42. Graciella
FORTY-TWO
GRACIELLA
WHEN THE SAXOPHONES JUST KEEP GETTING LOUDER…
Monroe was at the podium. The room was silent, all eyes trained on him.
I rested my elbow on the table and watched him.
His dark suit looked like it’d been sewn onto his body, broad shoulders taking up every inch of the black fabric. He stood with his chin tipped high. The only thing giving away his nerves was the white knuckles clenching the Lucite podium.
“I’ve been coaching for a while now,” he said, his voice carrying through the room with ease.
“Long enough to know that the job isn’t what most people think it is.
People think it’s about strategy, getting the right guys on your roster or making the numbers work.
” A beat. “Okay, to upper management, that last one is a non-negotiable,” he said, gracing the audience with a sly smile.
Laughter rippled through the tables near the front.
“But the part nobody talks about, nobody sees...” He looked down like he was collecting his thoughts. “The twenty-year-old kid sitting across from you in your office, who’s terrified of disappointing others. And you want to know the truth?”
The room was very still.
“Truth is, I’m the one terrified every single time.
Every player that sits across from me is my responsibility.
They give me something I didn’t earn. They trust me before I’ve proven I deserve it.
And I spend every moment trying to be worth that.
” He paused, rapping a knuckle on the clear top and letting out a little laugh.
“I got asked once how I learned to handle a responsibility like that. Truth is, it was a trial by fire, much like becoming a parent. I am nothing without my daughter, who wakes up every day and she just…she trusts me. And that’s the most terrifying and important thing anyone has ever handed me. ”
Someone at the table next to mine made a soft sound. A woman pressing her fingers to her lips.
“So, I treat the trust of my players with the same importance,” Monroe continued, voice strong and sure.
“I give them a reason to trust that I’ll have their back, even when no one else does.
Not their family, not their friends, not the media.
” He paused, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “Sometimes not even the league.”
My breath whooshed out. He was laying his pain out on that podium. Not hitting a single one of the speech points I’d planned for him. And it was better than anything I could’ve written.
Monroe’s eyes moved across the room, finding mine. He looked at me the way he did when we were alone, when there was no room. Like I was a fixed point in the universe.
“Because I’ve learned there’s no greater gift than having someone who has your back. Shows they care…shows they love you.”
My chest beat a million miles a minute.
I looked down at the tablecloth, blinking away the tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
Keep it together.
The applause could’ve filled a stadium. Shouts of, “That’s my coach!” popped up from around the room as people stood. Jimenez and Ari let out a pair of ear-piercing whistles. But it was Dalton’s yells that drowned out the rest.
I looked over to find him swiping at his eyes between thunderous claps.
How could anyone ever think poorly of Monroe?
I clapped, too, but the gesture felt too small for what I was feeling. I should have been running between the tables and launching myself into his arms. Kissing him on the mouth and declaring I loved him too.
But I couldn’t do any of those things. Not yet. Not until after pre-season.
I can wait.
Grabbing my clutch, I slipped out into the hallway, needing some air before facing him.
I walked down a corridor off the main ballroom, past a stretch of framed photographs, until I found an alcove with a pair of chairs nobody was using. Velvet caressed my exposed back, and I worked to slow my racing heart, lids fluttering closed for just a moment.
Muffled conversation growing louder caught my attention, and I nearly broke my neck with my double take.
Tyra stood at the entrance of the alcove in a champagne dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent, a sly smile painted on her face. Those cunning eyes lit up with nothing good. Lauren, the final girl we’d interviewed, was standing beside her.
My stomach dropped. What the hell are they doing here together?
“Gracie,” Tyra said, voice coated in a cockiness that had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “You look wonderful.”
“Tyra.” I kept my voice even as I stood, not wanting her to lord over me for this conversation. “Didn’t know you were going to be here. Not exactly a Texas event.”
She tilted her head slightly. “No, it’s not. But you know me. I go wherever there’s a good story to be had.”
“How about we cut the bullshit and you tell me what you want?”
Her laugh hung in the charged air. “I always liked that about you, Gracie. You were direct. Practical.”
Lauren stayed quiet, watching me.
“There’s a tell-all being written about Josh Monroe.”
Something cold moved through me, but I kept my face still.
“About his management style. His history with the organization, and—”
“Doesn’t sound very interesting,” I said, cutting her off as dread pooled.
“Oh, but you didn’t let me get to the good part.” She reached into her clutch and held out her phone, watching my face as she handed it to me.
Bile threatened to surface, hot and acidic in my throat.
The first photo was from the Draft. Our bodies angled toward each other, his head dipped slightly toward mine. My hand was near his arm. It looked…it looked exactly like what it was. Us being too close to be professional.
