Page 51 of The Game Plan (Game On #3)

Fiona

Ethan has never looked at me in anger. It’s a horrible thing to see it now. “I can explain,” I say.

He scoffs. “Just the words a guy wants to hear after he’s been metaphorically kicked in the teeth by his woman.”

My breath pushes out in an anxious rush. “I’m not going to London.”

Not the best opener. Based on the sidelong look he gives me, Ethan clearly thinks so too.

“Okay. And that has to do with taking Bloom’s fuck-money how?”

Wincing, I try to touch his chest, but he backs away, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he goes. The fact that he no

longer wants to touch me, that he’s putting physical distance between us, has my insides tumbling.

“I realized that going to London was just me running away—”

“No shit,” he cuts in, his voice flat, his gaze blazing with tamped anger. But it’s slowly starting to simmer. He looks so different without his beard, his head shaved close to his skull. His features are stern and unforgiving.

I clutch my skirt with cold fingers. “Right, so... thing is, I didn’t want to run anymore. I demanded the money from Bloom

because I knew that would end it.”

Another ugly snort leaves him, and he shakes his head. “Well, it certainly does end things—”

“No, Ethan,” I say, stepping forward. “Not like that. I’m giving the money to your charity. All one million. Ivy and I had

a press conference. I said I was donating it on your behalf, because Bloom getting sleazy PR by exploiting your personal life

should come to some good.”

He stills, his eyes narrowing. “You gave it to charity?”

“Of course. Did you really think I’d claim that disgusting prize for myself?” I swallow hard, trying not to be offended at

the idea. I should have warned him.

Ethan’s shoulders bunch with tension. “No. But I didn’t know what to think, Fiona. I had some fucking linebacker laughing

in my face, telling me my girl went for the money.”

“Baby... I’m so sorry.” I take a step forward.

He backs away, his face closed off. Regret punches through me.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me?” he grinds out. “To hear it from someone else? Because, let me tell you, not a single

fucking person on that field knew about you giving the money to charity. They looked at me like I was a massive dupe, a fucking

joke.”

Shit. I didn’t consider the lag time between asking for the money and my interview, which should be airing right about now.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan. You’re right. I should have warned you. I wasn’t thinking. I just... I wanted to set us free. I needed

to take the wind from their sails. Taking that money and giving it to your charity? What can anyone say about us now?”

He expels a breath. “Okay, fine. But we should have done it together.”

I give a jerky nod, misery spreading. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan laughs without humor, tilting his head back to blink up at the ceiling. “God. You cut me off at the knees out there,

Fi. I walked into that blind.”

“Ethan—”

“I know,” he says with a terse snarl. “You’re sorry. You didn’t mean it.” He glances at me, and there’s no joy in the look.

“Believe me, I’m trying to get over it. But you were my safe harbor, Fi. The one person I’ve never had to worry about...”

He spits out a curse and turns away, as if he can’t look at me.

“You’re my safe harbor too,” I say, holding back a sob. “I messed up. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t think—”

“No!” he shouts, “you didn’t.”

Emotion punches into my chest, and I snap. “Damn it, Ethan. I’ve been hurting here too! It wasn’t your naked pictures spread

all over the internet. You’re not the one being called a whore or having fucking creepers comment on your body!”

“You think I don’t know that?” He takes a step toward me as a deep flush works its way up his neck. “You think it doesn’t

fucking gut me that I caused it? You know it does.”

“Then don’t rip into me for finally taking control of the situation! Because your whole no comment stance wasn’t doing the fucking job.”

He freezes and frowns at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Shit, did you do it this way because you were pissed at me?”

All the air leaves my lungs. I practically choke as I stumble back. “Did you just say that? Did you just fucking accuse me?

Fuck you, Ethan!”

His face twists. “Don’t get all righteous on me. I’m allowed to question this.”

“Then don’t you go getting all righteous on me,” I snap back, stabbing my finger in the air. “I get that I fucked up. I get that you’re mad.

But you have no right to—”

“I’ve no right?” His expression is feral now, teeth bared, muscles bulging. “Because I’m calm, sensible Dex? The guy who takes

a beating and gets back up without complaint? Well, too fucking bad. I am mad. And I’m sorry if that offends you, but I’m not going to suck this up. Not yet. Not fucking yet, Fiona!”

I hate the sound of my name on his lips—no longer reverent but a curse. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper.

