Kyle: Now

Present Day

Boston, Massachusetts

* * *

 

“Mr. Stanton, the reporter from The Fine Print Publishing is here to see you.” Taylor stepped into my condo Wednesday morning.

“Thank you, Taylor.”

“You’re not welcome,” she said, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “You’ve made the past few days of my life utter hell, just so you know.”

“So hellish that you’ll no longer be taking fifteen percent of every deal I make?”

She stared at me blankly.

“I thought so,” I said.

“Your teammates hate you for what you’re doing as well, Kyle.”

“They won’t after we win,” I said. “You can leave now, Taylor.”

She gave me one final glare before leaving the room.

I adjusted the massive bouquet of roses in front of me, prepared to utter the words, “I’ve fucking missed you, Court” and “I’m so fucking sorry,” but Courtney didn’t walk through the door.

Michael Router did.

What the fuck?

“I hope you won’t mind that there’s been a change of plans,” he said, smiling. “Courtney called in sick, so the boss sent me instead.”

My blood began to boil.

“Where would you like me to sit, so we can discuss why you’re currently committing career suicide? I’m dying to get the exclusive.”

“Taylor!” I shouted her name, and she rushed into the room.

“Yes, Kyle?”

“Call The Fine Print Publishing and tell them that Courtney Johnson better be here to interview me by the end of the day,” I said. “If she’s not here, you’ll be calling New England and telling them that I’m not playing this Sunday.”

Her jaw dropped to the floor, but she immediately snapped into agent mode.

She and Michael immediately pulled out their phones, and I made some mental adjustments to my plan with Courtney.

Screw taking things slowly.

Courtney: Now

Seattle, Washington

My heart ached in my chest on my ride home from work, inconsolable by all the “Please don’t think about Kyle” promises that I tried to offer.

It wasn’t interested in the deal.

Instead of stepping into my own apartment, I walked into Graham’s and took the engagement ring off my finger. Then I set it down on his coffee table.

I didn’t see a point in prolonging our conversation for another day; I desperately needed time to think.

As I was rehearsing the lines I wanted to say a few more times, the front door opened.

Graham walked in with a fresh set of yellow lilies and daisies—the same set he always gifted me on Wednesdays.

“Well, hello there, babe.” He walked over to me and smiled. “To what do I owe your surprise ‘right across the hall’ visit?”

“I need to talk to you about something important.”

“If it’s about the renovation in your condo, then don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll give you all the time you need to decide. I do own our building, so I can have the contractors do whatever we say.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s something else.”

He raised his eyebrow.

His gaze shifted to my bare left hand. Then it moved to where I’d placed his ring.

“You don’t want to marry me?” He clenched his jaw. “Is that what this is about?”

“No, I—” I swallowed. “I just need some more time to think about it.”

“More time. More time …” The words rolled off his tongue ever so slowly, as if he was trying to savor their definitions.

“You already told me yes at the party, Courtney,” he said. “I put a lot of time and money into that.”

“I said ‘yes’ in front of everyone, because I do have feelings for you, but I think we’re moving a bit too fast.”

“How ironic.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Just last month you were telling me that things were moving too slow.”

“I was talking about the fact that we still haven’t had sex, Graham.”

“That’s because I’m trying to show you that that’s not all that I want from you.” He dropped the flowers to the floor and unzipped his pants. “But if you’re so desperate to hop on my dick and fuck, then let’s fuck.”

“Graham—”

“No.” He cut me off. “This isn’t about sex, and this isn’t about you needing more time. This is about Kyle Stanton, isn’t it?”

I said nothing.

I officially regretted ever telling him about Kyle showing up to my job.

“Didn’t you write a freelance piece last year about how when the universe gives us fucking signs, that we don’t need to ignore them?” He glared at me. “Wasn’t that what you wrote?”

He stepped closer, not giving me a chance to answer. “How many times does Kyle have to let you down before you get the point? He used you in college because you were the only woman he could fuck—the only woman who didn’t care about his endorsements or have any interest in screwing him over.”

“Graham, stop.”

“No.” He stepped forward again, backing me against the wall. “He hurt your feelings so badly that I had to clean up the mess he made. And now, just because he sees that you’re moving on without him—rightfully so, he’s trying to use you again, Courtney. Can’t you see that?”

“Graham, you and I have only been dating six months,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re still trying to figure out what city we want to grow roots in, and—”

“I’m giving you four weeks to come to your goddamn senses.” He interrupted me again. “Four weeks, Courtney. And yeah, that’s before the end of the playoffs, because I can see Kyle Stanton’s selfish-ass playbook from a mile away.”

“Graham—”

“Get out.” He stepped back and pointed to the door.

“I was really hoping that we could talk this out like adults.”

“We can,” he said, walking over to the door and opening it. “We can talk after you choose me.”

I swallowed the words at the tip of my tongue and left.

As I was stepping into the hallway, my phone buzzed with a text message. My boss.

Mr. Bruce: You have ONE FUCKING HOUR to get to the airport and get on the next flight to Boston. Or else.

Kyle: Then

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

* * *

 

I stood at the center of the field at the end of the season, smiling as blue and gold confetti fell over me and my teammates.

I was putting on my best smile for the cameras, but I honestly wished I was elsewhere.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I decided to check my phone before Coach gave his speech to the stadium.

 

* * *