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ten

Paisley

It’s Monday, the day after we returned from skiing. Not only is it the last day of my assignment here in Mapleton, but it’s also the day my magazine spread goes live. I only showed up to my little corner office to clean and turn in my key.

Okay, and to see Noah.

My bags are packed, and I’m about to head back to New York. My heart is squeezed so tightly for so many reasons—the biggest one being Noah.

I knew better than to catch feelings for someone while I was here. Long distance situationships are impossible. Add in the fact that he’s a high-profile athlete and travels all the time. I refuse to even think about the family conflict because whenever I try, the breath wrings out of my chest. How did I miss the family relation with Noah and Bill?

Sure, they have different last names, but I should have paid closer attention. I rub my eyes, squeezing down the pressure that’s been building. The stress is almost unbearable. I should have never gone on that ski trip. I had no business blending the lines of personal and professional. Shaking my head, my heart thuds against my chest wall as if it’s mad for allowing myself to be vulnerable. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, everything about spending time with Noah felt so perfect and even magical. Now that it’s over, I know it can’t possibly be more than just a weekend thing to him.

I’m counting down the hours until I leave Mapleton, and I can already feel tiny cracks splitting as I prepare to be heartbroken. With a wobbly-knee plop to my desk chair, I click on the Sports Era website. I hold my breath as I wait for it to load. My article is on the top of the first page.

I made the feature article.

I place a shaky hand over my mouth and scroll over the article, soaking in every last ounce of it. It’s not the story I had originally wanted to tell. It’s not even close to a hit piece. It’s all the photos the team’s families forwarded to me, and it’s about the team excelling.

It’s Axl scoring goals, and the guys giving knuckies. It’s Jackson’s huge smile when he finally blocks a goal. It’s Noah—my heart literally pains—skating faster than everyone. It’s the families and fans cheering on their feet.

It’s exactly what my editor and the team were expecting.

I drop my hand to my keyboard and scroll back. I’m so immensely grateful it’s not a hit piece. Flashing my gaze to the heavens, I can’t help but smile. Someone was looking out for me when I lost that flash drive. I can’t imagine the shame I’d be feeling today if these photos were different . . .

I learned something this last weekend.

Aside from how soft Noah’s lips are.

I don’t have it in my heart to write a hit piece. As much as I want my dad to “see” me, that’s not the way to go about it, and this team is actually a great crew of guys. They may work for Bill Baker, but that’s not their fault. They are following their dreams.

A text lights up on my phone. It’s my editor.

Steve: You did a great job, Paisley. It was a pleasure to work with you.

I don’t even hold back my grin as I text back.

Me: Thank you. It was an honor to work with you.

Steve: Best wishes in your next adventure.

I wait for another text, but when my phone goes dark, I drop my phone to my desk in astonishment.

That’s it?

No job offer?

Steve didn’t utter a word about applying for something permanent, nor did he offer me a reference. I haven’t seen Bill Baker, or anyone else who could offer me a position, and the building is empty.

All that is left is the deafening silence of my time in Mapleton being over.

I swallow, about to find myself in self-pity again, but my attention turns to the doorway. Noah strides straight toward me with the full smile on his face I’ve learned to love. He soundlessly steps forward, as if he’s walking on air, and doesn’t stop until he’s in my personal space bubble. His eyes glint a dark hue of aged copper, and my vision decides now is the perfect time to morph into a milky haze.

This weekend was a dream, which I can’t believe I haven’t woken up from. I half wince as I stand. I’m so scared he’s going to blow me off, but he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into an embrace, and drops a chaste kiss to my lips.

My heart trips and I’m so incredibly grateful he’s still here. When he pushes a magazine toward me, I ask, “What’s this?”

“It’s my issue.” He pushes it farther at me and hands me a pen. “I had to go to three gas stations this morning to find a hard copy, but I got one, and I want you to sign it.”

My heart swells, pumping full of so many tiny hearts. It’s not the glowing recognition I had dreamed of from my dad, but this is better. I roll my bottom lip in and take the magazine from his hands. I don’t need to check the page numbers as I know I’m on the first page, and I instinctively flip to my spread and sign it with my loopy cursive.

The girl you won’t meet twice.

As I pass it back to him, the smirk he gives me almost melts me to the ground. He sort of wobbles left and right, reaching his arm out, before saying, “I’m running late for practice but I wanted to catch you before you leave. Is there any way you can make it to the charity banquet tonight? The social is at six, and if you need to leave early, I understand.”

“Is Bill going to be there?” My teeth slide over my lip, digging in with force.

After a curt nod, his expression turns stony, and he rasps, “I’m not going to hide this, and I’m not making apologies to anyone. He might as well get used to it now.”

“Does he know?” I slowly tip my head toward him, my eyes growing wider. I start to go off about how bad this is going to be for him, but my words get stuck because I’m still in his arms. I can’t worry about anything when I’m here. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him decide.

