Page 81 of Anatomy of a Player

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Did someone hurt you? Because just give me a name and I’ll make sure they regret it.”

She gave a mirthless laugh that transformed into a sob.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I took one giant step forward and wrapped her in a hug, but she shoved me away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Baby, what happened?”

She clenched her jaw. “You don’t get to call me ‘baby’ anymore. It’s as worthless as ‘sweetheart.’”

“That’s not true. Look, I know I didn’t handle our talk earlier today very well—in fact, I handled it all wrong. I told you that I’d try, but I’d never settle for that try bullshit in hockey. I came to tell you that I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll give it 110 percent.” This was it. I ramped up for those three words, wanting to put everything I was feeling into them.

“You don’t have to keep spouting off lines. You already won your bet.”

Everything inside me turned to ice. The word “bet” settled deeper, sending a crack through my frozen insides. “Look, I don’t know who told you about that, but you need to know—”

“No,youlook.” She jabbed her finger hard into my chest. “I felt so guilty for weeks, and the only thing I was guilty of was doing my job. But you…I was so stupidly wrapped up in your act that I almost dropped a huge story. I even turned back to warn you about what the paper was going to print because of information I’d dug up, which was when I got to hear all about how no one thought you could sleep with the uptight reporter.” She sniffed and dragged the back of her finger under nose. “But you knew exactly what to say to charm me, didn’t you? You put in just enough time to make me feel like you cared, and you won your stupid bet.”

The tear that rolled down her cheek made me hate myself.

“But you know what? It’s all good. Now I don’t have to feel bad about everything that’s going to come out in my article. I don’t have to feel bad that I saw that note on your fridge with the information for the guy who provides tests for money—oh, and everyone who bought the tests is going to go down. I’m going to shine a big old spotlight on the hockey team and everything they think they deserve just because they had one winning season, from grades they don’t earn to breaking girls’ hearts for entertainment.”

At the painful scrape in her voice, my self-loathing intensified, coating me from the inside out. “Yes, I made a stupid bet, and that makes me an asshole—I won’t deny that. But that was before I knew you, and the reason I made it in the first place was because I wanted to get to know you.”

“Oh, is this the part where I’m supposed to be flattered? Where I drop my story and my panties?”

“I spilled my guts to you,” I said. “I’ve told you things I’ve never even told Dane.”

“Yeah, guess you should’ve said ‘off the record’ from the beginning. Next time you play a reporter, you’ll know.” She started to turn, and I reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her back to me.

“I don’t give a fuck about the story. Write whatever you need to. Just tell me how to fix this.” My breaths came on top of each other, but I couldn’t get any oxygen to my lungs, and I felt dizzy from the lack of it. Everything I wanted was slipping through my fingers, and it only made me realize what I was losing.

I had one move left. Reveal the truth and see if it had a shot at repairing the damage—see if love was as magical as all the poems, stories, and songs claimed. “Whitney, I love you.”

She jerked her hand free and slapped me, the sharp noise echoing through the night. Tears shone in her eyes. “How dare you! Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

She shook her head and then darted into her apartment, slamming the door behind her. I heard the deadbolt slide home and all those cracks that had formed earlier spread, until everything inside me crumbled apart.

Every ounce of air drained from my lungs, spilling out of my mouth in a white puff of air, there one moment and gone the next. I’d done enough all right. Whitney was one of the few good things that’d come into my life, and I’d lost her.

Even worse, I deserved to.

Chapter Forty-Five

Whitney

I moved my neck from side to side, wincing at the crack. I’d been at the newspaper office every spare second, from after my classes until the rest of the campus had turned into a ghost town.

I brought up my article for one last read-through. The plan had been to put it in Monday’s edition, but admittedly I hadn’t been in the best place on Sunday. Or Monday. Or even Tuesday.

Today was Wednesday, and honestly, my heart still bled agony every time I thought about Hudson Decker. AKA, all the time, considering I was writing an article involving the hockey team he happened to belong to.

There was a good possibility I wouldn’t ever be okay again, but I tried not to think about it, because talk about downright depressing.

I reached the bottom of the article I could practically recite from memory and pushed my fingers to my forehead, rubbing my thumbs over my throbbing temples. Was it too harsh? Had I used journalistic integrity?

Debatable.

I closed my eyes and released a long breath. After my confrontation with Hudson, I’d gone into the apartment and crumpled against the door. The second my butt hit the floor, I gave into the tears that I’d forced myself to hold back while talking to him.

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