Page 79 of Flag On The Play
“It was like someone replaced you with a high school JV backup,” Theo says.
I drag a hand down my face and sigh, leaning back. “I fucked up.”
“No shit,” Jace says.
“Thanks, man. That helps.”
Theo grabs a beer and tosses me a look. “You gonna tell us what actually happened?”
So I do.
The article. The fight. The way I reacted. The way she walked out. The silence since. Everything.
When I’m done, they’re both quiet. Which is saying something, because Jace talks more than anyone I know.
“I need to fix it,” I say, finally. “I need to do something, but I don’t know what the hell that is. She won’t answer me. She won’t see me.”
“You could stand outside her window with a boombox,” Theo offers, completely serious.
“Or fake a knee injury to get her to visit you in the hospital,” Jace adds. “That’s some next-level manipulation.”
I just stare at them.
“You two are idiots.”
Theo shrugs. “Not denying it.”
I shake my head, exhaling slowly as I stare at the floor. “I don’t need a stunt. I need to show her that this isn’t some temporary obsession. That I’m not ashamed of her. That I’dscream her name from every fucking rooftop if that’s what it takes.”
Jace leans forward, his voice a little quieter now. “So do it.”
“Do what?”
“Prove it. Not to us. Not to the press. To her.”
Theo nods. “Put your money where your mouth is, man. Tell the world who she is to you. Take the narrative back.”
I pause. My heart is pounding in my chest. Because for the first time since this whole mess started, I know exactly what I need to do.
It won’t be easy.
It won’t be subtle.
But if it gets me Nova Wilde back and shows her what she really means to me?
Then I’ll do it.
I’ll do anything.
CHAPTER 23
NOVA
I’ve been camped out at Roxy’s for the past few days, buried beneath a mountain of blankets, emotions, and takeout containers. Her couch is sunken from my weight and misery, and the only light in the apartment comes from the soft flicker of the TV that’s been playing shows I’m not even watching. Delaney stops by between shifts, trying to cheer me up with cupcakes and cuddles, and Roxy hasn’t left my side, unless she’s working, grabbing us more snacks, or threatening to find Finlay herself and “rearrange his pretty boy face.”
But none of it helps. Because I still feel hollow. Broken.
I’ve never had the media care about me. Never had my name plastered in bold print across gossip articles or used in punchlines on social media.“Stripper scores quarterback.” “From pole to penthouse.” “Flag on the play: Finlay fumbles with a sex worker.”There’s no end to it. I stopped reading after the first day, but they keep showing up in my notifications, in my texts, in everything.
