Page 11

CALEB

I freeze, staring at the screen. Photos. So many of them. My arms wrapped around Amelia’s waist, gripping her like she might disappear. My face all twisted up in concern. Have I always looked that pathetic around her?

One shot shows me carrying her into my apartment…

How the hell did paparazzi get through the gate? I didn’t even see them, or hear a thing. I should’ve been more careful.

“Caleb, what the hell were you thinking?” Coach scrubs a hand over his beard, shaking his head.

“I was making sure she?—”

“I know but everything you do is under a microscope. Don’t you realize that by now, kid?” Coach’s voice cuts through, sharp. “You’re still splattered all over the magazines attached to Vanessa’s name. You really think it was smart to be caught with another woman right now?”

Daryl sighs heavily, and then his expression goes stiff like he walked out of Dr. Miami’s office.

“It’s not looking good,” he mutters.“Driftwear called me earlier. They’re far from happy.”

My stomach drops. This is the last thing I need.

“Yeah, and neither are we. We’ve talked about this already, don’t put yourself in a situation where people can add fuel to it,” Coach mumbles under his breath and types quickly, then swivels the laptop back toward me. “Have a look.”

I lean in, skimming the comments beneath a sports blog that’s infamous for gossip.

Let me guess, this girl’s in a relationship too?

Wrecking another home, Caleb? Trying to beat a record?

And that’s only a few. The rest are even more merciless. Like people have been sitting there, waiting for something new to pop up to tear me apart.

They rip apart everything about me, my priorities, my character, it’s like I’m their own personal punching bag.

I know this is how the industry works. The media lifts you up, only to watch you fall in the end.

But Amelia didn’t sign up for this. I was trying to help her and instead I dragged her right into my mess.

“And on top of this...” Daryl scratches his temple, hesitant to spit out whatever else shit there is. “They’re considering pulling the deal if this isn’t fixed in the next two weeks.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

I shut my eyes for a second, dropping into the chair in front of Coach’s desk. The leather creaks beneath me like it’s had enough too. I squeeze my thumb, trying to shake off the anxiety gnawing at me. Driftwear’s probably already thinking of another rookie to replace me by now.

“I don’t know how,” Coach says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but you need to fix this before they drop you.”

Well, no shit. I bite back the sarcastic comment sitting on the tip of my tongue. Now isn’t the time.

I stare down at the floor, jaw clenched so tight that it starts to ache. There’s no playbook for this. No perfect pass to fix the damage.

I don’t even know where to start.