Beckett #2
I stayed there, buried inside her, my forehead pressed to hers, our breath mingling in the quiet morning light. She was still trembling, her body sensitive and warm beneath mine. I pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and soft, my hands tangling in her hair.
“Morning,” I murmured, my voice rough.
She smiled against my mouth, her eyes still dazed, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “Morning.”
I rolled onto my back, pulling her with me, her body sprawled across mine. She fit there, like she was made to be there. My fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, my mind already racing ahead to the road trip, to the weeks apart.
But for now, she was here.
The smell of coffee filled the apartment, soft and familiar, grounding me in a way nothing else did.
Ellery was still in the bedroom, half-asleep under the blanket. The sight of her there—hair mussed, sunlight catching on her bare shoulder—hit me harder than anything on the field ever had.
I leaned against the counter, waiting for the pot to finish brewing, and couldn’t stop smiling.
For once, everything felt… easy. No noise, no headlines, no crowd waiting for me to screw up. Just her. Just us.
She wandered in a few minutes later, wearing my shirt and rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“You always this domestic after a win?” she teased, voice rough with sleep.
“Only when the victory’s worth celebrating,” I said.
She laughed softly and stole a sip of coffee straight from my mug. “You’re insufferable.”
“Still here, though.”
She shook her head, smiling as she leaned against the counter beside me. It was light, playful, normal—and for the first time in a long damn time, I was happy. Really, honestly happy.
When she went to shower, I grabbed my phone from the counter. A notification blinked—Cam. Figures. The man had the worst timing in human history.
“Morning, Cam,” I said, pressing the phone to my ear.
His voice was clipped, urgent. “Turn on the news.”
I frowned. “Why? It’s too early for that—”
“Just do it.”
Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I fumbled for the remote and flipped to the sports channel.
The headline hit me like a punch:
STORM STAR STEALS TEAMMATE’S GIRL — TEAM IN DAMAGE CONTROL MODE.
My stomach dropped.
The screen filled with photos—grainy but clear enough. Me and Ellery, mid-kiss. Her hands in my hair, my hands on her hips.
I just stared. Coffee forgotten, pulse hammering in my ears.
Cam’s voice crackled through the phone. “You see it?”
“Yeah,” I managed. My throat felt tight.
“Management wants you at headquarters in an hour. No statements, no posts, no clever comments.”
I pressed my fingers against my temple. “They’re calling it an affair.”
“They’re calling it worse than that,” he said. “You’ll keep your mouth shut and let PR do its job.”
I paced the kitchen; the floorboards creaking under my bare feet. The coffee had gone cold on the counter. The sound of Ellery humming in the shower floated down the hallway, too gentle for the mess unraveling in my hands.
“Cam,” I said quietly, “she’s not part of this circus.”
He hesitated, and that half-second pause told me everything. “Every article has her name. She’s collateral damage now. I’m sorry.”
Collateral damage.
The words hit harder than anything else. Like she was a casualty of a war she didn’t even start.
I sank onto a stool, staring at the phone like it might burn through the counter. My jaw clenched until it hurt. Every camera in that ballroom, and I hadn’t seen a single one. Every smile, every handshake, every step out that door with her hand in mine—flashed, frozen, turned into a weapon.
She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t deserved it.
Cam was still talking—something about containment, optics, legal. I barely heard him. My pulse was too loud, my head too full of the image of her face when she saw it. When she realized the story wasn’t about her speech, or her foundation, or what she’d built—it was about me. About us.
“I’ll handle it,” I said finally, even though I didn’t know how.
“Don’t make it worse,” Cam warned. “And for God’s sake, don’t go to her yet.”
He hung up, but I was already on my feet.
Don’t go to her.
As if I could do anything else.
The town outside the window was waking up, but all I could think about was the way she’d looked last night—bright, unguarded, finally free.
And how fast the world was about to try to take that away.
Ellery came out of the bedroom, hair still damp, still wearing one of my shirts. She smiled at first, soft and sleepy.
“Mmm. Smells like coffee,” she started, then paused. Her voice trailed off when she saw my face. “What’s wrong?”
I forced a breath that didn’t want to come. “Cam called a meeting,” I said, tugging a hoodie over my head, needing something to do with my hands. “I’ve got to go.”
She frowned. “I thought you had a road trip today.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
The words came out flat, like they weren’t even mine.
I could feel her watching me, confusion turning to worry.
She took a small step forward, and I nearly told her everything right then—about the headlines, the pictures, the way the media had already turned her name into a punchline.
But the words stuck in my throat. If she didn’t know yet, I couldn’t be the one to ruin her morning.
So I just said, “It’s nothing,” and hated myself for it.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing the way they did when she knew I was lying. “Beckett.”
God, the sound of my name from her mouth—soft, careful—hurt worse than any hit I’d ever taken.
“I’ll be back,” I said instead. It wasn’t a promise; it was a plea.
I wanted to reach for her, to kiss her, to anchor myself to the only good thing I’d managed not to wreck yet. But my hands stayed at my sides. I didn’t deserve to touch her, not when everything I’d built with her was about to get dragged through the mud because of me.
The guilt hit like a wave—hot, suffocating. I’d known this could happen, that cameras could twist anything, that proximity to me was never safe. But I’d been selfish. I’d wanted her, anyway.
She stepped closer, brushing her fingers against my arm. “Hey,” she said softly. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer.
When I finally walked out the door, the morning air felt colder than it should have.
All I could think was that the one good thing I’d ever had—the one person who made me feel like more than the headlines—was about to be taken from me.
And for once, I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself.