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He still looks a little torn but ultimately decides not to risk it and steps to the left. I’m in a hurry and have no seconds to waste, but…my conscience is so obnoxiously loud. So I pause and smile up at him. “But you’re doing a fine job keeping everyone out. Next time I throw a party and need a bouncer you better believe I’ll be calling you!”
And then I walk through the door of the media room and my panic swells to a new height. It’s a packed room full of reporters with cameras and recorders pointed in the air. The constant soft clicks of pictures being snapped fills the air, and they’re all aimed at Derek Pender. He’s on the stage already, standing behind the lectern with a mic in front of his face. Behind him is a backdrop with the Los Angeles Sharks logo.
His hair is still a little damp on the ends, peeking out from underthe hat he’s wearing. The stern set of his face has my thighs clenching because I love this look on him. His all-business face. I also love the new black team hoodie he’s wearing right now. I might have to abduct it tonight.
Right. Not here to jump Derek, steal his hoodie, and then climb him like a tree. I need to get his attention before someone can ask him about the article.
“Excuse me,” I whisper frantically, pushing past a man hovering in the aisle. Jeez, it’s congested in here. So much liberally applied cologne and perfume that I’m nearly choking. I try to catch Derek’s eye as I move slowly toward the front of the room, but he hasn’t seen me yet.
My shoulders tense as a hand goes up from a man in the front row and Derek calls on him. “Congrats on playing an incredible game today, Derek. How did your ankle feel while you were out there?”
An easy one.
I sigh with a little relief as I continue moving around the perimeter of the room to get to the front without drawing too much attention to myself.
“Thank you. I felt better than ever. No problems at all from my ankle.”
Another reporter speaks up. “We’ve seen other athletes sustain similar injuries and not come back half as strong as you played today. What do you attribute the success of your recovery to?”
“Yeah—Iowe it all to my trainers. They worked just as hard as I did to get my ankle back in good shape.” The agent in me swells with pride at his answer. And the part of me that’s in love with that man is even more proud knowing that the gratitude he showed for his trainers and the people he works with isn’t just for show. He meansit.
Derek calls on another reporter and something about the way theman’s shoulders straighten before he rises from his seat—which is completely unnecessary in here—has me catapulting myself toward the stage. But I don’t make it in time.
The man’s low voice booms through the room. “Derek, are you aware that an article was published just after the game stating that your and Nora Mackenzie’s relationship is a fraud?” I freeze in place as blood roars in my ears. The clicks and flashes of cameras are as frenzied as a lightning storm. I’m going to faint. Everything I’ve worked for—everything I’ve accomplished—is going to go up in flames from this article. And I doubt Derek will take a hit from it—but if he does, I’m not sure how I’ll live with myself.
But Derek, bless him, is stone-faced. He betrays no hints of emotions or surprise at the question, showing only his years of experience in media training by not letting his eyebrows so much as twitch. But his eyes move swiftly over the room, hunting for me. And like he can sense me in here somewhere, his eyes slide straight past everyone else and land on me.
The moment our gazes lock, I feel his tenderness like a tangible caress. It’s him briefly taking a time-out from this circus and acknowledging the turmoil I’m swimming in. It’s a language only we can read, though—no one else realizing the silent conversation taking place between us.
When Derek doesn’t answer immediately, the reporter continues with a smug grin like he knows he’s just gotten the scoop on the story of the week. “The source reports that the elopement was due to a night of heavy drinking, and that Nora Mackenzie only used you and your status to launch her career. Do you have a comment?”
I want to shout across the media room that I would never use him. That I love him more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my life. But like in my recurring nightmare, I’m frozen and silent. Probablyfor the best since my comment or sudden appearance would only make it worse. Because as it stands, they’ve phrased the question in a way that doesn’t hurt Derek—only me. And I can live with that.
I hate to admit it, but in this moment, I have no idea how to fix this. If he doesn’t comment, we look guilty. If he does comment, there’s a possibility it will come out all wrong and blow the entire thing up into a bigger deal than it is. Which is exactly what the media would love. He needs to tread very carefully and I’m just holding my breath that he’ll know how.
Derek’s eyes settle on me again and even though I’m a swirl of terror, he looks utterly calm and confident. And then he flashes me a subtle grin. Of course my skin curls with anticipation before he turns his eyes back to the reporter and leans toward the mics. “Listen up, because I’m only going to acknowledge this once.”
I clutch my hands to my stomach as it bottoms out. The room goes utterly silent except for the sounds of cameras snapping pictures. Recorders are raised in the air all over the room to catch each and every word that comes out of his handsome mouth. “First, her name is Nora Mackenzie Pender now, but don’t be mistaken. She might share my name, but she owes her success to no one but herself. My role in her life has nothing to do with how hard she’s worked for years and years to get where she is now. And I swear to god, anyone else who dares question my wife’s integrity or work ethic is going to have to deal with me, but more terrifyingly, you’re going to have to deal with her. Don’t be fooled, she can be ruthless as hell.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t blink. Can’t look away from the blazing fury in Derek’s eyes. I watch as they shift to me once more and then I see it—the wink.
Oh, Derek. What are you about to do?
He leans forward slowly; he’s holding a winning hand of cards and he knows it. “And now…” he says in a stern, no-nonsenserumble. “We can continue talking about that joke of an article supplied by some desperate source…or…we can discuss how I’m officially retiring from the NFL.”
I clutch the back of the nearest chair. Voices rise. The energy of the room uncaps and now everyone is practically falling all over one another to get Derek to notice their raised hands and shouts of questions. Cameras are flashing like fireworks. And Derek—the smug devil just stands there and lets it erupt around him with a quiet grin on his face.
Shit.
Nora left during the press conference directly after I announced my retirement. We had locked eyes and I hoped she saw what I was trying to tell her—It’s okay. I want this.But judging by the way she bolted, I don’t think she picked up on that memo.
I couldn’t follow her out because I had to finish answering questions that I really didn’t have answers for. And now, finally finished with the seemingly endless interviews and trying to avoid any team executives or our coach, who will absolutely cuss me out for announcing the news before telling anyone else, I step into the locker room to grab my phone. Except I find the guys waiting for me. Arms crossed. Scowls tight. They had no idea I was planning to do this, because I had no idea I was going to do it.
Before they say anything, I lift my hands, palms up. “I don’t regretit.”
“Were you planning it?” Nathan asks, voice cooler than I’ve ever heard it.
“Yes and no. I realized I wanted it after the game. And then itseemed like the perfect time to announce it to pull attention away from that bullshit article.” Their shoulders slacken a little.
