Page 82 of Fumbled Love

“No, I’ve been too busy packing.”

He pulled his phone out and held it out for me to grab. “Everyone is commenting all over your Twitter and Instagram.”

I took the phone and looked down at the screen. “Who the fuck leaked this?”

There was a picture of me standing on the field after I left the office yesterday on the front page of the Atlanta Chronicle. The headline read:Maverick Cross has stunned the sports world by announcing his retirement yesterday, bringing his promising career to an abrupt ending.

Julian knocked back his whiskey. “Keep reading.”

My eyes scanned the article and paused on Della’s name.

This is one of the hardest decisions of my life, and I wanted to set the record straight. Many of you know that Maverick Cross and I were in a long-term relationship until I recently discovered he got another woman pregnant. But I’m also the team’s physical therapist and want to give his fans a heads-up about a press release coming out of the Arrows organization at the end of the season.

Their statement will be vague, and to clear up any confusion, Maverick won’t be back next season, and the reason has nothing to do with his recovery. He is retiring to focus on his new relationship and their baby that is due this summer. The team owners are delaying this information from becoming public knowledge until after the Super Bowl. I know this is shocking, but his fans deserved to know the truth. It saddens me that the situation is being handled so poorly. His teammates, coaches, and owners all know about this. I feel bad for his fans because I know what it’s like to be misled. So, it looks like Maverick Cross is willing to lie to his fans just as he has lied to me.

“I’m going to kill her,” I roared.

How dare she act like she was the one hurt and betrayed? She was no fucking victim. I had plenty of regrets in my life, but Della was by far the biggest one.

“Now take a look at your Instagram.”

I opened the app to thousands of comments, posts, and tags. They were making accusations based on Della’s bullshit story. The male fans were pissed that I all but killed the Arrows chances at winning the Super Bowl next year and questioned my loyalty to the team. The female fans were even worse. There were a few crazies who were wishing harm to my unborn child. They were calling Kinley names and making Della out to be a hero.

“Get the PR team on this now!”

“Already done.”

“I’m going to destroy her.” I brought my hands to my temples to soothe my pounding headache. So many thoughts ran through my head as my brain desperately searched for a way to handle this.

“Not gonna lie, this doesn’t look good for your reputation.”

My reputation was the least of my worries. After what happened last time with the paparazzi, I was glad I put a guard on Kinley. Especially after a few admirers started messaging her vile comments, causing her to deactivate her social media accounts.

This fabrication was going to fuck up what little progress I made at restoring some degree of normalcy in our lives. Just as things started to calm down, that witch had to stir up more trouble.

I snatched my keys and wallet off the table and ran to the door. “What are you doing?” Julian called out.

I turned. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

I rushed to the elevator and banged on the button as if it would make it move faster. Once I finally made it out of the parking garage, I peeled out of there like a bat out of hell. My hands tightened along the steering wheel; my fingers strangled it in anger; it was a poor substitute for what I wanted to do to the lying, scheming bitch.

I’ve heeded a few warnings and dismissed some comments that made their way through the locker room. It was foolish of me to ignore the advice and brush off the stories because I thought and assumed it was just everyday drama. Until recently, the way she treated other people didn’t impact me, so I never paid too much attention. She didn’t start showing her true colors until Kinley entered the picture, and it’s only gotten worse.

I didn’t have the first clue about what was going on in her head, but I was done giving a fuck. When I pulled up to her townhouse, I made a decision that I was going to ruin her life. Drag her name through the mud like she did with mine. One way or another, she was finished.

I pounded my fist on the door, not bothering to ring the doorbell. Della swung the door open, looking all too smug. I shoved past her and stormed inside.

“Well, hello to you too.” She slammed the door. “Did you come to tell me how sorry you were that I lost my job?”

Spinning around, I took her in. She was in a sports bra with a pair of tight yoga pants. Her long auburn hair was up in a high ponytail, and she had sweat dripping down her neck. There was a yoga mat on the floor and a set of weights sitting next to it.

“I didn’t know you were let go, but I can’t say that I’m sorry about that news.”

That explained why she released that article.

“So, you’re not here to offer me a job then?”

“Cut the shit.” I snagged the towel off the couch and threw it to her.

---