“I don’t care. I don’t have to quantify anything to anyone.” He shrugs, as his fingers find my cheek. “He should know. Everyone should know.”

I can’t say I love Noah, because it’s a little early for that, but I adore him. Hearing him proclaim all that without even so much as a hesitation, I am done.

Gone.

My gaze falls to his lips, and I allow myself a moment to pause and let the newness sink in as anticipation fires in my chest. I deserve that fleeting pause before I rise to my toes and press my lips to his.

I can tell by the urgency in his lips that Noah isn’t going anywhere. If Noah can stand up to Bill Baker, I can certainly handle my dad.

I hope.

Taking a final lap around the arena as a way of saying goodbye, I walk slowly, a heaviness settling on my chest by the time I make it to the parking lot. I didn’t do anything close to what I set out to do, but somehow, I’m prouder. However, that pride doesn’t conceal the niggling in my gut that pings harder when my phone rings and I see my dad’s name.

I could silence it and let it go to voicemail.

That might make him worry, and I would hate for him to panic and reach out to someone at the magazine and cause a scene. Remorsefully, I accept the call and tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue to stride across the parking lot. “Hey, Dad.”

“You’re all done, huh?” His voice is boisterous, void of the upset I was suspecting.

“Officially, yes.” I dig into my pocket, pull out my car keys, and take a moment to unlock my door before I get in. It’s way too cold to stand outside to chitchat. “I accepted an invitation to their banquet tonight. That will get over sort of late, so I’ll check out of my Airbnb tomorrow, and head home.”

“That’s nice the team invited you.”

I can’t tell by his tone if he’s fishing, but I also know there’s no point in delaying conversations that need to be had. I’m not embarrassed by Noah, and the more I ponder this, I think it’s better to break the news slowly . . . and over the phone. That will give him the chance to get used to the idea. “It wasn’t the team who invited me; it was just one guy. He’s invited me to be his date—Noah.” I shut my lips tight, as that might be enough of a hint for now. He doesn’t need to know Noah is related to Bill. I’m not trying to give him a heart attack.

“Is the date part of your undercover sting?” Dad’s voice is even, unreactive.

It will be so easy to say yes and be done with this conversation, but that isn’t going to help me in the long run. I swallow and offer only, “No. Since my article is published, I’m done with that. This is a date.”

“I don’t understand.” His breath is getting heavy, evident by how I can hear snippets of it through the phone, and I decide that’s enough information for now. Easy does it.

“It’s okay, Dad.” I soften my tone, hoping to slow his heart rate. “It’s just a date.”

“Well, be careful not to get attached. It doesn’t make sense for you to be spending time with anyone when you live in New York. Not to mention, these guys aren’t what you see. They may be all charm to you, but they’re not anybody you want to get involved with.”

First, it’s a little too late for that.

Second, you’re wrong about Noah.

Third, I didn’t ask for your advice.

The words I’m able to speak are at war with my thoughts and I only manage, “I know.”

“Well, text me tomorrow when you get on the road.”

“I will.” My finger is already on my phone, ready to end the call when I add, “Love you. Bye.” I can’t think about my dad right now. I need to get to the banquet, and dwelling on all the what-if scenarios is only going to stress me out. At least for tonight, I want to enjoy my time with Noah, while he celebrates with his team.

I start my car, and I shift it into gear. I’m about to pull out of my parking space when a small envelope on my windshield catches my eye.

How did I get a parking ticket?

I shift back into park and open my door enough to stick my arm through the crack to retrieve the envelope. The girth of the envelope surprises me, and my brows dip as I study the package. There are no markings of any kind. When I flip it over, the only thing I see is the flap to open it. I slide my finger in, ripping it gently, and pull out a small stack of printed photos.

I see a zoomed-in image of Axl punching a player.

Another image shows Axl with his face so close to a ref, he looks like he’s about to headbutt him. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve seen these images before.

I took them.

My fingers shake as I fan through the small stack, and I recognize every single photo. These are my photos. It’s everything I lost on my memory card, and every single one of them is taken from an angle that makes the guys and the whole team look terrible.

Nausea rocks my stomach. I drop the photos to my lap and cover my mouth with my hand. Who has seen these?

Does Noah know?

If he does know, how could he possibly not hate me?

Questions pelt me like bees, each one stinging more than the last.

Sliding down in my seat, my brain still in shock, my gaze slides outside my window, and I search the dark shadows.

Is someone watching me?

A lump forms in my throat and my body stiffens. I slide my finger to my door lock and click on it. No longer feeling safe, I jerk my car into gear and speed out of the parking lot, my mind running with so much fear.

Headlights flash on behind me, and a car pulls out. Maybe it’s a coincidence, or maybe my mind is running wild. Whether they are following me or not, someone has my memory card. That someone knows what I was up to. They apparently don’t want to be quiet about it anymore.

But why?