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The night was in full swing; the last time I checked, we were more than halfway to our goal. I checked in with my boss, did some rounds checking in with the vendors to see how they were doing, played some games with the kids, and now I’m headed to Abby’s physical therapy tent because Cade asked if I’d teach him how to ice an injury. He’s been my little shadow since I got out of the tank. When we get there, my jaw drops.

There, sitting on Abby’s table is Tatum with his shirt off while Abby shows some kids how to wrap for a shoulder injury. Before either of them sees me, I quickly snap a picture. Tatum is his normal broody self. Abby giggles when one of the kids asks a question.

I grab Cade’s hand and walk him over. “Hey guys!” Alerting them to my presence. Tate lifts his chin in acknowledgment, and Abby smiles, not stopping her demonstration. “Cade here wants to know how to ice an injury, but I need to run to the bathroom. Can he help you?”

“Why, of course! Come here, little dude.” Abby lifts him up, placing him on his butt, facing Tatum on the table. This little boy’s smile is so infectious; he gets grumpy gills to smile and that’s a win. Abby clearly catches it as the tips of her ears turn pink, and she quickly refocuses on her wrapping. Interesting.

Walking away, I think about texting Grey but decide against it. If he wanted to talk, he’d let me know. I’m on my way back to the therapy tent when I’m forcibly pushed back into a corner between the water fountains and the bathroom door. My head hits the wall with a thud as my eyes squeeze shut, “Ouch! ” I squeak out. My vision blurred for a second.

“So you’re the little girl who thinks she’s going to take G away from me?” My eyes focus on a woman a few inches taller than me with dirty blonde hair and deep brown eyes that are so dark and lifeless that they remind me of my fathers.

“I’m sorry. Who are you, and who is G?” I’m fairly certain I know the answer to that. There’s just something about her bully attitude that brings out my own claws.

“Don’t play dumb, little girl, it’s unbecoming.” Holy Cannoli. Did I hear that right? “I’m Kara, the future Mrs. Wilder.” Her tone dripping in annoyance, like I should already know who she is.

A laugh tumbles out of me, it’s uncontrollable. The audacity of this woman. My laugh grows louder, more unhinged, and soon, I have my hand braced on the wall, head shaking as I look at the ground. I know this is not how I should be handling this situation, but I can’t help it. I’ve finally snapped.

My dad pulled the same crap. “ Don’t be coy, Hannah. It isn’t cute. How am I supposed to get you out of the house when you have the mouth and attitude of a sailor?”

I’ve had eight years to build some tougher skin, eight years to decipher all the crap that man spoke over my life—eight years to recognize the signs of a narcissist. There’s only so much death someone can speak over your life before it becomes your reality. I’ve been to this circus once before, and I have no desire to go again.

I pull myself together enough to stand up straight, meeting her glare with confidence I am completely faking. “I’m sorry. Yeah, I’ve heard about you, Kara.” Her chest puffs up like I’m about to pay her the biggest compliment. Her smugness makes my next words that much more satisfying.

“I heard you used someone’s biggest desire to try to keep a good man trapped. I heard you kept him from his family. I heard you didn’t like Florida because it made you look like a “naked mole rat,” but here you are. In Florida. For what, exactly?” Her face dropped when she realized I had nothing nice to say about her.

Trying to keep my confident posture even though I feel like I could puke, I look her in the eye and wait for her next move. One that she’s currently trying to figure out. Her sneer returns, uglier, more venomous this time. “Listen, you worthless rag doll, you may think you're a big man on campus. Working with athletes all day, getting them to trust you, letting you into their inner circle. But I see right through your facade. And eventually, so will Greyson. You’re just a placeholder; he’ll come to his senses eventually.”

Her words were meant to cut, but the don’t. I’ve heard worse from people who have mattered more. I tilt my head, getting my thoughts together before responding. “Respectfully, or maybe disrespectfully, that’s his decision. The fact that he won’t talk to you, that you had to fly all the way out here to try to get his attention, tells me everything I need to know. And even if it didn’t, I know how he feels about you. And it isn’t anywhere close to ‘future Mrs. Wilder’ status.”

