Chapter 34 Jade
I am a certified masochist.
It’s the only explanation for why I pull the remote out of the sofa cushions after a lousy attempt at hiding it so I wouldn’t turn on the sports channel just to get a glimpse of Tieran.
Not talking to him for two days has been excruciating. I shut my phone off after I ended things, not able to bear looking at my background and the picture he took it upon himself to save as my wallpaper. It made my chest ache to see him smiling wide as he pressed his face into my neck.
It was a particularly cold morning that day, and I kept harping on how I needed to get out of bed to get ready, but Tieran banded his arms around my waist, holding me in place.
A second later, his leg had joined his arms in locking me down, and he started peppering my face and neck with soft bites and gentle kisses.
An errant tear slips down my cheek. I would give up everything to my name for one more minute of lying in bed, wrapped in his arms.
I wipe it away, set the remote firmly on top of the coffee table, and go back to the files strewn in front of me.
Don’t look; it will only make things worse.
Just do what you always do and throw yourself into work.
Ignore that there's a gaping hole in your chest, and maybe, eventually, things will be okay.
Diving back into my job full force was jarring, and catching up on the things I let slip over the past couple months is already overwhelming, proven by the mountains of paperwork and no less than thirteen tabs open on the laptop in front of me.
I’m reviewing the latest line sheets for an upcoming Jaded collection, comparing the fabric composition of a belted wool trenchcoat to a version we had last year, making sure the improvements I requested were implemented, but my mind strays to the remote acting as a paperweight.
I reach out but snatch my hand back. No, it won’t help anything.
I move on to study last week's performance for e-commerce as well as the wholesale division, shifting back and forth between documents in front of me and ledgers on my laptop, trying to make sense of the small shift in revenue. I blindly reach for another page, but my hand grabs the remote instead.
Just a look—I just need to see him for a minute, and then I’ll let him go.
I start scrolling through the channels, hugging the large bowl of ice cream I’ve been having for lunch and passing over countless programs in search of the game. I nearly miss it, but my heart would recognize that flash of blue anywhere.
I backtrack, and there he is, standing proudly in front of the team's gryphon logo printed on a banner—a replay of a pregame interview that must have happened no more than a half hour ago.
Cameras are shoved in Tieran’s face, flashes illuminating his tanned skin as reporters talk at the same time, peppering him with so many questions, it’s impossible to decipher one from the next.
He is so beautiful, it’s hard to breathe looking at him now, and just like that, every thought of business and responsibility is gone.
Tieran smiles, the charming fly-half of The Legends taking over, no dimples in sight, telling me the real version I broke two nights ago lurks just below the surface. But for now, his mask is securely in place. “Settle down, you lot. I can’t answer any questions if I can’t hear them.”
He indicates to a woman in the back raising her hand. “You.”
“Sharon Purcell with SkySports, Mr. Stone.”
“Hello, Sharon. What’s on your mind?” To anyone who doesn’t really know him, he seems confident and collected, but I can see the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights, the tightening of his shoulders indicating he’s not feeling as at ease as he seems.
“You’ve caused quite a stir, Mr. Stone.” Tieran nods his head as they speak.
“The National Team has been scouting if rumors are to be believed. Some say they’ve been watching you and are none too pleased about the tabloids as of late.
Are you worried your dalliance with Ms. McKallen will hinder your chances at clinching a spot on the roster? ”
Tieran leans forward into the microphone. “No.”
Sharon looks a little taken aback, as does the rest of the room, as murmurs break out amongst the crowd. I’m a little confused too, honestly, because what the fuck does he mean?
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“It’s as simple as this—if they want me for my ability on the pitch, then it shouldn’t matter who I love.” My heart is a hummingbird in my chest.
The room explodes into a cacophony of noise and camera flashes as every reporter falls over themselves to ask the next question.
Finally, one breaks out over the din, louder than all the rest. “You must admit, in today’s climate, the situation around this…relationship is a bit uncouth.”
As if he expected this question, Tieran fires back, unperturbed, “She and I met before we even knew who the other was. We were just two people in a pub. We didn’t exchange names or jobs, content to be ourselves without the weight of expectations pushing in around us.
