Page 68 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

Relief meets anger as I nod. “Good luck with that,” I say, rising from my seat. I won’t let her have the last word.

I walk out of the conference room, adrenaline coursing through my veins. It feels empowering. I’ve stood my ground. I will not allow anyone to determine how I live—no one, especially when it comes to Vaughn. This is not about business for me; this is about respect, integrity, and the connections I hold dear.

I take a moment outside to breathe in the fresh air. I think about Vaughn—how our relationship has gotten so complicated, how much I miss him, and how I want to protect him from people like Jenna.

Chapter thirty

Chapter Thirty

Vaughn

The next day comes, and I still feel uneasy. My conversation with my mother is still ringing in my ears; my mind still bears the emotional weight of her visit. I push the thoughts aside as I get ready to begin a busy day.

The morning silence is broken as my phone buzzes on the table just as I settle into my routine. I look down and see an unfamiliar number. I answer uneasily.

“Vaughn Graham,” I say, trying to keep my tone professional.

“John from the league’s disciplinary office, Mr. Graham,” the voice on the other end says. My heart starts to pound. “I want to let you know that we’re calling you in for a disciplinary meeting because we just received a report accusing you of illicit drug use and distribution.”

The words hit me like an actual punch to the gut, and I have a hard time processing how serious it actually is. “What are you talking about?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intended. “There must be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake, I assure you. Thursday at ten a.m. is the scheduled meeting,” he replies, speaking clinically with no empathy. “It goes without saying that your presence is mandatory.”

I hang up, and my mind begins to spin. Accusations of drug use? This is outrageous! My reputation has been built up—I can’t let it be tarnished like this. I remember the rumors that have gone around the league, the whispers of a doping scandal, but I never thought it would involve me.

I pace the room, my thoughts racing, my heart pounding, the world around me spinning as panic sets in. I’ve gotta figure this shit out real quick. Rachel. She would know what to do. She’s kept everything organized. She’s been my anchor. I dial her number, hoping she’ll answer.

But it rings and rings. No answer. Frustration builds as I try again, but still no response.

“Come on, Rachel,” I mutter under my breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and anger. I know she has been working hard, but I need her to be there for me right now more than ever.

The rising tide of panic pushes up my throat. I can’t afford to lose my cool because everything is on the line. Before this meeting, I need to collect my thoughts and formulate a plan. The harder I try to concentrate, the more I think about Rachel. I keep thinking I’ve lost her—that I pushed her away.

Maybe I’m the reason she’s ignoring my calls. I am frustrated as the thought gnaws at me. I need her, and I can’t let my pride get in the way.

I wait a bit before trying to call once more. I open my laptop. A new email is waiting for me containing the official summons and other documentation from the disciplinary committee.

I sigh deeply and start going through the papers for my upcoming meeting. The hours pass, and the anxiety in my chest builds. Each minute feels like a lifetime, and I can’t stop feeling like I’m getting trapped. This is a situation I have no control over.

I can’t take it anymore. Finally, I shoot off a quick text to Rachel:I need to talk. It’s urgent.

Frustration boils over as I stare at the screen waiting for her response. I know she is off duty now and has her own life to manage, but right now, I need her. She’s the one who helps me—with her insight, her organizational skills, and her talent for making something out of the chaos that is my life.

I push my phone aside with a deep breath and attempt to refocus. There is no time to dwell on that. I have to get ready for this meeting. I have to gather evidence and statements to clear my name. I check my emails to see if there are any that might be used as a shield for my case.

The more I dig, the more I feel it crushing me with the weight of the situation. I don’t get how this could be. There’s got to be more to it. For months, the whispers of drug use have been circulating. I had never paid any attention to them. Vicious rumors like that are part of the price that elite professional athletes like me have to pay, and I was immune to those rumors—or so I thought.

Throughout the rest of the morning, I push, trying to keep my mind where it needs to be, but I can’t shake the tension that is always just under the skin. I’m exhausted and on edge, and I’m being eaten up by the uncertainty.

But I refuse to succumb to despair. I will prepare for this meeting, gather my evidence, and confront these accusationswith everything I have. I may feel isolated, but I’m not out of options.

Tomorrow, I’ll reach out to my lawyer and gather my team. I’ll make sure I’m ready for whatever lies ahead. I can’t let this define me. I won’t let them take away everything I’ve worked so hard for.

Hours go by, and I check my phone for a message from Rachel. Nothing. I feel a pang of disappointment, but I can’t wait for her forever.

After another long hour filled with anxiety about the upcoming meeting, I find myself staring at my phone, willing Rachel to pick up. I’ve tried calling her countless times, but each ring only deepens my frustration. I need her support, and the silence feels like a wall between us. The weight of the accusations looms heavily over me, and I can’t face them alone.

Finally, I decide that enough is enough. I need to see her. I grab my keys and head out the door, my heart racing with a mix of hope and desperation. I drive to her apartment, the streets blurring past me in a haze. What if she’s avoiding me? What if Collins’s flirtation has pushed her away? The thought gnaws at me, and I shake my head to clear it.

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