19. Cara
nineteen
Cara
I groaned and rolled over, reaching for my phone. Why was it buzzing? Dad had better not be asking me to do something else for him.
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. I propped myself up on my elbow and unlocked my screen. That couldn’t be right.
Ten thousand notifications on Instagram.
Another fifteen thousand on Facebook.
And fifty thousand on X.
What in the world?
My messages app had hundreds of notifications too.
Something big had happened. What episode of the podcast were we up to?
Jiminy Cricket, if it was the podcast, I needed to check on Monroe and Zali.
I opened up X to check and swallowed. Hard.
There was photo after photo of me sitting on Alec’s lap and others of him kissing me goodnight. Every derogatory word under the sun was used. The hashtag fatgirl was starting to trend along with #golddigger #puckhippo and #cheater too.
Tears sprang to my eyes. They’d not only stabbed me in the chest with a rusty knife, but now they were twisting it. I’d grown up with fat girl jokes—they were a fact of life when you were the biggest kid in your grade—and I’d learned to block most of them out. I’d buried the hurt that those comments brought up every time I thought about them. But I couldn’t block them out in the tens of thousands.
Everyone thought I was a gold digger and was with Alec because of his fame and fortune. It was so far from the truth that it was laughable.
There was no denying that I was practically broke—I didn’t get the best pay as a junior member of the administrative team at Delaware’s Warehouse—but my family were multimillionaires. If I genuinely needed cash, Mum and Dad would give it to me. But I didn’t care about material things. I was happy in my discount store clothes. My little car had seen better days, but it was still reliable enough that I didn’t have to catch the bus.
But none of the insinuations about me even compared to what they’d implied about Alec. The fact that people believed that I wouldn’t want Alec for who he was hurt the most. Why did they think for a second that I couldn’t be crazy about him? He was gorgeous, but more than that, he was sweet and kind. He treated people with respect.
They’d labelled me as a cheater too. They didn’t have any photos of Monroe, but clearly someone had seen me with him earlier in the night. They’d passed judgement on me, not even giving me the chance to explain. I’d never cheat on either of them. How could they think that?
It hurt that they’d call me the same thing that I’d called my father. It was the one thing about him that I detested. Talk about irony.
I suppose I should be thankful that they hadn’t called me a slut.
My vision blurred and I choked back a sob. Was I a slut? Did I deserve everything they threw at me for wanting both of them? Nothing we’d done felt dirty or wrong. It was hot and sexy, but not wrong.
It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to drag Monroe and Alec into any kind of bad media attention.
Oh, goodness gracious, what if Alec got in trouble for this? What if it looked bad on the team? Or for him? He didn’t deserve any bad attention for what people were calling me. It didn’t matter that the details were wrong. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t cheating. Perception was everything.
I needed to do some damage control.
But where did I even start?
How did they even figure out who I was?
I kept reading, and it became obvious. My social media profiles were open. I’d never bothered locking down my posts to my family and friends because no one had ever been interested in who I was. I’d posted about the podcast and how we wanted the world to know the truth. I’d added the link to my profiles. I’d been talking about the Seals’ tour and had posed for photos with team members, tagging them. The team had tagged me and Delaware’s Warehouse too. All anyone had to do was look through the Seals’s social media feed, and I’d be right there.
There was thread after thread doing exactly that. They were dissecting how I’d become involved with the tour. Someone had added my LinkedIn profile, too, which explained where I was working now. Our PR department had drawn up short pieces about how Delaware’s Warehouse was synonymous with bringing ice hockey to Australia, and we’d all shared it.
Speculation hadn’t started yet about my surname being Delaware.
Oh wait, there it was.
Now I was a nepo baby too.
There was talk of Tristan’s podcast as well. Speculation was running rife about its truthfulness. But people had seen Tristan in the background of the photos that were popping up. His image was plastered alongside mine. If nothing else, maybe he’d get a few more downloads.
The sinking feeling in my gut squashed any lingering happiness I’d been feeling after speaking with Alec and Monroe last night. Monroe hadn’t stayed long with him—he wanted Alec to get some sleep after the game—but I could hear Monroe’s smile through his soft words to me as I lay in bed.
I clicked out of the feeds. I couldn’t read any more.
My breath wobbled as I sucked in a breath and dashed away the tears. My heart hurt. If they put together who Monroe was, he’d have tens of thousands of people looking into his history. He didn’t need to relive it again. He was already doing it every day with the podcast.
I sent off a text to Harry, the head of our PR department. I needed to speak with Keeley too. We were all going to need to do some damage control.
