Page 117 of Off Court Fix

And he proves my point with his next words.

“I just need a little to get through...”

I don’t let him finish. I walk out the French doors leading to the patio, and I run to my car.

Crosby’s feet pad across the rug surrounding my bed, but when he reaches for me, I pull away.

“Why? Why are you giving me that?” I seethe.

I’m angry, confused,hurt, wondering why after I’ve opened my heart to Crosby, shared with him images that have haunted me for years, nightmares of my brother’s suffering, he has to go and drag me right back to it.

“I want you to know he bet on you four years ago in Cincinnati.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. That’s how far gone Mason was, too strung out to realize on that day in the kitchen after he left rehab, when he was begging me for money, he had it after all. He just never picked it up.

But it never was about money for either of us.

“All in. High or not, your brother knew.”

It takes effort to swallow over the lump growing in my throat. “Knew what?”

“That you’re an extraordinary player who belongs on the court. And maybe the path you took to get there? Being a kid who didn’t understand how harsh the world really can be sometimes, just a little girl looking for someone to see her... maybe it was a rough path. But maybe it made you great.” Crosby steps forward, and I don’t flee or shove him off at first. “You’re the epitome of mental toughness. You were meant to play this game.”

I don’t like the tone in Crosby’s voice, the way he’s now holding my shoulders, rubbing his thumbs over my robe so hard and purposefully he might burrow a hole to get to my skin, to me. My skin prickles with gloomy anticipation.

“Crosby...”

“Hunter wants you to throw the first round of the US Open. Win the first set, lose the next two. You do that, he stays quiet about us. He pays the First Step Group. And it’s done.”

I feel dizzy, and I’m thankful for Crosby’s hold to keep me upright, even though I hate the way he’s touching me, holding me, or how now one hand has slid up my neck to cup my cheek.

He’s speaking from his mouth, but his eyes, they’re doing the talking. And they’re telling a very different story... how it might not be the end for my career but might be the end for us.

“But you’re not throwing any match. You’re going to get out on that court andslayand take no prisoners.Straightsets.”

I press my lips together. “What about Hunter?” I ask when what I mean is,what about us?

“Forget about Hunter.” He pushes something else into my hand. “Just before the match, you’re going to call Samantha McDonnell and tell her I approached you about throwing it. And you’re going to tell her to break the story when the match starts. Trust me, it’s the only thing that will keep Hunter quiet. And you know something? Before that night in St. Patrick’s, he was gone for a year because eyes were on him. He’d go away forever if eyes were on me, if I was being charged—”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “No. You can’t be serious. Crosby—”

“You said something in your speech that night about how it’s never too late to do the right thing even when it’s the wrong time. And the right thing foryouis to pin the narrative onme, tell the world after you joined the club, I approached you about fixing matches—”

“And send you toprison?” I push Crosby away, watching his face shatter when his hand falls from my cheek.

Crosby shakes his head. “I don’t even know if charges will be brought up from the past. It’s beenyears. And if they happen, I wouldn’t be gone long and—”

“Are you crazy? Fine, forget about the past, but sports bribery is acrime!” I shout. I throw the card to the floor. “This... No. No. We had a plan, Crosby. We just move up the timeline, is all.”

“You could be suspended while an investigation happens,” he reminds me. “I put things into place when I resigned to avoid this.”

I recall it in my mind, hearing Crosby’s words over the intense noise of my heart beating against my sternum, which is flooding my ears. He resigned—truthfully. He resigned because he fell in love with me, and that happened far after Indian Wells, when lust clouded his judgment, and I paid the price for it.

But there’s love here now. So much of it. And how can he risk throwing it away even temporarily?

“The plan was to protectyou, Maxine. That’s what I’m doing.” Crosby reaches out for me again, but I slap his hand away. I don’t want to be coddled or protected. “When it’s all over, whenyoufeel you’re done and ready to take a final bow on that court, I’ll be waiting.”

Tears sting my eyes viciously, and I do everything in my power to keep them from falling, from proving I’m exactly this kind of woman—the one who needs to be protected, who needs a man to fix messes I’ve gotten myself into. Because that’s what Crosby is doing now. He’s protecting me from his mistakes that I went ahead and tangled myself in to prove a point, which I realize makes no difference at the moment.

---