Chapter 19
Chapter 19
We stayed at the Cozy Cottage Open Mic Night for the rest of the evening, hanging out with my friends and sneaking kisses when no one was looking. Nick dropped me back at my apartment with the promise of seeing me for the Project Weka dinner the next day, and I’d fallen asleep with his kiss on my lips and him firmly entrenched in my heart.
And now it’s the morning after the idyllic night, and there’s a loud rap at my bedroom door, jarring me out of sleep. I roll over and glance at the clock. It’s early, far too early to be up on a Saturday morning.
“Go away,” I mumble as I close my eyes and attempt to recapture my unconscious state.
There’s another rap on my door. This time Darcy bursts in. “Erin! You’ve got to wake up!” she says at a volume that should be reserved for yelling at rugby games.
I lift my head and blink at her before I let it flop back down on the pillow. “Not now, Darce. Sleeping,” I murmur.
“No. Not sleeping,” she says urgently. “Erin, you need to see this.”
She thrusts something in my face, and I swat it away with my hand. “Can’t we do this later?”
I feel my bed move as she sits down heavily on it. “Believe me, you’re gonna want to see this.”
I blink at her. “Did you at least bring me coffee?”
“I promise to go make you one straight away.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay, but I want you to know that getting up at—” I glance once more at the blurry time on my bedside clock “—seven twelve. Seriously? It’s Saturday morning, Darce. This is wrong on so many levels, I can’t even begin to count.” I push myself up against my pillow and rub my eyes. “Okay. What’s so urgent?”
“This.” She hands me her phone, and I look down at the screen. There’s an image of Nick leaning heavily on some other guy, looking like he’s drunk a gallon of alcohol. The headline screams “Naughty Nick At It Again,” and I blink at it dumbly. After a moment, I look up at Darcy. Her face is creased in concern.
“Why are you showing me this? It’s old news. It’s from before we started seeing one another.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “It’s today’s news, babe.”
I study the photo once more, zooming in on the group. Nick looks bleary-eyed and is being propped up by Bulldog, one of the guys who was chugging beer at the Kickoff Party. I recognize a couple of the other guys from his group, too. The “party boys,” Angus had called them that night. They look like they’re at a bar somewhere, with scantily-clad sex kitten girls hanging off their large, bulky arms.
I look from the photo back up at Darcy. “He was with us last night. He might be a star player on the rugby field, but he’s not a magician. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“I hope you’re right.” She plucks the phone from my hand and taps at her screen. “Here’s another one.”
I take the phone from her and read the next headline. “ Is Nerick Over? ” I knit my brows together. Nerick is new. “What do they mean, is Nerick over?”
“Have you seen the photo?”
I scroll down, and my eyes land on a new image. It’s a grainy shot of someone who looks a lot like Nick, one of the platinum blonde I’m-wearing-a-belt-for-a-skirt girls from the other photo hanging off him like he’s a coat hook. He’s got his arm around her, a smile on his face. They look like they’re together. My heart begins to thud in my chest.
I am definitely fully awake now.
“Who is she?”
“Read it.”
I scroll down and begin to read.
Is there trouble in love paradise? Rugby heartthrob Nick Zachary was spotted out with a mystery woman in the small hours this morning at Auckland hot spot Leopard. He and his lady friend enjoyed some up-close-and-personal time before they left the place together. Who is this mystery woman? And does this spell the end for the short-lived Nerick everyone seemed to be talking about? This insider suspects the nails have been well and truly hammered into that particular casket. Welcome back, Naughty Nick. Oh, how we have missed you these past few weeks.
My insides twist painfully as my mind tries to grapple with it. I hold the image up. “Is this even him?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like him.”
“It could easily be some other buff six-foot-three guy.”
Her face lights up. “I guess it could. What was he wearing last night?”
“A pair of jeans and a black shirt.” I glance at the image once more. Whoever is in the photo—Nick’s doppelg?nger or maybe the man himself—is wearing what looks like a pair of jeans and a black shirt. I knit my brows together. “But it doesn’t make sense. He dropped me off here last night and said he was going straight home.”
“Maybe he decided to go out after?”
“With another girl ? A girl who thinks it’s okay to go to a nightclub dressed like she’s in some rapper’s music video, at that?” I ask, incredulous. I shake my head. “This is not Nick. It can’t be. It’s a case of mistaken identity. We agreed we’re a thing now. He said he’d fallen for me. Getting photographed with some other woman doesn’t make sense.”
“Look, I think you should call him. Get this thing cleared up. It could be that you’re right, that these are old photos, and some journo is trying to stir things up. Maybe they were short of a story or something.”
“Exactly,” I reply firmly. “I’m really worried about him now. If this is some journalist stirring the pot, he must be feeling terrible.”
