Page 8 of Worth the Scandal
I’m leaving in two days.
A new training squad. Across the country. A whole new life. And dragging her into it—even if she’d do long distance—feels selfish.
It would be easy to pretend. To scribble my name and number and hold onto the possibility. But it’s not fair to waste her time with half-truths and maybes when I already know the ending.
She deserves more than that. A man who can give her everything.
So, I write something else instead. Just enough to make her smile. Just enough to say this meant something to me.
Thank you for the distraction.
You’re welcome, too.
Sometimes we just need to start fresh—and let someone take care of us.
Try keeping your apartment clean. You’ll feel better. Trust me.
PS: Sorry about Rule Number Four.
PPS: I’m not sorry at all.
xo
I stick the note to her phone on the nightstand and scoot around to the other side of the bed for one last look.
Her lush chestnut hair splayed out across the pillow and her soft eyelids fluttering to the daylight I’ve helped creep into her tiny, neglected apartment.
She shifts in her sleep, murmuring something I can’t make out.
I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, brushing a stray hair to join the others on the pillow.
Soft. Reverent. Like a goodbye I never want to give.
“If we’re meant to meet again,” I whisper, “we will.”
And if not—well.
I know where she lives.
Chapter Four - 2 years later - Scarlett
The removalist truck screeches to a halt, blocking a bus stop on the corner of Henry and Lennox Rd. Figures. A fitting metaphor, really—my life; inconvenient and unapologetically in the way.
Today’s the day.
The day I’ve been humming with excitement for but also silently dreading.
I’ve caved. Well… not caved, exactly. More like the universe left me no damn choice. I stare around the now-bare studio apartment that saw some of my brightest highs and, lately, my absolute rock-bottom lows. Shit, I almost forgot the flowers that rocked up on mum’s anniversary a few months ago. I’ve been hoarding them. They are all crusty and dried out now, but they were stunning yellow roses when they arrived, second year in a row they’ve turned up here with no name and no message. Like a little sign from mum looking down on me, even through this newest shit storm.
Two weeks ago, the company I’d poured everything into went bankrupt. No severance. No warning. Just a group email and radio silence. Classic.
Thanks for your service, now kindly get out.
I almost let myself spiral—almost. A scenic drive down Pity Lane sounded tempting, but I threw it in reverse. Okay, maybe I stopped for a quick emotional espresso and a meltdown playlist. The last few years have been… brutal. But also, kind of beautiful in a twisted, character-development kind of way.
The past twelve months, I gave everything to that job. I was the top sports agent in Sydney, won awards, gave keynote speeches, closed multimillion-dollar deals… and still, it wasn’t enough to keep Confine Sports afloat. Not when the founder was busy playing Captain Yachts-and-Hoes instead of paying his creditors. Oh, and hiding it all from his wife and business partner. Talk about messy.
Still, I’m lucky. I’ve got connections. Ones I swore I’d never use. Ones that come with strings I don’t want tangled around my ankles. But when life starts giving you lemons you make lemonade, right?Wrong. You go balls to the wall, pour a shot of tequila, and book a flight to hell. Okay dramatic not hell, just your small hometown.
