Page 50 of Fractured Faceoff

The air between us crackled with tension, and I could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. Just as I was about to respond, there was a knock on the door.

I jumped, the spell between us breaking. "Right," I said more to myself than him. "I have a session."

"When do you want to go to HR?" he asked, not missing a beat.

"Can we do it at lunch?" I asked, grateful for the interruption. I moved towards the door without looking at him.

"Sure," he said, his tone light but his eyes still intense. "See you then, sugar."

I opened the door and came face-to-face with Weston Cole. His imposing figure filled the doorway, and his expression hardened as he noticed Jared.

Jared and Weston exchanged a look that spoke volumes without saying a word—pure animosity crackled between them like static electricity.

With one last glance at me, Jared turned and walked away, leaving me feeling like I could finally breathe again.

Weston stepped inside, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. His gaze shifted from the now-closed door back to me, assessing.

“Ms. Sawyer,” he greeted, his voice neutral but his eyes probing.

“Weston,” I replied, trying to steady myself after the whirlwind that was Jared Crowder.

As Weston settled into a chair across from me, I felt a strange mix of relief and tension. With Jared gone and my session about to start, it was time to focus on what mattered: helping these players be the best they could be.

Not thinking about a kiss with Jared Crowder.

Chapter 14

Jared

While I waited for lunch, I decided to tidy up my place to kill time in hopes that Isla would eventually agree to move in with me. I leaned against the kitchen counter, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The sun dipped high, casting a warm glow through the large windows of my townhouse. I glanced around at the sparse décor. A few framed photos of my old teammates and a couple of awards cluttered the walls, but it felt more like a bachelor pad than a home.

Isla still hadn't agreed to move in with me. Yet. But I knew I'd convince her. I thought about what I could do to make this place feel welcoming for her.

I wandered into the living room, taking in the leather couch that had seen better days and the coffee table littered with old magazines and empty takeout containers. I could picture Isla sinking into that couch, her brows furrowing as she scrolled through her phone, but right now it looked more like a pit stop for an overworked athlete than a refuge.

I grabbed a couple of magazines and tossed them into the recycling bin, then wiped down the coffee table with arag I found under the sink. A fresh start meant clearing out some of this mess.

What else? Flowers might help. I had seen some vibrant sunflowers at that florist. They’d brighten up any room and add a bit of life to this dull space.

Next came blankets—soft ones. Isla needed comfort after everything she’d been through with Brody. I tossed one across the back of the couch and another over my armchair.

Sinking into that chair, I glanced around again and noticed how empty it still felt despite my efforts. This place wasn’t just about physical warmth; it needed a soul—something that said welcome.

So, if anyone came over, they'd be convinced.

I blew out a breath, shaking off the mess of my morning as I headed back to the Snake Pit. The midday sun hung high, brightening the concrete parking lot outside.

I strolled down the familiar corridor and reached Isla's office. AI knocked on her office door, could hear her type away furiously on her poor keyboard.

"Come in," she called, her voice muffled by the wood.

I stepped inside. She sat hunched over her laptop, fingers flying across the keys. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Frustration rolled off her in waves.

"You okay, sugar?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She glanced up, dark circles framing her eyes like bruises. "Just peachy," she muttered, rolling her chair back with a squeak. "Brody forgot to pay the water bill again. Because my name is on the bill, they keep reaching out to me, insisting I'm the responsible party."

I frowned, pushing away from the door. "You sound… hungry."

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