Page 111 of Faking Ties

“You deserve a break. This isn’t your battle to fight.”

“But it is, because it’s your battle,” she says. “I need you to take care of yourself. Your season is coming to an end soon, and I don’t want you to jeopardize your career because of Jax fucking Stone.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I’ll try.”

“I love you. And I have a surprise waiting for you when you get home.”

“What kind of surprise?” I ask.

“Something small, but I hope it’ll help you. I had Tank hide it at the top of your pantry.”

“I already love it.”

She laughs. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t need to. I love everything you give me.”

“I love you. Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of you?”

Warmth blossoms in my stomach at her words. “Love you, too. Talk tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.”

Grinning, I rush home and find the package where Ella said it’d be. I tear it open, and it’s a journal. With it is a note saying:Dear Hunter,I'm so proud of how you're tackling everything head-on.Maybe putting your thoughts down can help sort through the chaos and give you a much-needed mental break. Love you, Ella.

I run a finger over the forest-green leather cover. The edges are hand-stitched with dark brown waxed thread,adding a touch of rustic elegance.Flipping through the thick,ivory-colored pages I spot some handwritten mindfulness prompts in Elodie’s handwriting, like “breathe,” “gratitude,” or “present moment.”

I send her a thank-you text and get to work, dumping all my anxieties and worries onto the page. When I finally finish, I feel lighter. And for the first time in weeks, I get a full night of sleep.

HUNTER

Even with a full night of sleep, practice is still a bitch. Every catch feels sluggish, every block a chore. I’m dropping passes that normally would land in my hands as if they’re magnetized.

It’s going to take more time to recover, but I’m frustrated with how uncooperative my body is being. Jake keeps frowning at me, and the rest of the offensive team keep slapping my back as if it’ll help me make it through practice.

“Holt,” Coach says once he finally calls an end to the torture. “A word.”

I trudge over to him on the sidelines.

“You okay, son?”

“Yes, sir. Just a rough night.”

Coach nods. “The boss wants to see you in his office.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Shit. Is Evren re-thinking my contract because of all the headlines related to me? I wait for the anxiety to hit, but I’m too tired to care.

I find Evren standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in his massive, black-and-gray office, overlooking the field. I knock on the door, cluing him in on my presence since his back is to the door.

He turns to face me. “Come in and close the door behind you,” he says, taking a seat at his desk.

I do as he requests and take a seat across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I wanted to check in on you.”

---