part of me...
...and stayed.
Her eyelashes flutter.
Then those familiar brown eyes blink open.
She catches me looking.
“Were you watching me sleep?”
“I...”
I should probably lie.
“I might’ve been.”
She smiles.
“Creep.”
“I’ll take that.”
She stretches, yawning before tucking herself even closer against my side.
“What time is it?”
“Too early.”
“Good.”
I laugh quietly.
“You don’t have to go anywhere today?” she asks.
Practice. Film. Meetings. Reality. All of that comes tomorrow.“Nope.”
“Unfortunately, I do,” she says with a sigh.
My smile slips. Of course she does. She has to go home. Back to reality.
She notices immediately. “Are you okay?”
I hardly know what to say. So, I go with the truth. “I don’t want you to leave.”
She reaches up and brushes her fingertips across my cheek. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nod. “We will.”
“I’ve survived long-distance friendships before,” she says.
“This isn’t a friendship.”
She grins. “No. It definitely isn’t.”
Everything pretty much goes to hell forty-eight hours later.
"What the fuck?” Beau's voice echoes across the locker room.
I glance up from untaping my wrist.
He's holding his phone. Every other guy in the room suddenly reaches for theirs.
I unlock mine.
My stomach drops at the news alerts. From everywhere.
Sports blogs. Entertainment sites. Social media.
They’re all carrying the same thing. Screenshots. Of my texts with Jo.
Not all of them. Just the most salacious ones from the first night. The night it wasn’t about friendship. It was about sending sexy messages to a stranger.
And there’s been context given.
Enough to know they're mine. Enough to know they're hers.
Enough that anyone who knows us... Will know.
Beau sits beside me. "You didn't leak these."
My jaw clenches. “Of course not.”
He studies the screen. "Somebody got ahold of them."
I rub a hand over my face. “Fuck. My phone."
"What?"
"I left it on the locker room bench during practice.”
His expression hardens.
"Damn."
The room suddenly feels too hot.
Too loud.
I don't care what people think about me. Never have.
But Jo... She never asked for this. She never wanted the limelight.
It’s almost twenty minutes before I’m able to shake off my teammates and the reporters hovering outside of practice.
I ignore the missed calls from my agent and publicist and dial the only one that matters.
She doesn't answer my first call.
Or my second.
She finally picks up on the third.
"Hey."
One word.
Barely above a whisper.
My stomach knots.
"Jo."
Silence.
"Are you okay?"
A shaky laugh. "No."
My grip tightens on the phone. "What happened?"
"They..."
Her voice cracks.
"They suspended me from work.”
It’s like a punch to my gut. “What?"
"The partners said they need to evaluate whether the publicity could affect client confidence."
I close my eyes. “Shit.”
"They told me to take some time away while they figure things out."
"They can't do that."
"They already did."
I stand so abruptly the chair behind me topples over. "I'll call them."
"No you want.”
"I'll hire an attorney to stop them.”
"No."
"I'll pay your salary."
"No, Cal. You won’t do any of that.” Her voice is firmer now. "Please."
“It’s my fault.”
“No it isn’t."
“They’re my texts,” I insist.
"Our texts,” she corrects.
Silence.
Then... "I worked so hard."
My heart breaks. "I know."
“I lost the promotion. And now this."
I pace the empty hallway outside the locker room. "I'll fix it."
"You can't."
"I have to."
"You can't."
Another long silence.
Finally... She whispers,”I don't think I can do this."
I stop walking. "What?"
"This." She takes a shaky breath. “This life. The cameras. The headlines. The comments. I thought..." Her voice breaks again. “I really thought I could. But I can't. Now I get why you hate it so much too.”
My heart rips. “Jo—"
"I like you too much to become another headline."
"Please don't."
"I think..." She starts crying. "I think we should stop before things get even more serious.”
Everything inside me goes still. “Please, no.”
“Well, maybe we just need to cool it for a bit.”
My “jaw clenches. For how long?"
"I don't know." She “takes another deep breath. “I just... I need some space. To figure things out.”
The line goes quiet.
My throat swells. I want to beg her to let me fix this. I want to beg her to give me another chance.
But I can’t. Not when I know how much being with me has already cost her.
I clear my throat. “I’ll miss you."
Her voice breaks again. “I’ll miss you too."
That night, I pick up my phone out of habit.
Every night for the past six weeks... There's been a message waiting.
Goodnight.
Sleep well.
Don't let the reporters bite.
Something. Anything. Tonight... Nothing. Not that I expected there to be something, but it still hurts.
I type anyway.
Good night.
My thumb hovers over Send.
I stare at the words for a long time.
Then...
I delete them.
For the first time since one wrong number changed everything, my phone stays silent.