“Have you heard from him this morning?”
I collect my phone from the nightstand. No messages, no missed calls. I chew on my lip. “Nope.”
“Call him.” She hops off my bed. At the door she turns and says, “I guess this is all part and parcel of dating a high-profile rugby player, babe.”
“Well, it sucks.”
“I hear you. I’ll go make some coffee.” She pads out of my room.
I pick Darcy’s phone up once more and flick through the article. There’s another photo of the man sitting down with the same blonde woman draped across his lap, this one even grainier than the first. Despite my certainty that this can’t be Nick, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified these photos may in fact be from last night.
I pick up my phone and dial his number. The phone goes straight to voicemail.
“Nick, hey, it’s me,” I say with as light a tone as I can muster. “I’m really worried about you. Can you call me?” I hang up and immediately send him a text, repeating the same message. I sit and wait, staring at my screen. Nothing. I pull up his social media accounts and message him. If this is all a storm in a teacup, I’ll be coming off as a total stalker of a girlfriend. But better that than not knowing.
I chew on my lip, thinking about that day in the conference room, the day he turned up looking terrible. He told me it was because he’d been training hard, and I had no reason not to believe him, but now I wonder whether he was dealing with something. He told me to trust him, that I shouldn’t believe everything I see. Did he know something was coming that would put my faith in him to the test?
I need to stay strong. I need to trust in him.
After a while of staring at my blank screen, I get up, throw on my dressing gown, and walk out to the kitchen.
A few moments and no calls or messages from Nick later, I’ve only just inhaled my first coffee of the day when my phone rings. Immediately, I pick it up off the kitchen counter, hoping it’s Nick returning my calls. I’ve already left him two voicemails and sent a bunch of texts since seeing the articles. Although I know I’m definitely lingering in fully-fledged stalker territory right now, I need answers. My head is spinning so hard it’s in fear of becoming detached from my head and bouncing off the walls.
“Is it Nick?” Darcy asks hopefully.
My heart sinks when I see it’s Ed. “It’s my boss.”
“Oh.” She pulls a face. “That’s not a good sign.”
I swallow as I press the green answer button. “Good mor—”
“Erin. Thank goodness. Have you seen the news? John just called me,” he blurts out before I’ve even finished saying hello. “He’s had a call from Bennett Motors, and they’re ropable.”
John Rogers, Ed’s boss and the head of the Hawkes, is involved? I’m suddenly dizzy. “Yes, I’ve…I’ve seen it.”
“Right. Good. I’ve told Miranda to meet me at the office. We need an urgent strategy meeting to mitigate these stories as quickly as we can. John’s coming back to the city from his place at the lake. When can you get in?”
“Oh, err, I could get there soon. I’m not dressed yet or anything though.”
“Throw on some clothes and get here as soon as you can. We need to work out how to fix this.”
My heart sinks to my toes. If Hawks management and Bennett Motors are reacting like this, does it mean the photos are really from last night? And if so, what does that mean?
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Of course.”
“Right. See you soon.”
“Ed?”
“Yes?”
“What if the photos aren’t real?”
“What do you mean, not real?”
“What if it’s some journo stirring things up, and the photos are from a while back? I mean, people do all sorts of things for a story, right? This could all be totally fabricated. Nick might be the victim of some nasty troll here.”
“It’s a possibility,” he replies, and the tight grip on my belly loosens a fraction.
“I know him, Ed. He’s changed. I’m really worried about him. I think he’s the victim here.”
“Your compassion does you credit, Erin, and you may be right. Let’s talk about that in the meeting. I’ll see you soon.”
“Sure.” Encouraged, I hang up. I take a final swig of my coffee, and tell Darcy, “Strategy meeting at the office.”
She twists her mouth. “Right.”
Ten minutes later, and still no word from Nick, I’m in my car, thankful not to be sitting in the weekday traffic.
As I turn onto the main road, I’m smacked between the eyes with the billboard of a bare-chested Nick smiling down on me as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. So not what I need right now. At the lights I check my phone. When I spot a message from Nick asking me to call him, a potent cocktail of worry for Nick and relief he’s back in touch grip me. I pull off the road and park then dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Nick. It’s me again. Call me when you can,” I say lightly, worry gripping my chest.
When I arrive at the office, it’s eerily dark with the lights off for the weekend. Quickly, I make my way to the conference room, swing the door open, and burst inside. Ed is sitting at the table with Miranda, and they whip their heads to look up at me with tense faces.
“I got here as quick as I could.”
“Take a seat,” Miranda instructs.
“Have you heard from Nick?” I ask as I pull up a chair.