I can’t begin to describe to you how freeing that felt,” he murmurs.
“Needless to say, we were both blindsided when she walked into the conference room to introduce herself as the new owner of the team.” He stares down every one of the cameras in his face.
“But let me be perfectly fucking clear: I pursued her, and every vile article disparaging her character and praising me as some sort of god is wrong. She has done more for this team than any previous management, and despite the connection we had, she tried to stay away from me. She was willing to deny herself happiness to do what she believed the world expected, that’s all she’s ever done her entire bloody life.
I was in a bad place when she found me. She didn’t care who I was or what I had to offer, but she met me where I was and coaxed me back from the dark.
Why in the world would I care if the entire universe thought that was wrong? ”
A tear escapes, and then another joins, dripping off my chin onto the paperwork in front of me.
“So it’s love then? Not just a fling?” I don’t know who asked it—I don’t care much, because all I can focus on are Tieran’s eyes, his mouth, the determined set of his jaw, the way he defends me after what I did to him—said to him.
He looks down the eye of the camera, as if the next part he’s saying to me and only me, like he knows I’m watching.
“This game has given me so much—friends who are like brothers, community, opportunities—but she has given me more. Love, security, strength—her heart. She will always be more important, and I will not lie to my country, or to the people who have loved this game and supported me for years by giving her less than she deserves: the truth. Jade McKallen is the force that drives my body to win; she’s the most intensely caring person I’ve ever met and the steady voice I’ve needed when I was feeling unworthy of this position—of her.
There is nothing in this world, no title or trophy, that could get me to give her up.
Nothing.” His vehemence sends chills skittering all over my body.
Blood rushes to my ears, drowning out any follow up questions he’s being asked, and tears form anew at his confession. It isn’t fair, none of this is fair, and I’m furious at the world for giving me this perfect person, only to rip him away.
“I’ve got it from a good source saying McKallen is selling her shares to Lawrence Chapman.”
Tieran’s whole body locks up as he tries to school his surprise into neutrality. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Your girlfriend hasn’t told you?” another shouts, but he ignores it, jaw clenching.
“Stone! Do you know how your relationship got leaked?”
“I have my theories, and I’d like for that person to know one thing.” Tieran stares down the camera, a lock of dark hair falling into his face as his upper lip curls into a snarl. “You made a mistake when you fucked with my girl, and I’m coming for you with everything I’ve got.”
I’m almost turned on as much as I’m terrified, because if Tieran decides to play hero, he could officially screw up his chances to get called up to the National Team, and I can’t let that happen.
Without knocking, Aanya bursts through my front door, looking harried and on edge. “Holy shit, you look awful.”
“I’ll be sure to come to you anytime I need a confidence boost,” I deadpan.
“Shit, sorry, babe, it’s just… I’ve never seen you in sweats, or with your hair in a messy bun and…have you been crying? Your face is all splotchy…” She looks down at my coffee table of work, tears, and half-melted ice cream. “Are you seriously working right now?”
“Is there something you need, Aanya, or can I go back to wallowing?” I shovel a spoonful of raspberry ripple in my mouth.
“You have to see this.” She comes around the couch, digging the remote out from under my thigh and plopping down beside me. Changing the channel takes two seconds before she finds the one she wants and is turning up the volume.
My eyes scan over the screen in confusion before it registers what the broadcasters are saying.
“It’s completely unprecedented. Never in the history of the Union has a team refused to play.”
Refused to play? What the hell are they talking about?
“It’s absolute insanity, but the whole Legends team is standing in solidarity with Stone. They won’t play unless McKallen gets reinstated as owner.”
I jump up off the couch. “What?” I whip my head to look at my best friend. “This must be a prank.”
“Afraid not.” Aanya nods toward the television, where the team stands along the stadium seats, talking to the reporters, each player telling them how the club has improved since I took it on.
This is—this is too much. They should be stretching, warming up, getting their heads on straight to play this match, but instead, they’re singing the praises of a woman who already resigned.
Confusion morphs into sadness that’s now morphing into anger.