Page 92 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"What if it backfires?" I ask, panic creeping up my throat. "What if more attention just makes everything worse?"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens. But right now, Harrison's controlling the narrative, and his narrative is complete bullshit. Time to tell the truth."
After he hangs up, Dax and I sit in silence for a moment, the weight of what's happening settling over us like a lead blanket soaked in poison.
"You know what the worst fucking part is?" I say finally.
"Tell me."
"Somewhere out there, people are reading this and thinking, 'Of course the female psychologist manipulated the rich athlete. Of course she targeted him for his money. Women like that always do.'" My voice cracks despite my best efforts. "All my degrees, all my professional accomplishments, all the players I've helped—none of that shit matters. I'm just another scheming bitch who fucked her way to the top."
Dax turns to face me, his storm-gray eyes blazing with protective fury that could melt steel. "Anyone who thinks that doesn't know you. Anyone who believes Harrison's bullshit over your actual track record is a fucking idiot not worth considering."
"But what about the people who do matter? Future employers, professional colleagues, other teams who might think twice about hiring the 'manipulative psychologist' from Chicago?"
"We’ll see the truth when this settles. They'll see your results, your integrity, your character. And if they don't, then fuck them. We'll build something better somewhere else."
"You keep saying 'we,'" I observe, something warm and desperate unfurling in my chest despite the chaos.
"Because it's we. It's always been we, from the moment you married my drunk ass in Vegas." He reaches for my hands, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. "This doesn't change anything between us, Tessa. If anything, it proves we're stronger together than apart."
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number, and I almost ignore it until I read the preview:
Dr. Bennett, this is Rebecca Whitmore from Harmony Publishing...
I open the full message:
We'd like to discuss a potential book opportunity about relationship equity in professional sports. Would you and Mr. Kingston be interested in co-authoring? Significant advance, national platform, chance to control your narrative. Please call when convenient.
I show Dax the message, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
"Well," he says slowly. "That's fucking unexpected."
"Think it's legitimate?"
"One way to find out." He looks at me seriously. "The question is—do we want to extend this media circus, or do we want it to end?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean a book deal means more interviews, more public appearances, more people dissecting our relationship with a microscope. But it also means we control the narrative instead of letting assholes like Harrison write our story for us."
I stare at the message, my mind racing faster than Dax on a breakaway. "A book about relationship equity in professional sports..."
"Could help other people going through similar situations," Dax finishes. "Could change policies, challenge assumptions, make a real fucking difference instead of just surviving this shitstorm."
"Or it could make us poster children for workplace romance scandals forever. The cautionary tale parents tell their daughters about what happens when you mix business with pleasure."
"Maybe. But maybe that's not the worst thing in the world, if we can use it to help people. Show them it's possible to be professional and human at the same time."
Before I can respond, both our phones start buzzing again—more calls, more texts, more reporters wanting our story. The circus is just getting started, and we have a choice to make: hide until it passes, or step into the spotlight and fight for the narrative we want to tell.
"Fuck it," I say, standing up and smoothing down my shirt. "Let's go remind everyone exactly who we are."
"Together?"
"Always together. Even if it means burning down the entire sports media establishment in the process."
"Especially if it means that," Dax grins, and for the first time since this nightmare started, I believe we might actually survive it.
