“It’s your story to tell… Or not.”Wren’s lips press together, hurt blanketing her features for a heartbeat before she masks it with a tight, professional nod.“But for what it’s worth, you were harsh with her.She waited for you at the gym, Mad.She’s only doing her job.”
Guilt tugs low in my gut.“Yeah.I know.I screwed up, and I’m sorry, Wren.I didn’t mean to snap at you.I’m an ass.”
Percy returns, the tray rattling slightly as she sets down fresh drinks.Oliver slides a cold bottle toward me and lifts his own.“Look, man.We’re not trying to gang up on you.You’re not alone in this.You’ve got a contract, sure, but you also have a say in what you share.Set boundaries.She pushes too far, you pull back.”
“You think it’ll be that easy?”I huff out what I intend to be a laugh, but it falls flat.
“I think you’ve faced worse than one reporter.Crowds.Crashes.Sponsors.Marcos.”His gaze holds mine.“You don’t have to do this by yourself.You’ve got people.Us.Your mom.Katie.”
Wren nods and squeezes my hand.“And if she twists anything you say, we’ll set the record straight.”
Their faith fills the booth, both a comfort and a weight.I drag a hand through my hair, fingers catching on the back of my neck where the skin feels too tight.
“I just… I don’t want that time of my life stirred up.”
“Then give her what you can live with.”Wren pats my hand, her touch grounding.“You don’t owe the world every piece of you, Mad.”
I glance toward the counter where Buchanan waits for her takeout, phone in hand, though she isn’t scrolling.She stares straight ahead, jaw set as if she’s holding the entire day between her teeth and deciding whether to bite down.
This woman waited forty-five minutes in an empty gym because I didn’t bother to check my inbox.This woman just told me she’s coming to my away game whether I like it or not.
Six weeks of questions.
Six weeks of digging.
Six weeks of trying not to crack.
I take another swallow of beer, the taste dull and familiar.If I barely survived the press during my retirement announcement, how the hell am I supposed to keep the truth buried with Grace Buchanan breathing down my neck in a town this small?
She takes her bag and heads for the door without looking back.On the track, I could always find an exit.I could always outmaneuver the pressure.But as the bell above the door chimes her exit, reality makes a fist in my gut and squeezes.
Six weeks.
There’s no way I can outrun her.
Chapter5
Grace
The leather of the rental car’s seat is stiff and cold, biting through my pants.I slam the car door, and the metallic thud echoes the frantic, deranged drum solo of my pulse.
“Unbelievable.”My palm strikes the rim of the wheel.“Completely unbelievable.”
The car smells of industrial cleaner and my own mounting exhaustion.I dig into my pocket, my fingers trembling as I pull out my phone.Adrenaline is still a live wire in my bloodstream, and if I don’t capture this disaster now, I’ll start second-guessing the madness.
I thumb the record button.
“Day one.Maddox Hartley is already proving himself to be an Olympic-level pain in the ass.”A sound slips from me, caught between a laugh and a sob.“Correction: asurprisinglyattractive Olympic-level pain in the ass.”
I stab the stop button, and the phone vibrates with the force of the impact.No.Absolutely not.I am not documenting my own professional demise via thirst.I delete the clip, stare out the windshield at the dark, mocking night, and start over.
“Day one of the Hartley assignment: Subject stood me up, gaslit me into thinking the mix-up was my fault, then growled at me like I’m the one with a secret to hide.”My grip tightens until my knuckles ache.“Also—he’s charming, more than he has any right to be.Infuriatingly so.”
I kill the recording again because admitting that out loud feels like swallowing glass, the truth jagged and sharp in my chest.
I stare at the dark dashboard, seeing those sharp cheekbones and that stubborn jaw instead of the plastic console.His lips are a problem—entirely too distracting for a man with that much quiet, heavy confidence.
He’s the kind of handsome you tell yourself to ignore even as your brain short-circuits.