Ed shakes his head. “Nothing. His phone has got to be switched off, and he doesn’t have a landline, which doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I told you, Ed, people don’t have landlines anymore,” Miranda snaps as I sit down.
“I’ve got one,” he sniffs. “I use it all the time.”
“Whether he should have a landline or not is completely irrelevant. Nick doesn’t have one,” Miranda replies in obvious irritation.
“He texted me, asking me to call him, which I did. Same issue though, straight to voicemail,” I say.
Miranda directs her glare at me. “Ed says you’ve called the stories fraudulent.”
“Well, they might be. Who knows when those photos were taken?”
“They were taken last night,” she replies as though she’s only just tolerating an insolent child.
With a raise of my chin I steel myself and reply, “We don’t know that, and we won’t know until we talk to Nick. They could have been file photos. In fact, I’m almost sure they are. Both articles are written by the same guy, someone called Stephen Taylor. I think he was looking for a story, and Nick was his target.”
“Why do you think that?” Miranda asks.
I glance at Ed. With a nod of his head he shoots me an encouraging smile. “Because I don’t think he was out at some bar with that girl last night. Not because I know that for sure, but because I’ve got faith in him. He’s serious about turning his reputation around.”
“What?” she snaps. “How would you know that he wasn’t at that nightclub last night?”
“Because,” I begin. I take a breath and say, “Because he was out with me.”
Miranda pulls her brows together. “You were with Nick last night? There wasn’t anything scheduled.”
“No, we, ah, decided to go out together, that’s all. A spur of the moment thing.” Or rather, a planned outing for my friends to question my new boyfriend so we can date. Details, details.
“You went out…” The look on her face tells me realization has dawned. “Do you think you’re dating him?” There’s a look of both horror and pity on her pretty face.
I twist my mouth. “We’ve, ah, become close. Nick’s a great guy, and he’s not the person he’s portrayed to be in the media.”
Her laugh could rival any wannabe evil witch. “Are you serious right now?”
“Miranda, let Erin speak. This could be a good thing,” Ed says. “Go ahead, Erin. Tell us about what’s going on with you and Nick.”
I sweep my eyes from Ed’s kindly expression to Miranda’s, which is somewhat less than kind, shall we say. I swallow. “Well, as you know, we’ve been spending a lot of time together—”
“I’d hardly say a handful of outings so you can be photographed together in just over two weeks is a lot of time,” Miranda quips.
I press my lips together. “We’ve been seeing each other outside of the scheduled public appearances.”
Miranda’s mouth forms a perfect O , and I do a silent air punch in my head. Take that, Ms. Glamazon Superior who thinks I’m just an “ordinary” girl.
“Good for you,” Ed says, and I shoot him a grateful smile.
Miranda’s face hardens. “He probably likes you as a friend, Erin. Someone to talk to. A man like Nick Zachary would never date a girl like you .”
I take a steadying breath. I’ve just about had enough of this woman. “Whether that’s true or not, Miranda, my point is that I know Nick. He’s not that partying Wild Boy of Rugby he was. He’s a good, decent man, and I bet you he always was.”
Ed lets out a puff of air, his face lit up. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that, Erin!”
“That we’re dating?” I ask with a light laugh.
“That’s your business. I’m just glad you can vouch for his whereabouts last night, and for his character. That changes things completely.”
“Before you two go throwing a self-congratulatory party, there’s one small glitch in your happy couple theory, Erin.” Miranda’s expression is a mixture of condescension, irritation, and a touch of the cat who’s got the full bottle of cream, too.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“How do you explain these?” She turns her laptop around, and I’m faced with a multitude of images of Nick. Drunk Nick. Nick with the girl. “They’re all on social media, taken by randos last night. Anyone with a phone is a journalist on social media, you know.”
I blink at the screen. “But—”
“Exactly,” she replies with satisfaction. “The guy you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’re dating is still out there, picking up girls in bars and getting drunk. You’re on planet cuckoo if you think anything different.”
Before I have the chance to reply, the door to the conference room swings open, making us all jump. I look up to see John Rogers come striding in, a stern look on his face. “Ed, Miranda, Erin,” he says. “I’m glad you’re all here.” He turns back and waves his hand. “Here’s the man himself.” He steps aside, and Nick walks gingerly into the room.
We all gape at him.
“Nick?” I murmur, my eyes wide. Shock stabs me in the side, my heart banging against my ribs.
“Hey.” His jaw is locked, and he looks like he hasn’t slept.
“Nick, hi,” Miranda says breathlessly. She jumps out of her chair and fixes her posture to show her perfect leggy figure off to best advantage. “We’re so glad you’re here. I bet your ears have been burning.”
