Page 42 of Trapped and Tackled

Knew that I was lusting for one of my dad’s players.

Knew how fucking scared and confused I feel most moments of most days.

I’m not a role model for young women. I’m not a woman who has her shit together—despite the credibility I’ve gained by living in New York City. I’m not marriage material. Or girl boss vibes.

I’m floundering. Making one mistake after another and harboring so many damn regrets, I’m drowning in them.

Faltering spectacularly. Incapable of answering a damn text message. Of putting Craig in his place. Unable to press charges the way I know I should.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

I’m a fraud. A fake. A fucking joke.

And I can’t take it anymore.

Jumping up from my chair, I gather my belongings.

“Leni?” Sarah asks.

“I’m so sorry,” I stutter, my hand wrapping around the base of my throat.

Nausea churns in my stomach.

“I suddenly don’t feel well,” I admit, relieved I don’t have to add “liar” to my list of faults. Right now, I feel terrible.

Like I’m coming apart at the seams.

“Oh, no. Take care of yourself.” Marylee’s eyebrows pinch together. At the concern in her gaze, I know I must look ill. “John?” she calls out to a member of the club’s staff. “Can you retrieve Ms. Strauss’s car?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.” John scrambles toward the exit.

Anna Louise packs up my binder. She passes it to me with an understanding, compassionate squeeze to my forearm.

And their understanding—their care—makes me feel worse. I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve this position on the organizing committee when I’m sure there was a list of more qualified candidates.

I don’t deserve anything.

Certainly not Talon.

I shouldn’t have kissed you.

I mutter my thanks and wave away the extra sets of supportive hands as I make my way to the main entrance. I’m so relieved to see my car, I almost hug John.

I dump my belongings in the passenger seat, slide behind the wheel, and point my car toward home.

But I only make it two streets before I pull to the shoulder of the road. Sobs wrack through my body and the dam finally breaks.

I crack and I cry.

My chest heaves and my shoulders shake. Dropping my forehead to the steering wheel, I clutch it with both hands. Everything I’ve held on to for months comes pouring out of me in a deluge of tears, snotty sighs, and then, hysterical hiccups.

Anger and pain.

Betrayal and hurt.

Frustration and confusion.

Uncertainty over the future.

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