Page 73 of Dirty As Puck
Rochelle blinks, her brow pulling tight. “What?”
“You’ve earned it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure.” I try to sound casual, but my voice is strained, and it comes out too sharp around the edges. “A break would do you good.”
She crosses her arms, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “You’re telling me to leave? Now? That’s odd timing, don’t you think?”
I force a laugh, but it rings hollow. “I’m saying you should think about yourself for once. Recharge. It doesn’t always have to be about chasing stories or…”
Her glare cuts me off. “Don’t act like this is about me needing a vacation. You don’t want me here. Why?”
My chest aches. I want to scream the truth. I want to tell her it’s because my brother is watching her. That he might already be aware of every move she’s planning to make.
Because if Derek ever decides she’s useful, he would be out to destroy like he is for me.
But I can’t say any of that. So, I press my tongue to my teeth and shake my head. “It’s not like that. I just… I don’t want you caught in the middle of—”
“The middle of what?” she snaps, stepping closer. “You’ve been dodging questions for days, Kai. Shutting me out. And now you’re pushing me away, telling me to disappear?” Her voice cracks on the last word. “Do you even hear yourself?”
I meet her eyes, and it’s like standing on a fault line. One wrong move, and everything crumbles.
“Rochelle,” I say softly, “I’m trying to protect you.”
Her arms drop, but her jaw stays tight. “From what? You can’t keep protecting me from a ghost you won’t even name. Stop it,Kai. Either trust me enough to tell me what’s going on or stop pretending you’re asking me to leave for my own sake.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. She turns away, pacing once before turning to look at me, her eyes blazing.
“I’m not leaving. Not when you clearly need me, whether you want to admit it or not.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. Because she’s right. Fuck, she’s right. I need her.
The buzz of my phone splits through the silence of my apartment.
Derek.
A string of images fills the screen. My stomach clenches as I swipe through them. There is an image of me and Rochelle, at the coffee shop near the stadium.
Another has me walking to her car after practice, and one more of us standing too close in the hotel lobby during an away game. Every shot is technically innocent, no kissing or touching, but the way they’re framed makes the truth very visible through the images.
We’re together. Anyone with eyes could see it.
A new message comes in:Pretty couple. Shame if the world found out like this.
My grip tightens on the phone until my knuckles ache.
Play along, and the photos stay buried, is what Derek is trying to say. Don’t, and he’ll make sure every paper, every blog, and every sports outlet runs with them.
More messages come in and I hold my breath as I read them.
Let’s see how long your charity survives once the board starts asking questions. Let’s see how long her job lasts when her boss realizes she’s sleeping with the subject of her big expose.
I pace the length of the living room, dragging a hand through my hair. He’s cornered me again, perfectly. The bastard doesn’t even need to lie about me.
He has the truth, even down to snapshots as evidence.
For a second, I let myself think about going public. About grabbing the story back before he can use it. Rochelle and I, together, honest and unashamed. No secrets left for him to twist.
But reality crashes just as fast. If this breaks now, it won’t be romantic headlines and congratulations. It’ll be Rochelle’s career gutted because no editor will trust her again.
It’ll be my foundation bleeding donors, kids left without programs because no one wants to support a scandal-ridden face of charity. Derek knows exactly where to hit.