I barely finish my sentence before the back of her hand meets my cheek. Her ring cuts into my cheek; the sting is enough to have me digging my nails into my palms to keep from giving her the reaction she’s looking for.

I square my shoulders, meeting her icy glare , my voice strong as steel. “Are you done?”

She starts to respond but is pulled backward while I’m pulled to the side. Looking up at the person whose arms I’m wrapped in, I come face to face with Mr. Wilder, his face a mask of fury that matches that of Tatum, who is towering over Kara.

“You so much as breathe the same air as her again, I will make sure you regret it.” His jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised he even got that out. Kara rolls her eyes, pushing one hip out and stomping the other foot like a petulant child.

“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Tatum; this is between me and this thing.” Her words drip with disdain, and they hang in the air like a heavy rain cloud. I’ll give it to her, though; she doesn’t back down. I’m not sure she’s noticed Mr. Wilder, though, or maybe she has, and she straight up doesn’t care that the father of her “future husband” sees this awful side of her.

“You have a whole kid with someone else. And not just anyone, but Greyson’s old best friend.” His voice is low and dangerous. Oof, if I thought his behavior towards me was bad... This puts that to shame.

“There isn’t an ounce of hope for you. Even if there were, there wouldn’t be the with way you just spoke to another person and then backhanded her because she told you how it is. Both of my parents got a front-row seat for that.” He waves his arm in front of him, bringing her attention to Amy, who's standing next to my mom with a look that sends chills down my spine and makes me equally thankful I’m not on the receiving end of.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding; Greyson doesn’t have a kid. That means there’s still a chance for us. Right?

Her gaze meets Mr. Wilders’, then to his p rotective arm wrapped around my shoulder. The face that had paled when she saw Amy contorted into one that is so tight and pulled together I’m concerned she’ll get a migraine. “When she breaks his heart, and he comes back to me, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Amy steps into her, and Tatum steps up beside her, putting a bit of space between her and Kara. She is ‘don’t poke the mama bear’ personified in the moment. “You don’t get to talk about my son when he isn’t here to refute the asinine claims you’re throwing around like confetti. And you certainly don’t get to talk down to my future daughter-in-law.” My jaw drops as my stomach warms. Is this what it’s like to have someone stand up for you? Wait, did she just call me her future daughter-in-law?

Staying true to her temper tantrum, the holy terror turns and stomps off, arms pumping at her sides. I look to the left and meet the eyes of half the Hawks team. “Hey guys.”

“Who the heck was that, and how do we unsubscribe from that brand of crazy?” Andrews asks, his brows furrowed as he watches the retreating back of the delusional woman.

“Kara, Greyson’s ex. And according to her, his future wife.” I respond, a knife twisting in my gut a bit. I don’t have time to figure out why that hurts so bad because Tatum scoffs from somewhere behind me.

“It’s okay, Hannah. Thank you for standing up for my boy when he couldn’t.” Amy’s voice is so soft I almost miss it. I give her a nod and a soft smile. I’m starting to feel like a cornered animal. I need space.

Over Amy’s shoulder, I spot Abby with tears in her eyes; Cade is wrapped tightly in her arms. His head is tucked under her chin and turned away so he isn’t facing us. I excuse m yself, heading to the bathroom to clean up before having to close this thing down for the night. I can’t let myself cry anymore; there are kids here. This is about them, not about me.

Noting there’s blood dripping from the bright red line across my face, I run my hand along its length. With a sigh, I pull out a paper towel from the dispenser and wet it before wiping off the trail of blood. I shouldn’t have listened to my traitorous heart. I was doing fine; I had no problems. I kept to myself, and I worked my butt off. I was empty and unfulfilled, but I wasn’t hurting.

Yet here I am, feeling defeated and embarrassed like thirteen-year-old Hannah, who had all her clothes thrown out on the front lawn because I dared to say I had nothing to wear to a school dance. My hands find the sink, my head dropping forward as I let a few tears fall. They sting as they slide over the fresh cut.

The little girl in me is rioting; we promised her we wouldn’t let ourselves feel like this ever again. We wouldn’t let ourselves be made to feel small or disposable ever again. My heart is heavy; every defense I’ve worked so hard to build crumbles because I was naive enough to let someone in.

