Page 78 of Dirty As Puck
“Do you even realize the position you’ve put me in? You’ve made a mockery of the trust and faith I had in you. I asked you to dig dirt on Morrison, not warm his sheets. We’re finished, Winters. Completely finished.”
The line goes dead before I can breathe another word.
I lower the phone, staring at the blank screen until it blurs. Fired. Just like that. My career, my future, shredded in less than a minute.
I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees, clutching my phone like it’s the only thing keeping me together. I want to scream, to throw it, to smash it into silence, but I can’t let go. Because what if Kai calls? What if he needs me?
Instead, all I hear is my own heartbeat thudding in my ears and the echo of Marcus’s voice.
It hits me all at once that in one morning, everything that’s important to me––my job, my reputation, and the man that I fell in love has been ripped out of my hands. Derek didn’t just win. He destroyed us both.
And now, I don’t know how we’ll ever come back from it.
30
I pull into the practice lot, and it feels like the world is exploding before my face. Cameras flash like gunfire. Reporters’ voices slice through the morning air with a constant, deafening roar.
“Kai! Did you set her up?”
“What happened with Rochelle?”
“Is this true? Are you involved?”
Every question feels like a punch to the chest. My hands tighten on my steering wheel. My stomach twists.
I try to breathe, but the air feels too thick. My mind reels as I think of the last twenty-four hours.
How did they get these photos? Who gave them the story? Rochelle? It can’t be. She wouldn’t…she wouldn’t betray me.
Could she have known and stayed silent while Derek manipulated everything? The word betrayal presses against my skull like a drumbeat I can’t escape.
I inch forward, trying to keep the car steady, but the crowd wouldn’t let me through. Flashbulbs pop, and I flinch with every click.
My chest hammers, heart racing so fast I feel like I might pass out. I can’t focus on anything or even think clearly.
Every instinct screams at me to get out of here, but I know any sudden move will be a headline, another image, another shred of my privacy ripped away.
A familiar hand grips my shoulder. Jake. I glance up through the side mirror, relief and irritation colliding in equal measure.
He’s scowling, muttering something about “leaving the circus behind,” then I’m out of my car and he’s pulling me toward the side entrance. I follow, moving like a man in a daze, every step heavy.
My teammates line the hallway, eyes wide, concern etched into their faces. I catch glimpses of familiar faces—Cameron Gray, Reed Hendrix, West Carmack, even Coach Williams, but none of it bothers me right now. I feel untethered, untouchable, yet trapped inside a storm I can’t escape.
Voices still echo behind me. Snippets of questions I can’t answer. “Was she in on it?” “Are you okay?” “What will you do now?”
Every single question feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I want to scream, to tell them all to back off, but my voice catches somewhere in my throat, leaving me mute.
Jake nudges me again, steadying me, his grip firm on my arm. “You good, man?”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out, “Yeah.”
Inside the side door, the chaos recedes slightly, but the echoes linger. I see teammates still glancing at me, some seeming worried, others whispering behind their hands. I try to meet their eyes, but the betrayal, the shock, the humiliation, it’s too heavy.
Even among friends, even in the safety of familiar faces, I feel completely alone.
And I realize, with a sinking certainty, that nothing will ever be the same.
Coach Williams’ office feels smaller than usual, the walls closing in the second I step inside. He sits behind his desk, arms crossed, papers stacked neatly, but the weight in his eyes is enough to warn me before he speaks.
