Page 106 of Forbidden Game

“Silver isn’t gold. And this isn’t some hobby for me, like polo. This is my work, my life, Phoebe. I can’t lose it.”

“You won’t lose it. No one’s trying to take it away from you.”

She holds out the tumbler to me, and I gulp all the amber liquid in one swoop. I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth and then place the empty glass back in her hand.

“Sure doesn’t feel that way. What good am I if I can’t win a simple tournament? Maybe I should just give up, settle into a proper role like everyone wants.”

She raises both of her brows slightly before letting out a soft breath.

“Parker, that’s not what we want.”

The sympathy in her voice cracks me.

I’m not mad at anyone except myself right now.

Sure, maybe I’m overreacting a little bit. But it’s so much more than just a tournament I lost.

It’s everything.

It’s all the expectations clawing at my throat. All the pressure crushing my shoulders. The need to prove that I am worth something pulls on my ankles like chains. That I can stand on my own. That I am smart and capable and more than just a guy coasting through life. That I’m someone people can respect and look up to.

Phoebe looks down at me with her blue eyes, and the ocean within them feels like it’s drowning me.

I shove off the couch and snatch up my backpack, storming past her.

“Parker!” she shouts. “Oi, get back here!”

But I don’t look back.

I don’t breathe until I shut the door to my own suite.

The room is dark, and the shadows close in on me, swirling around my body. Every negative thought clouds around me in a suffocating haze.

My phone picks up it’s buzzing in my pocket, and I growl as I throw it across the room. It narrowly lands on the corner of my bed before bouncing to the ground.

I don’t miss the name on the screen, and it just makes me feel worse.

I’m supposed to be better than this. I’m supposed to be the guy everyone loves. The guy who doesn’t take things too seriously.

I don’t want her to see me like this.

In pieces.

I don’t even want to see myself.

TWENTY-ONE

SYDNEY

I’m worried.

I squint through the flashing purple and blue lights, trying to make sense of the clamoring bodies. Someone bumps into me, and I look down at a girl with glazed eyes. She just gives me a dizzy smile as she continues to sway to the music.

This is the last place I want to be.

My feet carry me through the crowd of sweaty people. Heat sticks to my skin, plastering my clothes to my body.

I’m so not dressed to be here either. My ‘90s bell-sleeve dress sticks out like a sore thumb in this upscale night club full of beautiful, scantily clad women.

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