“Yeah.” Nick gives her a closed-mouth smile and sits down heavily on a chair. His eyes find mine across the table, and I mouth, “Are you okay?” my heart breaking for him. Whatever has happened to him, he looks like he’s been through the ringer and back again.
He pulls his lips into a line and nods at me, and I’m certain I can see sorrow in his eyes.
“Right. Where are we with this?” John asks, taking his rightful seat at the head of the table.
“Erin here was telling us that she thought the photos were from a while back, not from last night,” Miranda begins, “although by the look of you, Nick, I wonder whether she’s being a little too optimistic about that, along with some other things we’ve been discussing.”
I shoot darts at her with my eyes. “All I’m saying is that there’s bound to be a reasonable explanation for what happened last night, that’s all. Personally, I think what we need to focus on now is how to calm Bennett Motors down.”
Miranda lets out a cold, unpleasant laugh. “These two have been so good at pretending they’re together over the last couple of weeks that poor little Erin here thought she and Nick were dating for real.”
The flaming heat in my cheeks threatens to fry my eyes, but I hold strong. I know Nick. I know there’s an explanation for these images. The girl could simply be an overexcited fan, nothing more.
“Well, maybe we should ask the man in question?” Miranda says. “Nick?”
“Yes, Nick. That does seem to be the question we need answered here,” Ed says. “Are those photos of you out drinking and, ah, fraternizing with a woman from last night?”
I tilt my head enough to watch his face. I hold my breath. This is it: the moment of truth. The moment when Nick puts all these rumors to bed.
His features are tight when he replies, “I went out last night with Bulldog and the others, after Erin and I had been out. We met some girls, and we partied.”
My heart sinks down to my shoes as I blink at him, trying to wrap my head around what he’s said. Why? Why would he do that? After everything we’d shared, after everything we’d said to one another. It doesn’t make any sense to me.
John slaps his hand on the table. “Nick. You were seen out with another woman when you’re meant to be dating Erin. There are photos of you drunk, photos of you with this woman in a compromising position. How did you not know that this would be a big issue for Bennett Motors?”
I stare at Nick across the table, waiting for his plausible explanation for his behavior, to prove to everyone I was right to have faith in him. She was just an overexcited fan; I only looked drunk; I stopped by for a soda with Bulldog and then went home. I will him to look at me, to tell me everything is as it was, but he avoids my eyes.
“I messed up,” he replies, looking down. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re absolutely right it won’t happen again,” John fires back at him. “Do you understand what you’ve done? I’ve had Stinklater on the phone to me this morning already. Did you think they’d miss this little show you put on last night?”
He appears visibly shaken. “Yeah, I…as I said, I messed up,” he repeats.
“You did mess up, Nick, and now Bennett Motors is insisting we remove you from the campaign. Do you know what that means? That means pulling the TV ads, pulling the billboards, the whole nine yards. Do you know how much your little dalliance last night will cost them?” John glares at Nick, his nostrils flared, his face flushed.
“I’m guessing a lot.”
John scoffs. In all my time at the Hawks, I’ve never seen him this riled up. “You’re lucky we’re not dropping you from the team.”
The tension in Nick’s jaw tightens. “Okay. I get it. I’ve been told off and been sent to my room with no dinner. Fair call.” He puts his hands on the chair arms and pushes himself up. “Are we done?” The tautness of his features belies the casual tone of his words.
He’s not telling the truth .
Why is he admitting to it all, taking full responsibility for whatever punishment Bennett Motors is going to dole out? There has got to be more to it than this. This is Nick, not some member of the party boys group. I know him.
“Nick. What’s going on?” I ask him, my voice high and breathless. “This isn’t true.”
He flashes his eyes to mine, and I see his pain. He twists his mouth as he rubs the back of his neck.
“John, I think we can salvage something here,” Miranda says urgently. “It’s not all doom and gloom. It’s one minor slip up.”
“I believe the time for pretending Nick is someone he clearly no longer is has well and truly passed, don’t you?” John shakes his head. “It’s too late.”
Nick is now standing by his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
John lets out a puff of air. “Do you know what bothers me the most about this, Nick? It’s not the sponsorship deal. Sure, that’s a terrible loss, but we’ll do our best to salvage something for the team there. It’s that you have so much potential, and I’ve got to sit by like some schmuck and watch you throw it all away.”
I see a flash of hurt on Nick’s face, but it’s gone before it’s even fully formed. “I’ll, ah, get going then,” he mumbles. He turns to leave.
With his hand on the doorknob, I spring out of my chair and rush over to him. “Nick,” I say, reaching for him. “Please.”
He looks down at my hand for a moment and then back up into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m no good. You should never have gotten involved with me.”
I watch as he turns to leave, the door swinging behind him, leaving me standing there, stunned and alone.