CHAPTER 16 #3
“Sure. But if she’s limited, that changes the bracket. The captaincy angle is interesting too.”
My shoulders tighten.
Morgan says, “Nathan.”
I do not move.
The second reporter says, “The Bellows reaction is weird. He looked like he knew before the replay.”
Something hot and ugly moves through my chest.
Colton steps closer. “Friend.”
I keep my feet where they are.
The reporter continues, “There’s probably history there. They did that defender feature, right?”
Enough.
I turn.
Darius appears out of nowhere and catches my arm lightly.
Not grabbing.
Not public.
Just enough.
“Walk,” he says.
“I’m just going to correct one thing.”
“No.”
“They’re making it sound like I leaked something.”
“And if you correct them, you confirm it matters.”
“It does matter.”
Darius’s eyes hold mine. “To you. That doesn’t make your voice useful right now.”
The words hit like a tackle I do not get to dodge.
Behind the reporters, Sienna enters through the media corridor with her laptop bag over one shoulder. Her expression is tight. Tired. Focused. She sees us, then the reporters, then Darius’s hand on my arm.
She understands immediately.
Of course she does.
She walks toward the coffee station.
Not toward me.
Good.
Because if she comes to calm me down, I may resent it.
Instead, she speaks to the reporters.
“Canada’s late defensive adjustment is the story,” she says, setting her laptop bag on the table with enough force to make both of them look up.
“Smith shifted the line five yards, Ava covered the second channel, and the midfield denied the central pass. If you’re going to talk about her, start with the soccer. ”
The first reporter blinks. “We are talking about the soccer.”
“No,” Sienna says. “You’re talking about a facial expression and calling it tactical analysis.”
Colton whispers, “Oh, I missed her.”
Morgan elbows him lightly.
The second reporter frowns. “The clip is relevant.”
“Yes,” Sienna says. “Relevant. Not sufficient.”
That is a neat little blade of a sentence.
The reporters glance at each other.
Sienna opens her laptop like she has already dismissed them from her emotional attention. “If either of you wants the breakdown, I’ll send you the sequence notes. Otherwise, enjoy the comments section. It seems more your speed tonight.”
Darius covers his mouth.
Not well.
The reporters retreat into awkward silence.
Sienna looks toward us then.
Not smug.
Not pleased.
Just tired.
Darius releases my arm.
I exhale for what feels like the first time since the replay.
Sienna crosses to us. “You’re welcome.”
I look at her.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Better.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
She glances at Darius. “I need coffee that does not taste like electrical regret.”
“The lobby coffee may not meet that standard,” he says.
“Then lie to me.”
“I would never.”
Her look says he absolutely would, and the fact that both of them understand the joke without finishing it makes something in the room shift softer for half a second.
Then Sienna looks back at me.
“Don’t become part of the story unless she asks you to.”
The softness disappears.
There it is.
Again.
The same lesson from another angle.
Morgan’s rule.
Darius’s warning.
Sienna’s media version.
Do not step out of shape because fear is loud.
My phone buzzes.
Everything in me goes still.
I pull it out.
Emily.
One message.
Did you tell someone?
The lobby noise drops away.
For a second, all I can see is the question.
Not the words.
The shape under them.
Did you become the old Nathan the moment pressure hit?
Did you decide for me again?
Did you take what you saw and hand it to the world because you were scared?
My throat tightens.
It should hurt that she asked.
It does hurt.
But it also makes sense.
That is worse.
Because if I were her, if I were standing inside the story I helped create years ago, I might ask too.
Morgan reads my face. “Emily?”
I nod.
Darius says nothing.
Sienna does not ask to see the message.
Good.
I step away from the group, toward the quiet edge of the lobby where a tall plant in a white ceramic pot is having an easier night than I am.
I type the first answer.
No. I would never.
Delete.
Too defensive.
I type the second.
No, and I can’t believe you think I would.
Delete.
Because she can believe it.
Because I taught her how.
I close my eyes.
Then I type the only answer that doesn't ask her to take care of my hurt.
No. But I understand why you had to ask.
I stare at it.
Then send.
The message leaves my phone.
The lobby hums back in around me.
Rain taps against the glass doors. Somewhere behind me, Colton says something low to Morgan. Darius asks Sienna if she wants the coffee or the lie first. A media badge clicks against someone’s zipper.
My phone stays dark.
Then three dots appear.
Typing.
My breath stops.
The dots vanish.
Nothing.
I wait.
They appear again.
Then disappear.
No message.
I stand beside the lobby plant with my phone in my hand and the worst part of the night lodged under my ribs.
Not that Emily asked.
That part I can survive.
The worst part is knowing she had every reason to.
***