But first I needed to speak with Alec. I dialled his number, but he didn’t answer. I left a message.
Then I sent him a text.
I knew Monroe was having breakfast with Zali. The two of them were taking a few hours this morning to catch up. I hated interrupting him, but this wasn’t something that could wait.
I rang him.
Again, no answer.
Where the heck was everyone, and why weren’t they answering their phones?
I rang Zali, then Tristan. Her phone rang out, and Tristan’s was turned off altogether. My heart pounded and I chewed on my lip until I broke the skin, the sting a welcome distraction. Dread sank its claws into me, and panic welled up, threatening to overwhelm me. G oodness gracious, what should I do?
***
Two hours.
It took two hours for Monroe to knock on my door. Alec followed moments later, like they’d timed it perfectly, but he banged with enough force, I thought the hinges would give out.
I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t even know whether it was anger, frustration, or fear that I’d ruined everything. But it was overwhelming. My hands shook and my voice sounded like I’d swallowed a whole roll of sandpaper. My stomach was in knots.
My knees were about to give out. I curled up on the couch in my suite and hugged a cushion to my chest. All I wanted was their arms around me so I could block out everything I’d read.
“What. The. Fuck?” Alec hissed as he rounded on Monroe and me. He pointed at both of us in turn. Alec’s face was pale, and there were tension lines around his eyes. The usual playful glint in them was gone. His hands were shaking and his lips were turned down, a frown line between his brows. He didn’t look angry—if anything he looked devastated, shocked to his core—but his short, sharp tone and the way he rounded on us said otherwise.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t understand. What was he talking about?
“How could you not have told me?” he continued. “Seriously, I can’t believe you hid it from me.”
“Hid—” I started. My brows knit and my gaze ping-ponged between the two of them. Did Monroe know what he was talking about?
“Stop yelling,” Monroe growled, his voice leaving no room for dispute.
He went chest to chest with Alec, his eyes flashing and his jaw tight as they stared each other down. But where Monroe was defensive, ready to throw down if need be, Alec looked… resigned. He turned away for the briefest of moments. Then he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw. It was as if he was psyching himself up, talking himself into being angry.
My breath caught and I bit back a sob. Was it disgust? Was he that appalled by everything said about me online that he was ready to walk away? This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have been so naive. I should have realized that if I’d been promoting the tour, getting photos with the team, and posting them to social media and LinkedIn. I’d eventually be found. I should have had the foresight to keep the images I’d taken with the team to myself and only used professional shots and ones without me in them. What was I thinking? This fight was because of my stupidity.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but they didn’t acknowledge I was even in the room. My tears started again. I clutched the cushion closer, rocking on the spot.
“You can’t just walk in here and accuse either of us of something when you know fucking well you’re hiding too,” Monroe continued like I hadn’t spoken. Anger punctuated every word he spoke.
Alec swallowed, and his eyes slipped closed before he shook his head and seemed to slide his mask back into place. It was as if his demeanour changed on a dime. I hadn’t seen this side of Alec before, but it didn’t feel right. There was something off. Was he forcing himself to be angry? Was he trying to provoke a fight? Alec huffed out an incredulous laugh and he threw his hands up in the air.
“You want me to fess up to my issues when you’ve been hiding a secret worthy of the fucking CIA?”
What? Alec’s reaction was over the top, especially for someone who was used to the public eye. I went to them, closing the loop between the three of us. I stood shoulder to shoulder with them, ready to intervene. Alec needed to stop whatever he was doing here, and Monroe needed to take things down a notch rather than escalating.
“Stop,” I begged, but neither one of them was listening.
“Please,” Monroe spat back, disdain dripping from him.
He turned and stepped away from him, giving Alec his back. I watched the colour drain from Alec’s cheeks, his lips turn down, and whatever spark was left in his eyes dull. He exhaled harshly, as if Monroe’s response was a physical blow. But like a tether connected them, Alec reached out and grasped Monroe’s arm, his fingers white as they bit into his skin. He tugged on him, stopping Monroe in his tracks.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Alec warned.
His voice was rough. But it definitely wasn’t anger pushing him. He was hurting. I didn’t know why, but I had to fix it. The pit in my belly had grown to the size of the Grand Canyon, but determination flared in me.
“I’m fucking sick of it. All I get from everyone is either an attitude or their backs.”
Oh, Alec. Don’t you see? We don’t want to walk away. You’re pushing us.
