Page 136 of Bleacher Report
PEYTON
I roll out my yoga mat at the back of the studio, grateful for the dim lighting and the soft instrumental music playing overhead. Abby plops down beside me, adjusting her ponytail and flashing me a smile that’s way too cheerful for someone about to endure hot yoga on a Sunday morning.
“You okay?” she asks, stretching her arms overhead.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying not to groan as I reach for my toes.
She arches her brow. “Liar.”
I sigh. “I packed up Hunter’s stuff yesterday. Dropped it off at his place.”
Even saying his name out loud hurts.
Abby stills. “You what?”
“Cammy got Trey’s spare key to Hunter’s apartment in The Commons,” I say quickly. “I just...needed to do it.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but the instructor claps her hands at the front of the class and starts guiding us through our first poses.
“This conversation isn’t over. You still haven’t told me what happened in New Jersey,” she angrily whispers.
We fall into the rhythm—sun salutations, deep breaths, downward dog. But my balance is off, and my head’s not in it.
My phone buzzes on the corner of my mat during child’s pose. I sneak a glance—the WAGs group chat.
Cammy: Girl, you better be at the game Tuesday. It’s New Year's Eve, and the Owner’s box is calling. We finally worked Everett into letting us use it since he hasn't been using it for weeks.
Penelope: Still part of the WAG fam even if you’re not dating number seventy-two anymore.
Isla: The owner's box is packed with snacks and booze. Plenty of time for you to spill the beans about why Hunter is the worst. We’re here to listen. And New Year's Eve in the Hawkeyes stadium is always interesting.
Kendall: I’ll be in the stinky locker room waiting for one of our players to get concussed. I always miss the fun. Please live stream.
My throat tightens. Abby catches the look on my face.
“What now?” she whispers.
“They all know,” I whisper back. “Cammy told them.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “Everyone knows but me?”
“No one knows what happened, just that it’s better that we ended our fake dating arrangement. This is better for everyone, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you,” she mutters, but then we get shushed by the woman stretching in front of us. Abby sticks out her tongue at her as soon as she turns back around. And I choke back a giggle.
By the time class ends, my muscles are loose, but my chest is tight. Abby hands me a bottle of water and leads me to the bench outside.
“Talk to me,” she says. “What really happened?”
I stare at the condensation on my bottle. “I called Rebecca. I turned down the syndication deal.”
“What? Peyton, are you out of your mind?”
Possibly.
But no… I know why I did it. I’m heartbroken, but I don’t regret giving up the syndication deal for him. Oddly enough, I’d do it again, because somehow, winning it didn’t feel as good without him by my side.
It just wouldn’t have felt the same.
