Chapter 17
Jalen
The dressing room was too quiet. Not silent, because I could still hear the low hum of the studio lights outside the door, the distant shuffle of producers moving through the hallway, and the muffled sound of someone rehearsing lines somewhere beyond the wall, but quiet enough that my own thoughts seemed louder than everything else.
I sat in the chair in front of the mirror with my elbows resting on my knees and my hands clasped together while the makeup artist finished brushing a light layer of powder across my forehead.
"Almost done," she said.
I nodded once.
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror.
My hair was neatly trimmed, my tie sat perfectly against my collar, and every part of me looked exactly the way people expected Houston's franchise quarterback to look.
Calm.
Collected.
Professional.
It was the same face reporters saw after heartbreaking losses and impossible comeback wins.
It was the face I had spent years perfecting because people expected confidence from the man under center.
The problem was that confidence had been replaced by something I hadn't felt in a very long time.
Uneasiness.
My stomach had been tight from the moment I walked into the building, and it had only gotten worse the closer we got to going live.
I kept replaying my conversation with Mars from the night before and hearing her voice as she quietly spoke the words that had changed everything.
It was Darren Hill.
Now every hallway, every studio door, and every step toward the set felt different because I knew exactly who was waiting on the other side.
Darren Hill.
Before yesterday, he had simply been another respected analyst whose opinion carried weight around the league.
Today, he was the man who had stolen something from the woman I was growing to love.
The thought made my jaw tighten.
I caught myself clenching it in the mirror and forced myself to relax before anyone noticed.
No one in this building knew what I knew.
To everyone else, this was another interview.
To me, it felt like walking into the same room as a monster wearing an expensive suit and a polished smile.
I had promised Mars I wouldn't tell anyone, and I intended to keep that promise, but keeping my word suddenly felt a lot harder than I thought it would.
I wasn't worried about saying the wrong thing.
I was worried that the moment I looked him in the eyes, he would somehow know that I knew exactly who he was.
Before Mars told me what he did, this would’ve been another routine segment. I’d done plenty of them over the years. Talking about the game. Breaking down plays. Giving the audience a couple easy quotes.
Simple.
But now every part of this felt different.
Now I knew what kind of man he really was.
And I had to sit across from him pretending I didn’t.
The makeup artist stepped back.
“You’re all set.”
“Thanks.”
She left the room and I stood slowly, rolling my shoulders once as I walked toward the door.
A production assistant waited in the hallway.
“They’re ready for you.”
Of course they were.
I walked out onto the set like I had a hundred times before.
The bright lights hit first. Then the cameras.
Then Darren Hill sitting only a few feet away.
The second I saw him, every muscle in my body tensed.
The noise around me seemed to fade into the background as memories I had spent years trying to bury came rushing back all at once.
For a moment, it felt like all the air had been pulled from the room.
He sat behind the desk in his perfectly tailored suit, the same easy smile he wore on television every night. The kind that made audiences feel like they were listening to an old friend.
To anyone watching at home, he looked like a legend of the sport.
A respected voice.
A man who had earned his place in the spotlight.
Only now I knew better.
“Jalen,” he said smoothly as I approached.
I gave a short nod.
“Darren.”
We shook hands, and the second our palms met, I had to fight the urge to pull away.
The producer counted down from the side of the stage.
“Five… four… three…”
The red camera light flicked on.
And just like that, the show began.
“Welcome back,” Darren said to the camera. “We’re joined tonight by one of the league’s most exciting players after last week’s incredible performance. Jalen Carter.”
I gave a small to the camera.
“Good to be here.”
The first part of the interview was easy.
Football always was.
He asked about the game.
The fourth quarter.
The energy in the stadium.
I answered the way I always did. Calm. Professional. Focused.
We even laughed once or twice when he brought up a particular play from the second half.
To anyone watching, it looked like two football men talking shop.
But underneath it all, I kept noticing little things.
The way his eyes flicked over me sometimes.
The slight curve of his smile made something in my stomach tighten.
It was the kind of smile that suggested he knew something everyone else in the room didn't.
The interview moved toward the closing segment, and Darren leaned back comfortably in his chair as though we were simply two men talking football.