Stupid. You’re so stupid, Hannah. I let myself believe, even for a second, that I was worthy enough that it would be different this time. Yet I stand here, alone, bleeding because of a ghost from his past. Do I blame him? No, it’s on me. I should have known better. I did know better, and I gave into hope anyway.

I press my palms harder into the sink, trying to stop the spiral. The ache in my chest grows sharper; my eyes snap shut as I beg the voice in my head to go away. The one that says you’re the common denominator here, Hannah. Maybe it’s time you reali zed you deserve the pain; you are the problem.

I wipe at my face, flinging the tears off of me. Hoping to erase them like the stupid bits of hope I let myself feel. My reflection mocks me in the mirror, tired, defeated. I don’t have time to pick myself apart any further because the bathroom door flies open.

Dylan and Caroline barrel in like twin hurricanes. “Hannah Banana, what the heck happened?” Dylan narrows her eyes as her hand goes to the cut on the side of my face. She gently turns my head so they can get a good look at it, her jaw clenching tight enough to crack as she inspects it further.

“I need names, and I need them now. I’ve got an entire defensive line I can recruit to handle this.” Caroline, sweet Caroline. The protective edge in her voice chips at the bit of emptiness I felt moments before. I’d laugh, but I truly don’t have it in me. It’s taking everything in me not to leave right this second.

“I’m fine, just a woman staking her claim.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s deeper, raspy.

“On who?!” Dylan asks as she takes a paper towel and wets it before holding it to my face. I hiss at the sting. “Sorry, I don’t have ice, but it looks like it's swelling a bit.”

“Greyson and I have been spending time together. He played a big role in helping me plan this whole thing.” Twirling my finger around in a circle indicating what I meant, Caroline’s eyes light up while Dylan smirks.

“I ship it,” Dylan says with absolute confidence. I grab another paper towel, swiping it at the running makeup; I try to make myself look semi-presentable for the rest of the night.

I hum, “Let’s go back out there; we have a carnival to wrap up.” They nod, linking their arms through mine as we walk out of the bathroom as a unit. When the door opens, we’re met with the backs of four hockey players. They really do have nice butts.

Clearing my throat, Samuels looks over his shoulder at us. “Whatcha doing?” I ask in the sweetest voice I can muster up.

“We’re your bodyguards, obviously.” He rolls his eyes at me like I should know that. They all turn around and give me their lethal smiles. I shake my head, releasing my hold on my co-workers. I link my arms through Reed and Samuel’s. Wilson and Monroe bring up the back. I’m sure it looks funny to anyone else, but I can’t find it in myself to care about anyone else right now. These four came to find me to make sure I was okay, safe, and protected. They’re like the big, overprotective brothers I’ve always wanted. I find myself smiling for the first time since this whole ordeal started.

I’m closing the doors on the Tampa Today truck when a couple stops to talk to me. They’re speaking to me, but I’m not really listening to understand any of it. “What do you think?” I blink twice, trying to recall a single thing they said. “I know it’s been a long night, but you did such a great job with this event. We’d love to have you on our staff helping to plan our charity’s events.”

Wait, what? I feel like my eyes bugged out of my head, which they must have because they both laugh. “Here’s my card; call me if you’d like to talk more about it.” The lady who I now know is Madeline Boswell, based on her card.

“Thank you, that means a lot. I’m glad you had a good time; thank you for coming.” They give me matching smiles before they head out.

I stick the card in my back pocket, having zero intentions to contact them. I like my job. Did I enjoy planning this event? Yeah, way more than I thought I would. It was another way to let my creative side run wild. It also felt like I had found my purpose, it fulfilled me in a way that being a journalist doesn’t. But to give it up? I don’t think I could do it. Maybe I should, though. Does everyone think I picked this job to try and snag an athlete? Is that how they see me?

I blow out a breath and get in my car. Closing my eyes and resting my head on the headrest, I try my hardest to breathe through the events of the night. But I can’t. My head falls forward until it’s on top of my arms, which are resting on the steering wheel, and I let it all out. The body-wracking sobs, the screams I’ve been holding in, now flowing out. Freaking A, I hate being out of control.

Pulling out my phone, I reach for the lifeline I swore I wouldn’t.

Hannah: I missed you tonight. I hope you’re doing okay.