Page 80 of Flag On The Play
And even worse than all of that was how he reacted.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t upset that I was reduced to a headline, that the world saw me as something cheap anddisposable. He acted like it was no big deal. Like it was inevitable.
I walked into his penthouse expecting him to be on fire with rage. Expecting him to comfort me, hold me, tell me he had my back. But instead, he looked tired. Apologized with a shrug. Told me to quit as if giving up a job I fought so hard to be proud of was an easy fix. As if hiding in his life, in his space, behind his privilege, was the solution.
And the worst part?
I wanted to lean on him. I wanted to let him carry me through it. But he didn’t reach out the way I needed him to.
He didn’t see me.
Now all I see is how fast it all came crashing down.
I press the side of my phone against my chest, tears stinging my eyes as I stare at his name on my screen again. He’s still trying with calls, texts, voicemails, but I can’t bring myself to answer. Not when the hurt still sits like a boulder on my chest.
I trusted him.
I fell for him.
Harder and faster than I thought possible. And now I feel like a damn idiot for believing that a guy like Finlay fucking Reed could ever really understand someone like me. That he could love someone like me.
Roxy walks in with a bottle of wine in one hand and a pint of ice cream in the other, eyeing me carefully.
“You look like you’re thinking about texting him again,” she says, setting them both down and plopping beside me.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“Good. Because he’s still a dick.”
I huff out a breath. “He’s not a dick, Roxy.”
“He didn’t fight for you the way you deserve, babe. I don’t care how dreamy his abs are or how good he is in bed. You were humiliated. And he made you feel like you were the problem.”
“I know,” I whisper. My voice cracks, and she wraps an arm around me.
“I saw what they’re still saying online. People suck. But you’re not what they say. And anyone who really knows you, like he should, would have shut that shit down.”
I nod against her shoulder, holding back a sob.
“I don’t know if I can forgive him,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to decide now,” she murmurs. “You just have to breathe. And stay strong. And remember who the hell you are. Nova Wilde. Dancer. Fighter. Woman with a big-ass heart who fell for the wrong guy or maybe the right guy who fucked up in all the wrong ways.”
I know she’s right, and the truth is, I’m not ready to let him go.
Not yet.
Because even through the pain, I still love him.
I’ve been doing my best not to think about him, not to think about what he’s doing, but my brain is cruel. Because yesterday was the game.Thegame. The one that could send his team to the Victory Bowl. I try to convince myself I don’t care. That I don’t want to know. That knowing will make this harder.
But the question is there, heavy and unwanted.
I glance at Roxy, who’s scrolling through her phone on the other end of the couch, her legs pulled up under her. My voice is so small I almost don’t recognize it.
“Did they win?”
Roxy looks up immediately, her expression softening. There’s no judgment in her eyes, only understanding. She knows me too well, knows the way my heart is still tangled with his even if I wish it wasn’t.
