Page 23 of Who's Saving You
Dylan Carter. The newsroom golden boy. My partner on late-night stakeouts and coffee runs, which quickly turned into whispered promises that we were building something together. Until the night our breakthrough story ran, his byline on the front page, mine erased like I’d never existed. He got the promotion, and I got to smile through the knife in my back. Then I got to watch him move on from our paper, and me, and make his way onto the New York Times. Oh, with his fiancée.
At least he moved out of state.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” It’s been six years, but that betrayal cut deep and taught me I can’t trust what I see and the only one I can depend on is myself. I lean back, burying into my lounge chair and aggressively biting on another candy rope. “Everyone acts like Nik’s some kind of miracle. They’re claiming he’s rookie of the year after eight games. Eightfreakinggames. Even I know that’s insane. And he’s the charity darling giving out gifts to every kid in that hospital thathe paid for. Where does he get all his money?”
“I’m sure his signing bonus was decent.”
I shake my head, already knowing his signing bonus bought his mom a new house in Philadelphia as well as a house here in Mistletoe Falls for when she visits during the season. “He still has too much for a young guy.” I wave my hand, dismissing that fact, and move on. “And you know what else? He’s the fucking boy next door with perfect teeth, a perfect smile. Perfect fucking hair that drapes just so over his forehead.” My voice riseswith each point, and Sloane stifles a laugh. “None of it’s real!”
Sloane leans forward. “You’re projecting what happened with Dylan onto Nik. And unless you’re planning on dating Nik, I don't know why any of this is an issue?”
I narrow my eyes on her. “I’ve fallen for charm before,” I say, my voice low. “And I was the one left picking up the pieces while he shook hands and took the credit.” My throat burns. “Once was enough.”
“So don’t fall for his charm.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“He’s young.” She tilts her head. “Why don’t you take him for a spin, break this dry spell?”
I throw the last piece of my candy at her, ignoring the fact that the butterflies have been dancing in my belly since meeting Nik. “Young guys don’t know shit.”
“They don’t have to know shit. They’re eager to learn, so just point him in the right direction and enjoy the ride.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I huff out, and she giggles at me.
“And you love me for it.” For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then Sloane sighs, softer now. “At some point, you have to let someone in. Even if you were to go there,which you’re not, Nik isn’t Dylan.”
“No.” I turn, my smile brittle. “He’s worse. Dylan had cracks you could see if you looked hard enough. I chose to ignore them. But Nik?” I let out a laugh with no humor in it. “Nik’s almost too flawless. And the shinier the halo, the darker the shadow behind it.”
Sloane tilts her head and shrugs. “Or maybe he’s just good.”
“Please.” I cross my arms, keeping myself in check. “Everyone’s hiding something. He barely gives me the time of day to interview him. He avoids the questions, and side steps other answers when he actually gives them.”
“So that’s why you’re mad? He won’t talk to you?”
I’m mad because I saw a different side to him when I found him in the hotel hallway. And that’s the Nik Papas we need. Not perfect, just real.
“I’m mad because I’ve got a job to do, and Saint Nik? He won’t fool me. I’ll find the crack. That’s what I do.”
But even as I say it, the ache in my chest lingers because I know I’m not just chasing his truth. I want to know him, I want to see him, and I want him to see me. But when I find the crack, which I will, what happens then? Most likely just end up being another broken encounter I’ll have to heal from.
9
Nik
The steakhouse in the dead center of the city of Mistletoe Falls is too loud, too pretentious, and too full of people who think they know me. After signing some autographs for the staff, Dane and I are escorted to the second floor. We sit at a corner booth in the back, away from prying eyes, and I try to breathe like everything is normal. Rhett, the dropped pass, Noelle … it’s all at the forefront of my mind. The last thing I want to do is be out in public, but I convinced myself to be the saint. This is what we’d do in between game days, so keep doing it.
Dane Beckett has been my agent since I signed on draft night, but before that, he was a friend. He and my sister knew each other from college, and now he works for Coach Gage’s wife, Francesca, at Love PR. It only made sense that he’d be the one to represent me. Even though he loved toparty with Coach Gage back in the day and ended up with an injury before he ever got his big break, he still made out pretty good.
His wife, Mariella, coaches an all-girls team back in Christmas, Texas. And he flies back and forth during the season to be with me. He’s the one who got me through college, kept me on the straight and narrow, and helped bury the mess of sophomore year, even though he didn’t know what he was burying. I’ve been lying to everyone around me for years, and the weight of it is beginning to crush me.
“I screwed up,” I say.
Dane sips his drink. “Yeah.”
