Page 5 of Save Your Breath

The daughter of the couple who was agreeing to let me live in their home so I had a chance at making a life for myself.

“Am I free to go, or should I go pick a limb off the nearest tree and line up on the wall for a switching?”

Dick laughed where Kilman flattened his lips, very clearly unamused. His assistant snickered but covered it with a cough.

“You’re excused,” Dick said, standing with a grunt. “Keep your nose clean and you won’t hear from me again until the preseason. But don’t be surprised if Coach has a particularly grueling first practice for you.”

He smirked with one eyebrow cresting into his white hairline, like we were buddies and he was on my side. But I knew better.

To Dick, I was just a money-maker. I was a goal-making, fight-starting piece of entertainment who could help put asses in the seats when we had a home game.

He wasn’t my friend.

Then again, no one was.

No one other than a brown-haired, blue-eyed pop star living across the country.

I dialed her number as soon as I pushed through the conference room door.

Ready to Play

Mia

“I swear, nothing would make me happier than to flatten this guy’s micro penis with a hot iron.”

I huffed the insult, face burning as I skimmed the rest of the article written by one of the most prestigious and well-respected writers ofPop Industry Magazine— Garrett Orange. He’d received an early listening access pass for my upcoming album, a common practice in the industry.

And, yet again, the shit canoe was trashing me.

I seemed to be his favorite subject, ever since I was the ripe ol’ age of nineteen. While he loved to write glowing pieces on the boy bands and rock stars closest in competition to me, all he ever seemed to want to talk about inmycase was how I was a lover scorned with trite songwriting.

Add in the fact that he was best buddies with my darling actor of an ex-boyfriend, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise to find the scathing, three-page review of my upcoming album as his latest viral post.

And itwasn’ta surprise.

But it did piss me off more than usual.

“‘Save your money for what I suspect will be yet another female rage fest of a tour, complete with glitter bombs and obnoxious lyrics only twelve-year-old girls could love,’” I read out loud, and that did it. With a frustrated growl, I turned myphone screen black with one click before slamming it down on the teak table in front of me.

What is wrong with this guy?

I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to affront him so, to make it where I had this target on my back that he loved to chase. The only reprieve I’d had from his critique had been when I was dating Austin, and even that was short lived. I had a feeling Austin had made him promise to hold his tongue only long enough for him to get what he wanted from me.

As soon as we broke up, Garrett was back to being a prick.

And Austin never did anything to stop him.

My publicist and I were sitting in my private oasis of a backyard, the fountain from the pool and the soft waves from the Pacific Ocean beyond providing a serene symphony — but nothing could calm me in this moment.

I buried my face in my hands, trying to force a slow breath.

I popped back up just as quickly.

“Are they ever going to get tired of this shit?” I asked Isabella. She was my publicist and one of my closest friends. I’d learned early on in life — especially in this career — that most people couldn’t be trusted. But Isabella had earned my trust almost immediately, and more importantly, she’d kept it.

Because she truly was looking out for me. She cared about me. She wanted me to succeed, to be happy — and I’d seen her willing to sacrifice what would have been the biggermoney-making movesin order to insure my health and well-being.

That alone gave her a permanent spot in my inner circle.