Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
If I told him, he’d understand, but admitting that I still carry around such an old hurt would only lower his opinion of me.
“You’re gonna have to deal with Coach… and…”
“Riley?”
Jacob leans against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his chest, looking so much like our father that I almost expect him to yell at me with spittle flying. “It was before her, but sometimes it doesn’t matter.”
“The damage is done?”
“Exactly. If it sews a seed…”
“I wouldn’t,” I blurt. “Not now. Not with Riley in our lives.”
“She doesn’t know that, Shawn. That’s the point.”
He drops his arms and straightens, shrugging. Then he turns and makes his way up the stairs, leaving me stewing in his disapproval. For the first time in a long time, I’m unsure if I can charm my way out of this one, which scares me to my core.
I can’t be on the outside of this relationship. I can’t expect my brothers to give up Riley if she no longer wants to be with me.
If hell had a soundtrack, it would be the incessant ping of my phone right now. Another text is another reminder that my past has come back to bite me square in the ass. “Shawn, dude, WTF?”
As much as I don’t want to look at more, I need to know if any of the messages are from Riley.
They’re not, and it’s late. I can’t do anything tonight and maybe speaking to her in person will be better. If she hasn’t already seen the pictures, I can warn her not to look. If the situation were reversed, it would kill me to see her pictured with someone else, even if it was in the past. The image would remain embedded like a splinter for life.
Just as I’m about to put my phone down, another message lands. It’s from Malik. “Nice moves, Shawneo. Hope you stretched first. Who was tighter? Left or right?”
The truth is, I don’t even fucking remember. They meant nothing to me but now have the power to bring my whole life crashing down around me.
***
The team’s PR rep is waiting for me before practice, with Coach looming behind like a Halloween ghoul. Her face is pale and serious, underlining that this isn’t just about me. It’s about the team.
I must look like shit based on the few hours of sleep I managed after tossing and turning. And Coach’s expression says it all.
“This is exactly what I was talking about. Indiscreet behavior leading to a fucking shit storm. Clean your act up, Shawn,” Coach barks. “We don’t need distractions.”
Distractions. That’s what I am now. Not the guy who can charm the media or defend the goal like a gladiator. The guy who whips up a shitstorm of unwelcome attention, some dude who can’t keep his dick in his pants, a reputation buster, a fucking diversion that could cost us.
I blanch under Coach’s scrutiny, and the PR—Abbey, I think her name is—clears her throat.
“You’ll need to make a statement,” she says. “If we get in early, there’s an element of damage control. The social media team can work their magic.”
The social media team?
Fuck. It’s all I can do not to groan and bury my face in my hands.
Riley. Riley’s the one who’ll have to craft the statement to excuse my indiscretion. She’s probably already been briefed, and I’ve missed my chance at damage control.
Coward.
I should have messaged her last night with a request to talk. I should have faced up to what I did before she was a part of my life. I can’t lose her, but I don’t deserve to keep her. How fucked up is that?
Throughout practice, my teammates are grim-faced, giving me supportive looks when Coach’s attention is elsewhere, but that almost makes it worse. They all understand my predicament because they’ve all done things they wouldn’t want splashed all over social media. Hell, it’s a normal part of life for a man in his early twenties, so why do I feel so shit?
I dwell for longer than normal in the showers, avoiding conversation and even my teammates’ attempts to be supportive. Hayes and Jacob wait around for me, but my face must say it all, and they eventually leave while I take a hundred years to dress.
Riley needs a quote from me for social media. A quote about my threesome with two puck bunnies at an orgy. And somehow, within that, I need to make her believe I’m a changed man worthy of her affection and her love. Maybe even one day, her respect.
I just want to go home and bury my head in the sand, but my sheets smell like Riley, and my room is saturated with memories of her. And if I do go home, I’ll be waiting for her to come to me, and that’s such a dick move. Bracing my hand against the wall, I type a message on my phone.