And it can’t end.
We just got started.
But as that thought comes to mind, so does another, more bitter one.
AmI using her?
If something like this had come out over the summer, I wouldhave been fucking elated. An article with my name, finally untethered from my suspension. The USFA committee’s gonna see this, think their problem child’s reformed. My DMs are already flooded. They think I’m back in form, back in play. America’s sweetheart’s new arm candy.
What better redemption story?
And yeah, there’s some perverse satisfaction in seeing my name beside Reese Sinclair’s instead of Jaxon’s—or anyone else’s, for that fucking matter.
I thought I knew what I wanted, but this victory feels like a hollow point.
I stare at the article. The photo of us is grainy, imperfect, but Reese’s smile is genuine. God, when she pulled her Reese Sinclair charm.Fuck. The same magic that had teenage me drilling lunges in front of her poster. Up close, she’s nuclear. The calculated batting of her lashes, that practiced smile. She couldhave whispered anything, and I’d have followed her into the Pacific.
Yeah, I want her.
But it’s deeper than flesh.
With her, the titles fall away. Not Olympic champion Hastings. Not the redemption-seeking hothead. Not the heir to generations of expectations.
Just Dante, stripped bare.
I can’t let her find out.
Reese’s sceneis shooting in an open clearing about a ten-minute walk from our cabins. They’ve upped security, got all these big fuckers standing around camp. Another consequence of my actions.
I have to talk to her, see if she knows it was me who invaded her privacy.
I’m such an idiot. Guilt sinks deeper into my chest.
When I reach the set, Robyn and Merrick are trekking through the open field, searching for women to join their makeshift army against the king. Reese is focused on her lines, giving no indication that she’s mad.
I pull out my notebook and try to give myself a reason to be there other than spiraling.
Frantic for a distraction, I crouch and scribble onto the page,Marcus—reshoot bandage scene, weapon placement. The notes are real. A real enough excuse to come see her.
“Cut!” Felix shouts. “Sound’s fucked. Take ten. This goddamn cash grab,” he snarls at the techs. “Should’ve shot in Malta. Real action, real story—” He storms off.
Reese’s head tilts to the side as she sees me. She waves at Elizabeth and walks toward me.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be shooting at the jailhouse set?”
I should tell her. Susan’s name sits like ash on my tongue, but Reese looks at me like everything is normal. Like I didn’t screw this up before it began.
Interesting.
“It’s in an hour,” I say, handing her my notebook. “Looks like Felix is a real peach today.”
“He’s refusing to reshoot this scene with my notes,” she huffs. “Says we don’t have time, but somehow he can account for an hour of me in slo-mo shots. I’m going to lose my nerve.”
“I can’t figure out why he agreed to do this movie.”
“He loves female empowerment,duh,” she says dramatically. “And the big fat director’s fee from the studio. But there’s only two more months of this.” She sighs before glancing down at my notebook in her hand. “What do you have here?”
“Notes on your scene. You know, for your choreography.”
