Chapter 44 ¡Santo Dios! I take a long, slow breath in an effort to keep the ache in my chest from cracking wide open and force myself not to say something I can't take back in front of God and the media. Instead, I very purposefully let the silence stretch out, partly so everyone can make sure their recording devices are on and partly because I want them to hear me-really hear me. After several seconds, I finally say, "Ms. Walker has been nothing but kind and honest from the moment I met her." I lean extra heavily on the "Ms. Walker" to make sure they understand this Black Widow bullshit needs to stop. "She had absolutely no idea there was a team meeting last night when I asked to keep our date going so late. In fact, I'm pretty certain I'm going to get an earful from her about that later, considering the fuss y'all have kicked up about it. But to be clear, missing one meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with tomorrow's game, or even football, by the way, was solely my decision. As was leaving my hotel room a couple of hours before curfew was lifted at six this morning." I look around the room, meeting as many eyes as I can. Just being photographed with me a few weeks ago set off a feeding frenzy on Sloane, and it's killing me that I played a part in making it worse. "Sloane did not ask me to break the rules. She had nothing to do with any of it, except for the fact that I wanted to be with her. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met, with the biggest heart, and I'm going to continue to want to be with her every chance I get. As I'm sure you would, too, if you took a second to get to know her. But I can also assure you, and all Austin Twisters fans, that I will be exercising more discretion about when I choose to see Sloane going forward. She wouldn't have it any other way." I turn back to the guy who started this. "I hope that answers your question, Martin." I push my chair back from the table and stand up. "Now, my part in this press conference-and I use that term lightly-is over. If any of you would like to talk more, I invite you to head on over to the fundraiser this afternoon. A thirty-dollar donation is required to get in the door, but I'm sure you would all love to give to such a worthy cause." Then I walk out the door, the weight of too many eyes and too many assumptions heavy on my shoulders. Marquis, waiting in the hallway for his turn at the podium, takes one look at my face and lets out a long, low whistle. "Something tells me that didn't go as well as Coach hoped it would." "Fuck the press," I mutter. Knowing Sloane has to face this kind of scrutiny every day guts me. Knowing that my choices dragged her right back into it? That full-on wrecks me. "I might be tempted, but I'd be afraid of their tooth marks on my ass," he says, straightening his tie. "Smart man." I don't wait for him to go in before I pull out my phone. I need to get to Sloane before someone else does. Except when I call her, she doesn't pick up. A sick feeling twists in my gut, even as I try to tell myself she's probably just busy. Still asleep, maybe. Or in a meeting. But that doesn't make the unease go away. A glance at the clock tells me I can't get to her hotel and back in time for the fundraiser. Vaughn and I are giving the opening address, and showing up late would only make everything worse. Which leaves me no choice but to try again. This time, she sends me straight to voicemail. I should have told her about the meeting. I should have handled it differently, so she wasn't blindsided. But I didn't think it would be this big a deal, not when it was about a charity event I helped organize. I definitely didn't think my choices would blow back on her. Turns out this isn't a learning curve. It's a fucking blitz-one she keeps ending up at the bottom of. I don't leave a message. Instead, I spend five minutes ordering the biggest bouquet the florist can deliver within the hour, along with an apology card and a promise to come see her as soon as I can. Then I send a text. The same apology, just more personal. And I watch as she leaves me on read. I tell myself not to overreact. That she needs space. That she's figuring out how she wants to respond. But the truth? It hurts in a way I didn't expect. I start to text again, only to stop when I realize that she's finally typing something to me. Sloane: Sorry I missed your call. I was in a meeting. But I've been wanting to text you all morning Sloane: Yesterday was a surprising amount of fun, but I think we'll both be better off if we don't pursue this any further Sloane: Your career and reputation don't need the strain that comes with dating the Black Widow, and we both know my reputation can't take much more, either. I think it's best if we just go our separate ways from here Sloane: Thanks for the laughs, though She just dumped me in a text. In a fucking text. No conversation, no let's try to figure this out, nothing. Just thanks for the laughs. Everything we were starting to build collapses around me. My breath gets caught in my chest, and my fingers start to tremble as they fly over the keys. I hit send before I can think better of it. Thanks for the laughs, though. Me: I call bullshit Sloane: This will only end badly for your career. That's the last thing I want Me: Don't you think that's up to me to decide? I watch those three little dots come and go for several seconds before they disappear for good, leaving me on read. I get that she's scared, that she wants to protect the both of us, just like I do. We're just having a difference of opinion on how to go about it. She wants to blow everything up while I want to build on what we've already started. Not a wall to keep each other out but a fortress to protect us in times like these. Maybe she doesn't want that. Maybe she can't want it. But I'm not ready to give up until we at least have a conversation. It's obvious now isn't the time for that, though, so I don't send anything else. Instead, I go through the motions at the fundraiser. I give my speech, play flag football with the kids, smile when I have to, laugh when it's expected. But underneath it all, I feel hollowed out. I've almost finished doing my full circle around the outdoor pavilion, shaking more hands and signing more footballs than a guy dealing with a sleepless night and a severely pissed-off heart should have to-even for a good cause-when I look up to find Sloane's head of security striding toward me. For a second, I think I'm hallucinating. Then, when I decide it really is Marco, I think it means that she's here. I break off in the middle of a sentence to scan the park for her. But the closer Marco gets, the more it registers that he's not here to protect Sloane. He's here in her stead. "Excuse me," I say to the B-list movie star I was just trying to charm some money out of, then move to head off Marco. If Sloane's not here, I want to know what he's up to and what message he has for me. But it turns out he's not walking toward me at all. He's heading to the donation table. I watch in consternation as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to Dolores, the current head of the Jackson-Wade Foundation. The two of them speak for a couple of minutes, and as they do, her gaze keeps darting over to me. Just as it begins to dawn on me what's actually happening here, Dolores rings the bell next to the table. The one she's been ringing whenever someone drops her a check. Then she grabs her microphone and announces to the entire park, "Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to the generosity of pop superstar Sloane Walker, we have now met and exceeded our fundraising goals. I am currently in possession of a three-million-dollar check to the Jackson-Wade Foundation from the Black Widow herself." The crowd erupts in applause, and she waits for them to quiet down before continuing. "Thank you, Sloane Walker! And thank you, Mateo Sylvester, for bringing our foundation to this wonderful woman's attention." It takes me a second to even process what just happened. When it finally sinks in, I force a smile and a wave for the crowd. Then I take off toward Marco, who is already steps away from the big black SUV he came in. The same big black SUV he picked up Sloane in last night. As Dolores gets the DJ to play a celebratory song, I take off running toward Marco and, hopefully, Sloane. But by the time I make it through the throngs of people flocking to congratulate me, he's already pulled away from the curb. I don't know if Sloane was in the SUV or not, but either way, she didn't want to see me. And that? It hurts more than I want to admit. The rest of the event drags. I make it through, though, then head back to the hotel. Shower. Change. Sit through a meeting on game strategy that I know backward and forward without hearing a word. She ran. And maybe she thought it was noble, cutting me loose before the fallout got worse. But the thing is, she didn't even ask. She didn't give me the chance to decide for myself. After the meeting, one of the guys wants to grab dinner at a nearby restaurant, but I beg off, citing other plans. Which leads to another whole round of ribbing about Sloane, most of which I ignore. Some of which I can't, and that just hurts even more. By the time I'm free to go to my room, I know that's exactly where I'm not going. Instead, I head downstairs and grab a ride to her venue. She might think it's over. But I'm not letting Sloane walk away without a fight. 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