Page 70 of Almost

“Why me? You’re the uptight one.”

“I know I’m uptight, but I’ve got a lot on my plate. Would it be bad if I wanted to stay here forever?”

Thalia shakes her head, an understanding washing over her face. “It’s not bad at all. I don’t know how I’d feel if I were in your situation.”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, and she moves to sit next to me. “I feel strangely okay, believe it or not. I think I knew I was going down a path I was unsure I wanted; it gives me a chance to fix things I’ve done wrong in the past.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Thalia agrees.

Despite my reluctance to leave, we have no problems checking out, but the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. It takes only a moment for me to catch sight of the guys with cameras trying to appear nonchalant. “Lia, keep your head down, and keep walking to the car,” I say lowly, dropping the hand I had resting on her lower back.

“What?” she asks, looking up at me in confusion, catching the attention of the group.

“Shit.” I know exactly how this looks. It’s going to feed straight into the narrative that Nina has set into place, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. If the photos I took with fans at the food truck last night were posted anywhere, it’ll show that we’re wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and Thalia’s inmysweatshirt as we’re walking out of a hotel together. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

A bold one approaches us with his camera ready. “Have a fun night?” he taunts, a wolfish smile as he eyes Thalia next to me. The click of his camera threatens to send me over the edge.

“No comment,” I answer more politely than I want to, trying to get around him to the car.

“Are you the homewrecker who broke up his engagement?” he asks, directing the question at Thalia. His question causes her steps to falter, and I hate this more than anything. I hate that I have to bite my tongue, but anything I say will only throw fuel on the fire.

I switch to French because I don’t need this idiot hearing anything I say to her as I unlock the car. “Get in the car.” Sometimes knowing another language can really come in handy.

For once, she listens to what I have to say without argument, sliding into the passenger seat of my car.

“So the rumors are true. Man, these pictures will go for a lot.”

I don’t bother responding because it doesn’t matter what he thinks. I know how bad this looks, but if I react, it’ll turn the situation into a far worse one. I keep my cool, climbinginto the car as the cameras outside flash to reverse quickly without hitting anyone to get us the hell out of here.

“Will you please plug my phone into the charger?” I ask Thalia, doing my best to calm the rage radiating through me. I need to know how bad this is.

This is the part I hate. I hate feeling like I can’t go anywhere without someone seeing me. It was a miracle I made it to Thalia’s gallery opening without being noticed, even by Thalia. I don’t want this part of life. I simply want to play football; the money and fame can disappear for all I care.

Fuck.

Thalia’s silent and staring out the window as I drive toward the highway, my hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?” she finally asks, breaking the silence.

“Fine.” I’m not worried about myself; I’m worried about Thalia. I hate that I couldn’t protect her from that jackass calling her a homewrecker, because she’s not. I’m worried that she is going to be crucified in the media for doing nothing wrong.

I sigh, regretting the tone immediately. She’s not the one I’m upset with. “Thalia…“ I start to say, but my phone decides that is the exact moment to power on. A call from my agent, Pat, comes through the car’s Bluetooth system, and I’m certain its the first of many he’s tried to make. I’m sure he’s not the only one who has been calling either.

I hit the button on my steering wheel, declining the call.

“Lia, I’m upset with myself because—” I’m interrupted again by a second call coming through the speakers. I growl in frustration, sending this one to voice mail as well. “I’m sorry for being short. I’m worried about you, and trying topiece together thi—” My agent interrupts again, and I’m ready to fucking throw my phone out of the window.

“Please, just answer it. He’s not going to stop calling until you do,” Thalia says, and I know she’s right.

“Walker, why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“It was dead.”

He laughs in disbelief. “What the hell were you doing staying in a hotel with your teammate’s sister?”

“Thalia’s more than Owen’s sister,” I snap, looking over at Thalia, but the angle she’s turned at doesn’t let me see her face. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. What I do outside of football shouldn’t be anyone’s business.

“Right. She’s your ex-girlfriend too.”

“So what?”

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