I stepped into his personal space and rested my hand on his belly. “Alec—”
Monroe whirled around. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, then poked Alec in the chest, daring him to react. “An attitude? You think this is an attitude?” Monroe shook his head, his lip curled into a sneer. “You’re sorely mistaken, Alec. My past isn’t a secret, but I don’t go around telling just anyone either.”
I could have cried at Monroe’s use of Alec’s first name. Last night, he’d been Hux. But even with our issues, even with the world imploding around us, Monroe still inadvertently acknowledged that connection. Except his delivery could use some work. Monroe was angry, and rightly so, but couldn’t he see that Alec was hurting too? I was convinced of it. He needed comfort, not antagonizing.
Alec brushed my hand away. He stepped back and sneered, “Great. So I’m a nobody. Nice to know where I stand.” Alec shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He was behind that mask once more, building the brick walls up around his heart again. But I could read him, and the person before me was not the cheeky, sweet man I knew. He was rattled, running scared, and hurting. He was like a wounded bear, lashing out to protect himself. But Monroe had landed a bullseye with his careless comment.
“I didn’t say that, and you bloody well know it. Stop twisting my words,” Monroe ordered impatiently.
“Please, stop,” I cried, my voice a raw rasp. “Please.” But once again, they acted like I wasn’t there, ignoring me completely. Frustration bit at me. I wasn’t invisible. I deserved to be a part of this conversation even if neither Alec nor Monroe wanted to listen to what I had to say.
But they didn’t. They stared each other down, neither one of them backing off.
“That’s enough,” I ordered, stepping between them and pressing my palms to their chests.
Alec’s heart was racing, and his shirt was damp with sweat. He was trembling. Monroe was tense, every muscle in his body coiled.
“We need to talk about this like adults. We’re all upset. Let’s calm down before we say something we’ll regret.”
“It’s too late for that, Cara,” Alec rasped, easing my hand off him again. He swallowed and flicked his gaze to Monroe. His words were curt and taunting, but agony radiated off him. “It sounded pretty clear to me. Your wife and kid are the talk of the town. Everyone apparently knows about them. Well, except for me.”
Oh, heck. This is not good.
Alec waved his hand dismissively and smirked at Monroe. But it was a fa?ade Alec was hiding behind. His eyes told the truth. He was heartbroken. I didn’t know whether the anguish was from only having just found out about Monroe’s family or something else, but he was hurting. Lashing out at Monroe wasn’t fair, though. It was a painful topic, and I understood Monroe not wanting to relive it over and over. This trip was a bubble, and it had burst spectacularly. We’d only wanted to block out the real world for a couple of precious weeks. Alec had been a completely unexpected but very welcome surprise. I could never have dreamed of our trip turning out the way it had so far—well, except for the last few minutes, anyway.
“But I’ve downloaded Tarnished Crown now,” Alec added.
“Alec,” I warned, trying to get him to stop talking. But it was no use.
“Should I just go and put it on? Listen to the series and get to know what happened to your wife’s company from your mate, Tristan?” He narrowed his eyes as Monroe stumbled back, looking like he’d been slapped. “It’s all good. Just let the guy you’re sleeping with be the last to find out.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Monroe bit out through clenched teeth. “You want to talk about famous shit? How about the TMZ special on your sex life? Huh? Fucking your teammate’s wife? Classy, Alec. Real nice too. Good job breaking up their marriage.”
“What?” I asked. I didn’t trust my legs to hold my weight anymore. I slid onto the coffee table as Monroe’s words hit home. No.
It couldn’t be.
Alec wouldn’t have done that.
He wouldn’t have cheated on someone.
Please, don’t let it be true.
“You cheated with your teammate’s wife?” I asked, not wanting the truth but knowing I needed to hear it. If he was capable of that, we were done. Over.
After what my dad had done, I would never trust a cheater.
“I’m not doing this.” Alec shook his head and pursed his lips, clenching his jaw so tight, I waited for the crack of his molars to echo through the room. “We’re done. Over.”
My heart broke.
Shattered into a million pieces.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak.
I needed to get out of there.
Shoving blindly past them, I raced to the door and pushed through it, dashing to the lift. I slammed my thumb against the button and pushed it over and over again. I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t face either one of them.
The doors slid open, and I pressed the button for the ground floor.
I stumbled out of the lift once it landed. I needed to get away from it all.
I hated the fighting. I couldn’t stand the tension. Their heated words were like knives, slicing me open. All of it—the accusations, the animosity, the hurt—was far too close to what my parents were doing.
Except this was one thousand times worse.
I’d gone and fallen for them.