His chin tilts up. “I know that. I know you didn’t mean it, but... shit.” He begins to pace, his hands going to his head

to pull at his hair, which is no longer there. Agitation makes his steps jerky, his arms restless. “I know. I’m just. Fuck

it. I can’t—”

He takes a deep breath and then another.

I see the moment he totally loses his shit, like a dam that can no longer hold back the flood. He cracks with a long, ragged

cry. “Fuck!” He slams the side of his fist against the aged brick wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Every curse punctuated by a punch.

“Ethan. Calm down—”

“No!” he shouts over me, his eyes on the wall. A sheen of sweat covers his skin, glistening over his biceps. “No. I’m so fucking

sick of always being the rational one! Well, guess what? I’m done.”

His voice rises with every word, going to full-on bellow. “I’m pissed. At everything. I’m just... fucking pissed, Fi!”

Noted .

I bite my lip, tears smarting. This isn’t just about today. It’s everything that’s come before. It’s Ethan never allowing

himself to fully let go until now.

With a guttural cry, he turns, tearing one of his paintings from the wall. It flies through the air, spinning like a pizza box before crashing into the far wall, the frame snapping.

I can only stand silent as he shouts, his voice filled with pain and rage. He punches the edge of the heavy wooden bookcase

that divides the living room and a small reading nook. “Just—motherfucking shit!”

Books soar across the room as he hurls them in rapid succession.

I’ve always wondered how it would be for Ethan to totally lose it. Now I know.

And it breaks my heart. Because I know his rage right now is pain, a soul deeply hurt that has no other outlet but to burn,

hot and violent.

A sob of frustration rips from his chest, and he braces himself against the bookcase.

For a second, I think he’s calmed.

An ungodly roar tears from him, and his muscles bulge as he pushes against the bookcase, which is bolted to the floor. The

whole structure creaks, threatening to topple.

“Ethan,” I shout. “Careful—”

The massive case tips too far and smashes to the floor with such force that the house shakes. I jump back, plastering myself

to the wall as broken pottery shards, knickknacks and books fly everywhere.

It scares the shit out of me. I know he’d never hurt me, but the base violence of the act rattles my bones.

He stands there, his muscles straining, his chest heaving. He blinks rapidly as if to clear his thoughts, but that crazed

look is still there.

“Okay,” I say through a breath. “That’s it.”

I turn, grabbing my bag and coat off the hook.

“Fi!” Ethan’s shout blasts over my skin. “You walk out that door—”

I don’t hear the rest because I’ve already slammed it shut.

Dex

The red haze that clouds my vision blows away with the slam of the door. For too long, I simply stare at the empty space Fiona

used to occupy, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. And then what I’ve done hits me like a blindside tackle.

My breath leaves in a whoosh, and I struggle to find it again.

“Fi!” I stumble forward, tripping over the stupid bookshelf. “Shit. Shit!”

Hopping over the case and picking my way through the mess slows me down.

Shit, I’m such an asshole. I had a total mantrum, and now I’ve scared the hell out of her. The expression in her eyes was

terrorized. That’s all on me.

I wrench open the door and race down the stairs. “Fi!” I don’t see her, but she can’t have gone far.

Outside, rain is coming down in hard sheets. I’m instantly drenched, my vision obscured as water runs into my eyes. I wipe

my face, scan the gloomy courtyard. Empty.

Shouting her name, I run toward the garage. She isn’t there. Isn’t in the studio.

My heart pounds, fear and regret squeezing at my chest. I knew the moment I saw her anguished look that she hadn’t meant to

hurt me—hurt us. And still I lost it. I said horrible things, made her afraid. I picture the room I wrecked in front of her

and feel sick.

Bracing my hands on my wet knees, I try to breathe, to think of where she might be. It occurs to me that she might have gone

out the front entrance. But the street is dark and empty, except for the lone, hunched vagrant in the distance, picking his

way through garbage bins, his shape a black blob beneath the hazy streetlight.

With a sigh, I sink down to sit on my doorstep, unwilling to go back inside.

Rivers of dirty water rush along the gutter.

Rain comes down so hard it bounces off the pavement.

I sit with my knees up, holding my head in my hands as if it can stop the ache.

I sit until I’m soaked to the skin. But I’m not going to move. Not until Fi returns.

Hell, she might not return. Have I lost her?

The idea that she might think I don’t want her anymore closes my throat.

“Hey there, fella.” The old homeless man stands in front of me. His tattered overcoat seems to be keeping him fairly dry,

though water beads in his gray hair and runs down his ruddy face.