Page 124

I’m running a few minutes behind when I pull onto Ellie’s street. I woke up late with a pounding headache that all the ibuprofen and coffee in the world can’t even seem to touch, and I didn’t even drink last night.

No…the headache is from crying myself into a fitful sleep as I contemplated what I’ve done and where to go from here. That ominous premonition that kept twisting in my stomach right before he left feels like it’s getting stronger and stronger, and it feels like I should be bracing myself against the next hit.

I don’t want there to be a next hit. I can’t take any more.

Two cars are parked across the street, and I spot two familiar faces—they were two of the photographers outside my school, and they’re back at it snapping pictures of me.

Is this because of the vape pen thing? It’s ridiculous, and it’s another reminder that I wasn’t prepared for this life…another reminder I’m not sure I want this life.

When I walk into Ellie’s office, she looks pale. Her lips are pressed together, and Tessa looks like she’s been crying.

My brows pinch together. “What’s going on?”

Ellie clears her throat and glances away for a beat, her eyes out the window when her soft answer comes. “Page Six is reporting that several members of the Vegas Aces are members of an elite sex club here in Vegas.”

A wave of fear darts through me. “What?”

“An anonymous tip named names,” she says. “Including your husband. Including Tessa’s husband. Including Cory Marshall, Jaxon Bryant, Austin Graham, and more, but those five are our clients. The rest are not.”

My chest tightens. Oh God, no.

My sister reads Page Six.

My mother reads Page Six.

Friends, family members, former students and their parents. They’ll all associate me with this club I’ve never even been to just because I’m married to a man who’s a member.

The same member who got caught smoking pot yesterday.

This feels…big. Like too many hits to him. Too many hits to us . It’s too much. The load is too heavy, and the foundation was weak to begin with.

I’m not sure we can survive this one.

“Who the hell would do that?” I ask.

“No idea,” Ellie says. “Tessa said there’s a strict NDA in place.”

“But that didn’t stop someone from talking,” Tessa says, her voice wavering.

“Have you been there?” I ask.

She nods. “Have you?”

I shake my head.

“It’s not what you think when you hear it’s a sex club,” she says. “It’s not a sex club. Not really. It’s a nightclub for celebrities. Honestly, that’s all it is. It’s three levels, and the top floor…yes, sex happens. I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say because of the NDA.”

It’s the same thing I’ve heard before, which at least confirms that fact. “So what happens now?”

Ellie rests her head in her palms for a beat then sighs heavily. “We need to get ahead of it. I’m not sure if the league will do anything about it since it’s a private club, but the league has a reputation to uphold, and they don’t take player conduct lightly. Especially players who are already in trouble.” Her words are meaningful as she nods at me.

She means my husband.

I feel guilty by association and I’m not even involved with any of this.

“Did you know he was a member?” Ellie asks.

I nod. “I heard about it…yes. He’s never taken me there. He’s never even mentioned it apart from when I asked him about it.”

“The league wouldn’t suspend five or ten players all at the same time, right?” Tessa asks.

Ellie shrugs. “Who knows what they’ll do? Travis and Cory issued their public apologies yesterday late morning, and having them both apologize again seems…”

“Insincere?” I finish.

She shrugs with a little nod as if to say yep, that’s exactly what she was thinking. “Probably. But I think they need to do it anyway. I’m going to start by assessing the damage that’s already been done.” She’s clearly in her element as she figures out how to manage this crisis. “See what people are saying. I’ll do Travis and Cory, Tessa will handle Jaxon and Austin, and I’ll have Victoria look at Tristan. That way there’s no conflict of interest. We’ll strategize how to best handle it but honestly what these players do in their private time is up to them.”

“There are more issues involved in this,” Tessa points out. “Once word is out that this place exists, people will start digging. They’ll want to know more about it. Who’s a member, who’s an owner, who’s been there. Honestly, I’m shocked word hasn’t come out before now.”

Ellie nods. “The good news is we’re in Vegas. Our reputation is one of excess and pleasure, so who would blame anyone with the means to belong to a club like that?”

“Tristan joined before we got back together, but when he first became a member, it was sold to him as a place where he could hang out without people rushing up to him to get his autograph.” Tessa shrugs. “And I can’t pretend like we haven’t enjoyed a night or two there away from the baby. But now…” She seems highly disappointed that news broke about this place, and not necessarily because she might be associated with it.

So why is it bothering me?

Maybe because I’ve never been there—much like the people who will read that Page Six article. They’ll have assumptions about it just like I do, and they’ll judge just like I did.

We hit the ground running with our damage assessment, and Ellie writes up talking points for the public apology and calls the players, coaching them on being sincere, taking responsibility, and, of course, being patient because it takes time to fix an image. It won’t happen overnight.

We also talk about leaving it be for now rather than issuing another apology on the heels of the marijuana apology. It’s a gossip site reporting it, so maybe if the players associated with the club just brush it off or ignore it, it’ll go away.

It's not likely in this world of social media, but it’s a possibility.

I try to remember all those same things as I head over to the Wilkinsons’ house to pick up Harper. I try to keep patience as my top priority when he calls to talk to his daughter before she goes to bed.

I hold onto it as hard as I can when I watch his apology as posted to his Instagram stories—something that’ll disappear after twenty-four hours, making it difficult for anyone who wants to watch it again.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the last few weeks, and for that I apologize. I’m sorry for anyone I have disappointed. Thank you for sticking by me as I work hard to get ready for the upcoming season. I promise to do better in the future.”

That’s it. That’s the entire apology.

He never mentioned his wife or the fact that we’ve never been to the club together. He never mentioned how embarrassed he is that maybe his daughter will know what he did. He never apologized to me or his family for the humiliation we might be feeling after this came out on the heels of yesterday’s mistakes. It was about as quick and uninformative as he could have been, and the fact that he still hasn’t addressed it with me is burning my ass more and more with every passing moment.

And so as I go to bed at my normal time and my phone never rings at the time I usually hear from him, that last thread of patience I have seems to fray apart completely.

It feels very much like the final straw.

I can’t stay married to someone who refuses to communicate with me, and so just before I go to sleep, I email his lawyer to let him know I’d like to go ahead and start the paperwork to file for divorce.