Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The bartender rolls her eyes, stomping away from me.
Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes closed, inhaling the pungent scent of the alcohol. I'm not wrong. She does deserve better. I destroyed her life. I destroyed us. And while I was pretending my goddamn life was so bad because I didn't have her, hers was literally hell. She went through it alone. She survived it alone. I did that to her. She was in that car because of me. She died because of me. She suffered because of me. And then she had to pull herself out by herself because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to fight for her the way she deserved.
I fucking broke her. I broke us.
And she's still trying to protect me from the fallout.
"Fuck," I mutter, slamming the full glass back down on the bar.
I can't do this. I made a promise. It still means something. Hell, it means everything. I may not deserve her. But she deserves the world.
I yank my wallet out, tossing several bills on the counter before I turn and storm out, reaching for my phone. By the time I hit the front door, Emelia's already on the line.
"I need help," I rasp, my fucking hands shaking. "Christ, Emelia. You have to help me fix this."
"You heard," she says softly.
I choke out a groan, stumbling down the sidewalk.
"What can I do, Teo? Talk to me."
"Bury that fucking story."
"I'm trying, but I don't know if I can make this one go away."
"You can if you give them something bigger."
"Like what?"
"Me," I say simply, not even hesitating to make my choice. I've always known what I wanted, and it isn't this. It isn't breaking her again, breaking us. It's not six more years of pain and shame, and fucking regret. It's her. Christ, it'll always be her. Choosing her now, when she needs me just as much as she did back then, isn't a sacrifice. It's a fucking privilege.
They can have my career. They can have my reputation. They can take whatever they want. But they can't take her. This time, I'm making different choices—the right ones.
Chapter Thirteen
Nadia
It's nearly midnight when I call Teo for the third time, worried that he hasn't called me yet. When he texted me hours ago, he said he was going to the hotel and then calling. I haven't heard from him since. Not even a text.
His phone goes straight to voicemail this time, and my stomach churns.
Something is wrong. I feel it in my bones.
I send him a text.
Me: Hey. Just checking on you. I hope you made it back to the hotel safely and just fell asleep or something. I love you.
I perch on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hands, hoping he texts back, but he doesn't. The message says delivered, but it never swaps to read.
Maybe he is asleep by now. It's late in New York. Really freaking late. But the knot in the pit of my stomach tells me I'm banking on false hope. Something happened. Teo wouldn't just forget to call me. He wouldn't just turn his phone off and not tell me that he was going to sleep.
We may still be getting to know the grown-up versions of each other, but he hasn't changed that much. In every way that matters, he's exactly the same Teo he's always been, especially when it comes to me.
My phone rings in my hands, startling me. I fumble it, nearly dropping it to the floor before I finally manage to get it to my ear.
"Teo? Are you okay?" I ask, unable to hide the worry in my voice.
"Hey, hon," Olive says, sending disappointment crashing through me.
"Oh. Hey."
"Do you have a minute? We need to talk."
"What's going on?" I grip the phone so tightly my knuckles ache.
"A reporter dug up your past faster than I anticipated," she murmurs, her voice soft. "He was waiting outside the stadium for Teo tonight to try to get confirmation."
"No," I whisper, anxiety clawing through me. No. God, no. He wasn't supposed to find out like this. I was supposed to tell him. "I-is he okay?"
"I'm not sure," she says. "He walked off, hon. No one has seen him since. I spoke with his publicist. His teammates are out trying to find him."
A sob threatens to choke me. I fight it back, trying desperately to hold it together. This is my fault. God, this is all my fault. I was such a coward, scared to tell him the truth, afraid to hurt him, worried about dragging up more of the past. And now, he's hurting anyway. He probably hates me. Worse, he probably hates himself.
He shouldn't. It was never his fault that I needed help. Being run off the road did that. Almost dying in the resulting accident did that. Waking up in a hospital with tubes and wires running all over me did that. Feeling like I had no control did that. Not Teo.