Page 185 of Beautiful Collide

I know some athletes live in the building, but no one who would garner this much attention.

Hmm.

Yeah, I doubt that’s it. It’s not like some star quarterback secretly moved in and decided to hold a press conference on the sidewalk.

My best guess would be a movie, but that doesn’t make sense either. If it were someone really famous, like an actor, there would be more press than this. This looks more local.

What the hell is happening?

My chest tightens, and I step back from the window like they can see me from all the way up here.

Not that they are looking for me, but still. No one wants to be the poor idiot caught on camera as collateral damage. Like the time my neighbor left her patio door open, and a raccoon destroyed her apartment. I wouldn’t necessarily call that newsworthy, but here in Redville, it apparently was.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I snatch it up, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

“Dane, if this is about—”

“Ms. Sinclair, don’t go outside.”

I double-check the number, realizing it’s not Dane. It’s Sean, one of the guys on the Saints security team. I’ve talked to him twice. Once when Dane first came to the team and didn’t know which entrance to use. And another time when he got into a fender bender half a mile from the arena.

“Sean? What is going on?” I grip the phone tighter. Why can’t I leave? Is there a murderer on the loose? That would explain the commotion. But not why Sean, of all people, called me.

“Take a breath, Sinclair,” he reminds me, and for some reason, I listen, calming a bit. “Some reporter said something about you and Hudson—”

I freeze. “What about me and Hudson?”

“That you’re married.”

Married.

The word hits me like a slap in the face. My pulse spikes, and my hands become clammy around the phone.

I can’t breathe. This makes no sense.

Did I hear that right?

“How—how would they even know that?” I stammer.

“I’m not sure.”

“This doesn’t make sense. How do they know?” I repeat more to myself than to him.

“I don’t have any details. I just know your brother and Hudson spoke to the media team after the press conference, then asked me to secure your home. I’m out of town, but I’ll be there with a team to guard the place in two hours if you can manage until then.”

“Press conference.” The words echo in my skull. “As in the press conference I skipped because of my headache? That press conference?”

“I suppose?” Of course, he wouldn’t know. I don’t talk to him. “Local reporters are all over the story. The team hasn’t confirmed anything to them, but Hudson—”

“What did Hudson say?” I interrupt, my pulse racing.

“He didn’t deny it. The PR team shut the conference down before he could say much, but it’s too late. It’s everywhere.”

I sink onto the couch, my knees weak.Married. “It’s everywhere? As in the internet? Social media?” This is awful.

“Ms. Sinclair, are you okay?” His voice is softer now.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah,” I say, my voice hollow. “I’m fine.”

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