Page 102 of Fashionista's Playbook

Betrayal.

“I’m not saying he…” But he trailed off like he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“Isn’t capable?”

The sorrow slipped from his features. “He’s done a lot of shit, but I can’t look away from the things he’s done for me. It’s not like you and Elise, all Vin and I have is each other.”.

I choked on his admission. “But not me.”

“What? No. Moriah, this is just silly.”

I dragged my suitcase to the door, Travis following me.

He sounded so much like my parents when they defended Elise, anger replaced every other emotion. Even the sad, broken look on his face didn’t faze me.

“You’ve given me a lot, Travis. Had it not been for what you’ve taught me, the confidence I’ve gained from you—today might have destroyed me.”

“But you’re stronger than that. You always have been, I had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m walking away, Travis. You don’t have to choose, but one day I hope you finally hold your brother accountable.”

“You know I’m in love with you, right?” Emotion made his tongue thick, the words scratchy.

I did. I’d never doubt it. “Yeah. And I love you. That’s not always enough.”

Y’all, our bad boys are headed to the big show! This is not a drill, it’s the real thing, Yates, Mercer, and Caley have done it. They’ve put together quite a team.

But you can hear all about the Outlaws championship bid on any podcast or sports show. What you come to me for, Jersey Chasers, is the drama. And I have a lot of that for you.

I’ll start with the jail bird brother of an MVP punching a bench-riding backup in the mouth. All the ladies cheered for this one, as the only person fooled by that creep was Kari Tatum—who was seen sporting a pig nose at one point. Fitting, isn’t it?

Travis Madera’s budding fashionista of a girlfriend was seen storming from the facility in tears and our Tightest of Tight Ends has practiced like shit ever since. Moriah, come back to us, we need this Championship!

And also the cute dresses.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Travis

“Your head ain’t in it, bro.” Vin racked the dumbbells he held and pointed at his temple. “You gotta get shit right up here, if you want to win a ring.”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d gone from regular season MVP to dropping more passes in practice than in my entire career and I couldn’t block a ten-year-old. If I didn’t get it together, I’d bench my damn self.

I was tired. Without her, I didn’t sleep and had to force down any of the meals that sat prepped in my fridge. Each day was just a wash, rinse, repeat of the same stupid shit. I hated myself for missing her.

“There are other women, you know. Bounce back, rebound.” He did a hip twisting dance and grinned. “But quit fucking moping.”

I dropped from the pullup bar, sweat pouring down my face. My muscles popped and sizzled beneath the skin and my chest heaved. Which was the most honest feeling I’d had in weeks. Brutal workouts made it hurt less.

“It ain’t that easy.” I still wanted to hit him. Focusing on that anger kept me from thinking of her, which was the only reason I let him in.

“Sure it is. I find new ones all the time.”

The familiar ache in my chest came barreling back. There wasn’t anyone on this planet that could replace her.

“You’re just trying to get laid, Vin. I’m not.” I wiped my face and reached for a sports drink.

Vin snorted and lounged against a piece of gym equipment. “Man, you were in lust not love. If it was love, she could have hacked the lifestyle. But she couldn’t, so she left.”

---