Addison.
I need to find her. I need to make sure she’s okay.
I don’t want to be in this room, surrounded by the lads all hyped about this impending media circus, when I’m only worried about her.
Stan notices my silence, and his voice breaks through my thoughts. “Thoughts, Bradshaw? I thought you’d be ranting and raving by now.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, though it’s not at all convincing. I just want to get out of here.
As soon as the team is dismissed, I leave the room quickly. My legs move before my brain catches up, and I find myself racing down the hallway toward the stairs. I don’t bother with the lift. It would only slow me down. I need to see her.
When I reach her office, I don’t knock. I just push the door open.
She’s sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest. Her face is buried in her hands, and I can tell she’s been crying. There’s a sound coming from her. It’s not a sob, but just the sound of quiet, broken exhaustion.
It’s not something I ever expected to see from her. Calm, collected Addison, always composed, always professional. I notice she even wore her hair down today, the first time she’s ever done that at work.
Everything around me blurs. I can’t even think. All I see is her, looking so small in this moment. An ocean between them, and he still managed to make her feel small. I’ve never wanted to protect anyone more than I do right now.
“Addison,” I say, stepping forward and shutting the door behind me.
She doesn’t even move. It’s like she’s so deep into this she can’t even hear the world around her. Her shoulders shake slightly, and I can hear her soft, ragged breaths. My chest aches at the sight. I hate that she’s here, alone, breaking down, when she deserves so much more than this.
Without even a pause to think, I drop to the floor beside her.
“Addison,” I say again, and she finally looks at me. She looks so tired, so defeated. I remember the way she smiled yesterday, so free and full, and I hate him even more for taking that away from her—and from me.
“Oliver,” she says, her voice cracking. There’s something almost embarrassed in it, like she’s not used to anyone seeing her like this.
But I don’t care. I don’t care about professional boundaries. I pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her. She doesn’t pull away. She just lets herself sink into me and rests her head on my chest.
“You’re here.” She says that with a tone of surprise, like she’s not used to someone being there to catch her.
“You needed me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
I don’t say anything for a while. I just hold her, hoping the steady pressure of my arms around her will be of comfort. She doesn’t need words. She just needs to feel safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she knows she is.
“Thank you,” she finally whispers.
My hand gently brushes through her hair, letting myself savor this moment of quiet connection. Eventually, I feel her body relax against mine. Her breathing evens out, but I don’t move. I stay there, holding her, letting her take all the time she needs. It’s intimate in a way I didn’t expect, but I can’t seem to tell myself to let go.
13
defending the box
BULLET FOR YOUR LOVE BY SAM PALLADIO
It’s been a week, and I know exactly what day today is. I can feel it in my jaw—the way my teeth grind against each other the moment I step out of my car at the training ground. The sun is out, and the lads are filtering into the building, chatting and messing about, but all I can think about ishim.
Matt fucking Whitlock.
His name alone makes my blood boil. I’ve never even met the prick, and I want to put him through a brick wall. Several walls, actually.
Because I know what he did to her.
And the thought of him strolling in here, shaking hands, pretending like he’s not a fucking bellend? That has me ready to throw the first punch before he even says hello.
When I step into the lobby, Addison is strolling around, watching the media team as they film pre-match day promo. She’s in work mode—polished and unreadable. But I know her now, even if it’s just a little. I see the way her arms are crossed over her body, like she’s caging herself in. I know how hard she’s working to keep those walls built up high today.
