“I’ll alert our PR department. We need to be prepared to issue a statement.”
“I have to go,” I mutter. “I won’t be here for practice today.”
“Penn—” he starts, sounding concerned, but I’m already walking away.
No, storming away, deliberate and with fury boiling over… burning my blood.
It’s out there now. Mila put it out there and the fucking spotlight is now shining bright.
It doesn’t matter that she didn’t name me. Callum’s right—someone will put it together. Hell, fucking North figured it out easy enough and King knows the full truth.
Any good reporter with half a brain will find the old court records, cross-reference rosters, timeline the witness statements. And even if they don’t, it won’t take long for someone who was there—any of the Wraiths—to piece it together and send the whole thing spiraling.
By the time I shove open the door to the players’ garage, I’m vibrating with a need to strike out at Mila.
She’s got to answer for this, then she can pack her bags and get the fuck out of my house.
CHAPTER 11
Mila
The house istoo quiet and it’s fraying my nerves. I tried to listen to music, but that was too loud, and it grated my nerves as well.
I’ve been pacing the length of the kitchen for the last twenty minutes, my coffee long cold, my phone a permanent fixture in my hand. Every few seconds, I refresh the news sites to see who else has picked up the story.
It’s been live for hours and is spreading like wildfire.
The reactions are coming in fast. My phone buzzes constantly, lighting up with texts, DMs and email alerts like it’s being electrocuted. I scroll, thumbing through them with a mix of dread and detachment, like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Most are reporters from other news outlets wanting an interview. Major network news shows wanting to get me on air and even some willing to pay for an exclusive. It’s revolting and I’ve deleted every single one of them.
I talked to Jillian late last night after I got home from the game, rushing upstairs after declining Penn’s odd request to join him for a beer. In any other circumstance, I would have accepted, eager to forge a stronger connection with an old friend turned ally, but I was too fearful of the shitstorm that would be hitting today.
Jillian wasn’t apologetic about running the story nor did I expect her to be. She did exactly what I asked her to do… and that was rush it to press. She was sympathetic even though she didn’t understand that I was now trying to protect Penn from theharsh spotlight. I never gave her my co-witness’s name and she never pressed. The conversation ended and left me feeling more miserable than I already did.
Some messages are kind, but they are few and far between. One is from Aunt Dorene, short but heartfelt.Proud of you, Mila-bug. That couldn’t have been easy to do. Call me when you can. Love you.
The warmth of her words hits me harder than I expect, and I have to press my lips together to keep from crying. I clutch the phone to my chest for a second, relishing the only piece of comfort I’ve felt all morning.
But the kindness is drowned out by the rest.
A message from an unknown number rolled in seconds after Dorene’s.You think this makes you safe? It won’t stop what’s coming. We haven’t forgotten what you did. You’ll pay for it.
My fingers tremble as I reread the threat, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I’m scared witless and can’t help but read the second one that came in, from the same number.Slut. Liar. Bitch. Hope it was worth ruining your brother’s life.
The news article was supposed to make me safe. With this all out in the open, no one would dare come after me. These text messages from my tormentor are nothing more than words. There’s no way he can act upon them, not without getting labeled as a prime suspect. They have to know that, right?
My phone dings and it startles me so badly, I almost drop it. I bobble, turn it over and my heart leaps with joy when I see the wordMom. After all these years, I still have her programmed in my contacts and if there’s ever someone who needs their mom on their side in this moment, it’s me.
But then my eyes really focus on the message and a feeling of dark emptiness courses through me. Her message is short and damning. Just a single sentence in a gray bubble, and somehow, it lands the hardest.You’re a disgrace to this family.
I stare at it, the words blurring before my eyes. There’s no “How are you.” No concern. No attempt to understand. Just condemnation. Rejection.
Like always.
My thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to delete it, but I don’t. Not because I want to see it again—but because I need the reminder. I have no one to count on other than Penn and Dorene, and I’m sure that will only be Dorene once Penn finds out about the article.
I remind myself I did the right thing all those years ago. And I’ve done what’s best for me now. My choices have been solid, both before and today. But even as I try to convince myself of that, I have to acknowledge that I’m standing here alone because of those choices.
