Page 82 of Enemies Off Camera
I’ve forced my head back into the game. I can’t play like I did last Sunday—slow, distracted, off. Tonight, I have to shine. Ihaveto put multiple scores on the board.
Even better? Next week is our Bye Week. No field, no travel, no pressure until two Sundays from now. That gives me one shot—to go out big and shut everybody up.
But none of that matters if I can’t lock down the one thing still eating me alive.
Zara.
I’ve been completely cut off—no phone, no laptop, no way to reach her. And not just her.Anyone.It’s driving me insane.
I still don’t trust Roger, and I’d bet money he’s the reason my phone vanished. But Anne Park? She’s another problem altogether.
The moment I realized I was stranded on the road with no way to communicate, I had to get crafty. While waiting to board our charter from Florida to Denver, I grabbed one of the gate agents and asked for help.
He tracked down Anne Park’s number. Her assistant patched me through.
I explained everything.
“Tell Zara I want her at Sunday’s game,” I said. “I’ll have a seat saved for her. Please just ask her to come.”
“Mm-hm,” Anne replied, vague and cold. “Talk soon. Gotta go.”Click.
That was Wednesday.
Since then? Silence.
None of the guys will lend me their phones. They’re pissed about Sunday, and in their minds, my game went downhill the second Zara stepped into the picture.
Sure, I dropped the ball early—but when I pulled it together, I scored one and ran over a hundred yards, helping us pull out a win by a single field goal. We’re now three and zero.
But they’re playing this superstition hard—like if I stay out of contact with her, we’ll break a team record and secure our first ever four and zero season start.
As we jog toward the field to stretch out, Jake appears at my side. He’s watching something on his phone.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “You gotta see this, Jax.”
He tries to hand me the screen.
I scoff. “Now you’ll let me touch your phone?”
“Just take it,” he insists, pushing it into my chest.
I should throw it back at him. Better yet, bolt with it and call Anne again. But it’s Sunday—she’s not at the agency.
What’s happening to me now is a solid case for not relying on contact lists and actually committing phone numbers to memory.
If only I had remembered Zara’s number.
I take the phone. What’s on screen stops me cold.
It’s one of those dumb gossip roundup videos. But this one’s a knife to the gut.
It’s Zara. Dressed like fire. Her lips are inches from Blaine fucking Bello’s.
I shove the phone back into Jake’s hand, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
“Why’d you show me that bullshit?” I snarl.
Jake says nothing.
