Page 137 of Drop Shot
“I know you don’t need me to.” I finally shrug out of Noah’s hold on me. Trager is long gone to go whine and complain to someone. “But what he said wasn’t okay.”
She bites her lip and grabs my hand, tugging me toward whatever table she was already seated at. I look back at Noah and note the concern on his face. I give him a reassuring smile, but I notice the anxiety doesn’t ease from his taut shoulders.
It hits me then—that punching a fellow player could result in suspension which would affect Noah and our doubles match.
Oh, fuck.
It’s one thing to fuck myself over, it’s a whole other to bring someone else down with me.
“Should we go upstairs?” she asks, as both of us notice how much attention is still on us.
“Yeah, probably.” I hate that I’ve also managed to fuck up our dinner, but with so many people looking at me with disgust and surprise it’ll be better if we don’t stay.
In the elevator, Whimsy takes my hand, leaning her head against my arm. I close my eyes, soaking in the feeling of her—how calm and centered she manages to make me feel.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I admit when the doors open on our floor. “But I couldn’t let him talk about you like that.”
“It’s okay,” she says, and I know things are okay with her but it doesn’t mean they’re okay elsewhere. I can’t even blame this on my old on the court temper getting to me. This was different. This was pure instinct to defend the woman I care about—the woman I love.
Whimsy unlocks the room and steps inside as I follow.
“I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?” I pace the length of the room. “I won’t apologize for defending you, though.”
“Hey,” she says softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to tug off her heels. “Whatever happens. We’ll get through it.”
This could be terrible—far worse for my reputation and career than smashing some rackets and mouthing off.
“I’m sure Jackson will have a plan,” she goes on.
There’s a knock on the door as if she’s magically conjured him. I don’t have to look through the peephole to know it’s him.
Whimsy sends me a sympathetic look as if she too knows it’s him.
I open the door and he barges right in without preamble.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” He seethes, phone squeezed tight in one hand.
“Good to see you, too,” I mutter, shutting the door and turning to him with my arms crossed over my chest. I’m being defensive which is probably the worst thing I can do.
“You punched another player,” he groans. “In the hotel. In front of guests, other players, and media. Have you lost your ever-loving mind? You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile and focusing on the doting boyfriend angle. Not throwing fists at a fellow player!” He bellows the last part, face red. “I shouldn’t have to follow you around to every fucking match because I’m scared you’re going to do something stupid. Here I thought you were finally on the right track, and I might be able to give you some more breathing room, and you go and do this.” He tosses his arms in the air. “I don’t know how I’m going to get you out of this one.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and he shuts up, looking at me with eyes that are wide with shock. “I’m sorry for the mess, but I’m not sorry for punching him. You should’ve heard what he said about Whimsy. It was disgusting.”
Jackson pinches his brow. “That doesn’t make it okay.” He sighs, hands falling to his hips. “I’m not sure what the repercussions of this are going to be yet, but I hope you’re prepared to deal with them.”
“Should we put together a press conference to get ahead of things?” I ask. I’m willing to just about anything. Trager deserved to be punched and I have no regrets there, but the reality of losing my career because of him leaves my stomach feeling sour.
Jackson twists his neck like maybe he can crack the tension out of it. “It’s not the worst idea in the world. I guess I can’t convince you to read off a speech I give you?”
I’m already shaking my head before he’s done speaking. “Not a chance.”
He sighs, shoulders drooping. “I’m going to see what I can do.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
His eyes narrow on me for a moment like he thinks I might be sarcastic, but when he realizes I’m genuine he gives a nod. “You’re welcome. It’s what you pay me for, after all.”
I let him out of the room and then I’m alone with Whimsy. She doesn’t waste a second in wrapping her arms around me.
