Michael’s jaw dropped and his face went white. Mr. Bruce’s eyes were narrowed at me.

I shrugged and turned my attention to the Wall Street Journal reporters. “I wrote every word in that article, and I’ve written every single Michael Router article this place has ever published.” I pulled my new business card for Courtney Rose Media out of my back pocket.

“You can call me during business hours, if you’re interested in talking to me alone,” I said. “I’m closed today, though.”

I left the office without another word and made my way to the elevator.

Michael called after me from behind, but I didn’t bother looking back. I moved past the elevator and opened the door to the fire escape, rushing down the steps.

I didn’t want to write another sentence in this chapter of my life.

Kyle: Now

Present Day

* * *

 

The chorus of adoring praise from the media was almost as annoying as the symphony of hate.

Every “I hate Kyle Stanton” was now an “I’ve always known that he was misunderstood.”

The crescendoing chorus of “He’s never let us down,” and “He’s killing it in the playoffs” meant nothing after all the harsh and bitter rants I’d heard.

Still, I couldn’t deny that the effect of Courtney’s piece was far more than I ever imagined. Her words were sharper than ever, and she made me look better than I expected.

I reread the entire piece for the umpteenth time and checked my calendar. She still had time before I showed up and demanded that she gave me an answer about us.

Preferably before the Super Bowl.

Impatient, I picked up my phone and started typing a text.

Before I could hit send, there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Taylor said, wagging her finger at me. “Stay put.”

I stalled on the words, “Take me back,” and heard Taylor clearing her throat from behind.

“It’s for you,” she said, making me turn around. “And before you ask me, no. We have to leave tonight.”

Confused, I looked behind her and saw Courtney standing in the doorway.

Immediately getting up, I walked over to her.

“I hope you won’t mind me showing up without calling first.”

“I would never.” I smiled. “I did tell the manager that no one is supposed to know I’m here, though.”

“Well, I uh—” She blushed. “I called the general manager of the team.”

“Oh?” I leaned against the door frame. “Why would you do something like that?”

“For one, to tell him that the only reason he still has a job is because of you and he should be grateful that you haven’t left,” she said. “He really should’ve been fired a year ago.”

“Two years ago.”

“I was being generous…” She paused, her voice cracking. “But I also wanted to see if you’d ever added a ‘Courtney Johnson’ clause if I came looking for you.”

“Did it turn out to be true?”

She blushed, nodding. “I just wanted to drop by and let you know that I quit my job and started a new firm.”

“Good.” I couldn’t help staring at her lips. “That’s a good first step. For your second, I want you to consider taking me back.”

“I’d love to be friends again.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” I cupped her face in my hands. “I want what we should’ve been after college.”

“Kyle…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “It would have never worked.”

“We’ll never know.” I brought her face closer, pressing a kiss against her lips. “It can work now, though, and it can be even better.”

“Are you going to give me some time to think about it?”

“We’re currently in the fourth and final quarter.”

“Then I’ll hope for some overtime.”

I overheard Taylor coughing and muttering behind me, “We need to go. Now.”

Kissing Courtney’s lips again, I whispered, “Do you have time to come with me to the airport?”

Courtney: Now

Present Day

* * *

 

I took a seat across from Kyle on a private plane, watching the workers roll his luggage below. Even though his agent had intended for the flight to depart at eight thirty, the scattered rainstorm delayed takeoff for another hour.

The two of us had shared a bottle of wine and a custom tray of dessert while the pilot chatted with air traffic control.

“I need to ask you something, Kyle,” I said.

“On or off the record?” He raised his eyebrow. “You have ownership in the media now, so I’m not sure I can trust you.”

I laughed and tossed a straw at his face. “Off the record.”

“I’m listening.”

“Did you really write me a ‘shit ton’ of letters?” I asked. “Or, did you get drunk one night and imagine that you did?”

“A bit of both.” He laughed. “I mean, I definitely remember writing you with perfect clarity. The same clarity that I remember giving you a ride freshman year.”

“So, it didn’t happen.”

We both laughed.

“Well, I do remember writing 687 Salt Lane, Apartment 50 over and over. Maybe I should’ve added an ‘A’ or something, but the postal guy said that I didn’t have to,” he said, shrugging. “Then he said everything should’ve gotten forwarded for at least a year.”

I dropped my wine glass to the floor, shattering it to pieces.

The flight attendant rushed over, and Kyle grabbed my hand.

“Court?” He squeezed it. “Court, what’s wrong? Why are you looking like that?”

“How often did you write me?”

“Not that often,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe once a month when we stopped talking.”

“How often, Kyle?” I knew he’d remember anything number-related, and he definitely had the right address.

“I wrote you at least fifty-seven times.”

“That’s more than once a month.”

“It’s less than how often you crossed my mind.” He let my hand go and moved next to me. “Did I write you after you’d already moved?”

“No.” I shook my head, feeling a sudden pang in my chest. “You had Graham’s address. We switched apartments when I complained about the lack of a view … He never gave me your letters, Kyle.”

“You had to have gotten at least one.”

“No.” I swallowed. “Not a single one.”

Courtney: Now

Present Day

* * *

 

Two hours later, I stepped into my apartment and tossed my keys onto the table.

Needing a stiff drink, I headed to the kitchen.

“Did you have a good night out with Kyle on his private plane?” Graham’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks.