“It was incredible,” I say, sinking back against the pillows. “I’ll tell you all about it, but first, I want to hear about your day?”
“It was really nice,” she says, and there's genuine happiness in her voice. It should make me smile, but instead it twists like a knife. “Chris took me to hockey practice. I didn’t think I’d care, but it was actually fun. He plays with his brother Chase, and the way they read each other on the ice is insane.”
Every word feels like a needle under my skin. The way her voice lights up when she talks about it, about them. The easy happiness that I haven't been able to give her lately because I'm stuck playing the good guy quarterback while she's building a life that doesn't include me.
I should be happy. Iamhappy.
“Sounds like you had a good time,” I manage, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
There's a pause before she answers, softer now. “I did. It was nice to be somewhere people weren't staring or whispering, you know?”
My chest tightens. I knew it. I knew there was a reason for her to go to the ice rink. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing but the usual.”
The usual. Which means more texts. Maybe another photo. And instead of telling me, she let someone else be the one to make her feel better.
“That's great, Honeycomb,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice. “I'm glad you found a place to relax.”
“How was your dinner?” she asks quickly, turning it back to me.
“It was good, Honeycomb. Drew McCallister showed up, and they gave me a lot of advice.” I pause, honesty pulling at me. “But the truth? I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire time.”
“Me?” She sounds surprised. “Why?”
“Because you're the most important thing in my life,” I say simply. “Not football, not the NFL, not any of this. You.”
Silence. For a second I think I’ve gone too far, laid it on too thick. Then I hear it—a soft sniffle.
“I miss you,” she whispers. “So much.”
“I miss you too,” I reply, my chest aching. “And when I get back, we're going to figure out who's behind those messages. Together. I promise you won't have to carry it anymore.”
“Zach—”
“I mean it, Honey. You shouldn't have to put up with that shit just because you're with me, and I'm sorry I haven't done more to stop it.”
She's quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” she says finally. “That means a lot.”
We talk for another twenty minutes, about nothing and everything, until midnight creeps up on us. I know I’ll pay for it in the morning, but as I finally let sleep pull me under, there’s one thing I’m certain of.
Whatever it takes—whatever it costs—I’ll fight for her.
Knock. Knock.
“Coming,” I call out, my voice too chipper for how suffocated I feel as I stare at myself in the mirror. My shoulders are squared forced into perfect posture from my high heels, and my hair is slicked back with every strand in place.
That’s the uniform forSanderson and Nicks.
After spending one day there shadowing my father through endless glass offices, and silent power plays, I’m pretty sure I already hate everything about it. From the way my father bends everyone to his will, to the whispers in every room I enter andhearing the words “Nepo Baby” everywhere I go.
I’m back under my father’s thumb. Only this time, it’s by choice.
I knew law would be tough, but I didn’t realize I’d be at the point of feeling my soul crushing in the first month.
I head for the door, wishing I’d had time to ditch the skirt and blazer before my study session with Chris and Jenni, but the stack of files my father wanted me to read through had won.
Plastering on a smile, I pull the door open. “Hey, guys, sorry I didn’t—”