Page 59 of Shattered Dreams

What the hell?!

You have to apologize.

You need to disappear for a while.

There’s no way to spin this. A married NFL quarterback attacking a surgeon in the middle of the street over his wife? It’s not just bad PR—it’s the kind of thing that sticks to your name forever. As if it wasn’t bad enough with the cheating, although somehow, my team managed to handle that better than I expected.

But this?

I run a hand over my face. The sting in my knuckles reminds me that this isn’t just a nightmare. I really did it. I finally lost my shit.

The door to the kitchen opens. Ava walks in, hair pinned up, robe tight around her. She doesn’t even glance my way as she sets down a folder on the hall table.

I already know what it is.

The divorce papers.

My heart doesn’t just drop—it plummets. I’m rooted to the sofa, watching her pour coffee like it’s any other morning. Like our marriage isn’t lying in fucking tatters around us.

"You should check your email," she remarks without looking at me.

"Okay,” I whisper, unable to say anything more.

She nods and walks back upstairs, like she didn’t just hand me the end of us in a manila folder.

I pick it up anyway. Flip it open.

Her name, signed in that neat script with my surname that she’s trying to shake off. My name is left blank.

She’s really doing this.

I grab my phone. The first missed call is from Mitch, my agent. I call him back.

"JesusChrist, Roman," he answers on the first ring. "You couldn't just sit on your hands? You had to throw a punch at asurgeon? In front of a fucking restaurant with security cameras?"

"I know. What’s the damage?"

"You’re suspended. Two games. No pay. The league’s investigating, but it’s a soft call. You’re lucky the guy isn’t pressing charges. Yet."

I close my eyes. The ceiling feels like it’s pressing down on me.

"And the endorsements?"

"Gone. That Nike deal? Toast. Vitamin line? Dropped you this morning. Even the local fucking car dealership backed out."

I listen as he continues because there’s more—of course, there’s fucking more.

This is it.

My name is being dragged through the mud. My reputation is in flames. The league publicly condemned the behaviour, calling it "deeply disappointing conduct from someone expected to lead."

I’m not a leader anymore.

I’m the guy who couldn’t keep his temper in check. Who lost his wife, his family, his whole goddamn world because he didn’t know how to be grateful for what he had.

I don’t even have the energy to cry.

By mid-afternoon,every news site has the footage. Fans have turned on me—even the loyal ones.