“Keep going.” Tyra’s voice was sickly sweet. Bitch was enjoying this.
I swiped.
The second one hit like a physical blow.
Monroe’s lips pressed to the top of my head. The kiss he gave me before walking up on stage to announce the pick.
I shoved the thing back at her, focused on keeping my hand steady. “What about them? We were talking closely in one, and he placed a friendly kiss on the other. Lots of friends kiss platonically.”
Tyra scoffed. “You’re great at spinning an answer, Gracie, but don’t insult me. I am, after all, the one who taught you how to do that.”
She didn’t teach me shit. But I said nothing.
“There are more. And Lauren, here.” She exchanged a sidelong glance with Lauren, who’d yet to utter a word, let alone look me in the eye. “She has quite the story to tell about a fake relationship PR stunt.” Tyra’s thin lips curled upward.
I chuffed, swiveling my attention to Lauren. Trying to hide the nerves racing through my body. “If there was some low-key PR deal, there would have been an iron-clad NDA.”
She flashed a smug smile my way. “I never signed it.”
I was nearly positive that wasn’t true, but there was no use arguing it at this moment. So I rolled my eyes, hoping they’d believe my bravado.
“Plus,” Tyra said, shrugging a slender shoulder, “I have a source inside the league who saw you two together. He’s quite…
invested, actually, in Monroe’s reputation continuing to degrade.
You two probably didn’t realize all the eyes that have been carefully watching.
Did you have fun in that little stairwell at the game?
” Her blue eyes danced with victory. “I mean, I obviously wasn’t in there with you, but I can guess what went on.
I’m sure people will have some opinions about it, too.
Really, the whole thing seems very…juicy. ”
“Who’s your source?” I practically spat out, body vibrating.
Not that I really needed her answer. I knew it was Vincent. This had his dirty fingerprints all over it, and I was regretting not hitting his car harder.
Or hitting him.
Maybe with a car…
“I’m not here to discuss sources.” She slipped the phone back into her clutch. “This story is going to run. The only question is what angle it takes when it does.”
My throat clogged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I had my suspicions, but I wanted Tyra to spell it out.
“I want a true inside scoop. You give me the details I want, and I’ll make sure the piece favors you.
A man in a position of power over you, pursuing you while dating another, a ploy of a relationship to lie to fans while you were opposed to his advances...
” She paused. “See how nice that sounds without your name being attached to it and dragged through the mud?”
Fuck.
I really was going to throw up.
Tyra’s smile said she knew she had me on the ropes—desperate. “This is a big story, Gracie. I’m impressed by the work you’ve done here. Decide to take the correct route and you can come back and work for me…full partner track. Pick your own clients. Hell, I’ll put your name on the door.”
Her final blow landed right in the ribs, knocking every ounce of air from my lungs.
The alcove went silent.
“And Monroe?” I asked.
Tyra shook her head. “Sorry, I told you…the piece runs regardless. But there’s a version where you’re a professional who maintained appropriate boundaries, and there’s a version where you’re…
something else.” She shrugged. “You’re smart, Gracie.
You know what’s coming. I’m offering you the chance to choose where you’re standing when it does. ”
She turned and walked back toward the ballroom, Lauren following quietly behind. Neither gave a backward glance.
The piece runs regardless.
I dropped into the chair, my head falling into my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes until little stars appeared. Wracking my brain for an out. A solution.
But no matter what I did—what I said...
There was nothing saving Monroe from the wreckage.
I looked at the ceiling, blinking away the burning behind my eyes.
Forty-eight hours. Fuck, that’s not enough time to do anything.
“There you are.”
My hand flew to my chest, Monroe’s deep voice nearly tipping me over the edge into cardiac arrest.
He walked toward me, hand tucked into his suit pant pocket, his tie loosened enough to show a sliver of skin from his unbuttoned dress shirt. He was smiling. But instead of butterflies, it was nausea stirring up in my stomach.
“Thought I saw you slip out,” he said, stopping in front of me. “You good?”
Tell him. Tell him, right now, what she said. About the photos, about the story, about—
“Yeah. All good.” The lie was putrid on my tongue. “Just needed some air.”
His warm hand came up, thumb brushing my jaw, and I let myself lean into it for a moment.
Treasure his touch one more time.
“Come back in,” he said. “Everyone’s wondering where you are. Thatcher’s up in five for his award.”
I forced a smile. “I’ll be right there.”
Josh held my gaze for a beat, searching, as if some part of him knew I was lying. Knew I was about to be another person to break his trust.
I bit back a pained laugh. The irony of his speech topic wasn’t lost on me.
“Okay, see you in a minute.” He turned, and I watched him go.
Forty-eight hours.