"So before we let you go," he said casually, "the internet has been buzzing lately."
Here we go.
I smiled politely and folded one leg over the other.
"Oh yeah?"
He chuckled.
"Apparently you've been spending some time with someone new."
I kept my expression relaxed.
"My beautiful woman, Amara, is far from new," I said with a light laugh. "She's just new to everyone else."
The hosts laughed along with me.
Darren smiled, but something about it had changed.
He tilted his head ever so slightly before speaking again.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I've actually had the honor of crossing paths with Ms. Sinclair years ago when she attended an event with her brother, Caleb."
Every muscle in my body tightened.
I kept my smile exactly where it was.
"Small world," I replied evenly.
"It really is," Darren said. "She left quite an impression."
His eyes settled on mine for just a fraction of a second longer than they should have.
"She's quite the woman."
He smiled again.
"Quite... feisty."
The word landed like a punch to my chest.
Nobody else reacted.
One of the hosts nodded politely, completely unaware that anything unusual had just been said.
To them, it sounded like an innocent observation.
To me, it felt deliberate.
It felt like a man testing whether I knew what he had done.
Heat climbed into my neck, and I felt my jaw lock so tightly that I had to force myself to relax before the cameras caught it.
I wanted to reach across that desk and wipe the smug look off his face.
Instead, I reminded myself of the promise I had made to Mars.
She had trusted me with the darkest chapter of her life.
The last thing I was going to do was betray that trust because I lost control for thirty seconds on live television.
I held Darren's gaze just long enough to let him know I wasn't intimidated before offering the same practiced smile I had given reporters hundreds of times before.
"She is an incredible woman," I said calmly. "I'm very fortunate to have her in my life."
For the first time since the interview began, Darren's smile faltered.
It lasted less than a second, but I caught it.
Whatever game he thought he was playing, he wasn't getting the reaction he wanted.
He had expected discomfort.
He had expected uncertainty.
Instead, he got certainty.
He got a man who loved her enough to stand beside her, whether he knew the full story or not.
And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, that seemed to bother him far more than I expected.
For a moment, the air between us felt impossibly heavy.
Neither of us moved as the silence stretched across the studio.
Then the producer's voice cut through the tension.
"And... we're clear. That's a wrap, everyone."
The cameras powered down, and the bright red tally lights above them disappeared.
Crew members immediately began gathering notes and adjusting equipment as conversations picked up around the set.
I stood from my chair without saying a word.
Across the desk, Darren leaned back comfortably, the polished television smile disappearing the instant the cameras were no longer recording.
The man sitting in front of me looked nothing like the charismatic analyst millions of people welcomed into their living rooms every week.
This was the man Mars had described.
Calculated.
Arrogant.
Certain that no one would ever see who he really was.
I walked around the desk until only a few feet separated us.
He looked up at me without the slightest hint of concern.
"What?" he asked with a faint smirk.
I held his gaze.
"Don't ever say her name again."
He studied me for a moment before the corners of his mouth lifted.
"I was only paying her a compliment."
"You and I both know it wasn't a compliment."
His smile widened ever so slightly.
For the first time, I saw exactly what Mars had been talking about.
There wasn't an ounce of remorse behind his eyes.
Only amusement.
He enjoyed this.
He enjoyed believing he still had power.
I leaned in just enough to make sure no one else could hear me.
"If you ever speak about her again, if you ever come near her again, or if I hear that you've so much as whispered her name, I will make it my personal mission to make sure everyone learns exactly who you are."
His expression didn't change.
Instead, he laughed quietly to himself.
"Son," he said smoothly, "you don't want to start a fight you can't finish."
I didn't blink.
"You seem to think I'm talking about a fight."
The confidence in his smile faded just enough for me to notice.
"I'm talking about the truth."
Neither of us spoke for several long seconds.
People walked past us carrying cameras and cables, completely unaware that the atmosphere between us had shifted.
Finally, Darren stood and straightened his suit jacket.
"You should be careful," he said. "Accusations have a way of ruining careers."
I looked him squarely in the eyes.
"So does the truth."