Page 1 of Stick With Me
ONE
I wishbad days came with a warning.
My stride stutters, then stops. “Watch it,” a woman warns, narrowly avoiding a collision with my back.
“Sorry,” I shout.
Bella, the sixty-pound pit bull mix I’m walking protests with a whine. I scratch her velvety head, refreshing the web page on my phone with my free hand. “I know, girl, just a minute. My fiancé is apparently a bachelor.”
The article reloads, and my fiancé’s handsome facestillsmiles back at me.Most Eligible Bachelor in Sports,the headline reads. Scrolling down, I scan the information, sure there’s an explanation.Jace Knolls... Dallas Spurs’ center… franchise player… named most eligible bachelor… recently single… broken engagement… long-term girlfriend, Hannah Clarke.
Huh, well, that’s pretty clear.
What’s not clear is why the man who kissed me goodbye this morning is quoted as saying, “Hannah and I split amicably.”
We’ve only been engaged for six months. He proposed this past summer in a huge, over-the-top way—Will you marry me?flashed across the jumbotron for me and 15,000 other people to see. My cheeks still burn just thinking about it.
Social media notifications flood my screen as I ignore an incoming call from my mother. Several more missed call and text notifications pop up, but none are from Jace.
There’s a tug on the leash wrapped around my wrist, and the dog connected to it looks up at me with pleading brown eyes. “Okay, let’s get you back to the shelter. I can deal with my personal crisis when I get home.”
I head back toward the shelter. The blare of car horns and passing conversations of sharp-dressed businesspeople fade into the background, drowned out by the theories spinning in my head. This has to be a mistake. A misprint. It wouldn’t be the first time the press put their own spin on a story. Working in influencer marketing, I know what you see online is rarely an accurate portrayal of real life, but why wouldn’t he tell me about this? A heads-up would’ve been nice, especially if this is just some kind of PR stunt. Even as I try to rationalize, it’s not adding up.
Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.
My phone vibrates. I pull it from my leggings at my hip, relieved to see it’s my fiancé. But that relief is short-lived when the preview on my lock screen reads, “We need to talk.”
Everyone knows nothing good comes after those four words.
I press the call button before I can chicken out. It only rings twice before his recorded voice prompts me to leave a message. I’m still looking down at the phone in confusion when another text comes through.
Jace:
We’ll talk when you get home.
Well, shoot.
The walk back to the shelter passes in a blur. My breath comes in shallow pants as I swing open the door to the Dallas SPCA. Power-walking the bad energy out is a thing, right?
“Hey, Jules,” I greet my only real friend in Dallas as I pass the front desk on my way to the kennels. She’s at least forty years older than me, which makes our friendship unlikely, but she’s the mother I wish I had. I met her on my first day here. I’ve been volunteering since moving to the city, trying to prepare for my dream of opening my own rescue. A plan that has admittedly been on hold for far too long.
“That was a quick walk.” Her voice isn’t judgmental, just concerned. She knows how much I enjoy my time with the shelter’s residents. Especially Bella, who’s been with us the longest. “How did my girls fare out there? With the wind chill in the twenties, you won’t catch me stepping outside.” She rubs her arms to fight off the draft from the concrete walls.
“We survived,” I mutter.More than just the cold weather. I keep my gaze on Bella, scratching behind her ears. Jules always has a way of seeing straight through me, and if I look up, she’ll ask the questions I’m not ready to answer—questions I’m not sure I even have the answers to.
I’ve succeeded at convincing myself that this is all just one big misunderstanding. He wouldn’t actually end things with a sports article. I mean, who does that? But the weight pressing on my chest refuses to lift, no matter how hard I try to shake it off.
I make an excuse to head out early and gather my things from the break area, hurrying out to my car. With the morning traffic finally cleared, I make it uptown in record time. But the heavy feeling in my chest seems to have shifted, sinking to my stomach and leaving a hollow, uneasy void.
By the time I pull into my assigned parking spot, I’m gripping the steering wheel as tightly as I’m holding onto hope.It’s all a misunderstanding, I repeat the four words like a mantra in my head.
I take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady myself as I ride the elevator up to the penthouse where I’ve lived for the past three years with Jace. After his rookie contract expired, he signed an extension and moved us to a bigger, more luxurious place. I liked our smaller townhouse, but he insisted on this penthouse condo, so here we are.
As the doors open into the foyer, the sounds of clattering silverware and slamming cabinets fill the space. Before I even make it to the kitchen, I know he’s making a post-morning-skate protein shake. He’s the most predictable person, or so I thought.
I take a seat at the marble counter. “Hey.”
He makes a sound of acknowledgment but continues to move around the kitchen, gathering ingredients.
