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“There isn’t a single person out there who believes our narrative now, and it’s put this organization in quite the predicament. Every main sports page has posted about this situation, and it has spread like a wildfire. The fans aren’t happy. Both ours and yours.”
“If their proof is proven false, you’re really telling me it doesn’t change anything? It’s not our fault someone went to such extremes to ruin all of us. Not just me,” I grit out.
His eyes blaze. “While it might not be your fault that someone went to those lengths, it is your fault that we had to build this story in the first place. You and that deadbeat brother of yours were the cause of this mess. I only did what I could to fix your mess.”
Silence. Edgy, tense silence. And then, “What did you call my son?”
One look at my father’s face has me standing and moving in front of him, blocking his view of Alex. “Dad,” I mutter in warning.
“For fuck’s sake, Oakley. Noah was the cause of all of this, and you still won’t do anything about him. I may be your friend, but I won’t hold my tongue when it comes to that boy,” Alex growls, clearly not caring that Dad is about to send him through a goddamn wall.
Even as my head fills with questions as to why Alex even cares about Noah or my family at all for that matter right now, I stay where I am, refusing to let my dad join this fight.
“Noah isn’t a part of this right now. This is about me and my own mistakes. I’m not denying that I fucked up. But this right here? This isn’t my fault. So, tell me what you need me to do to fix it,” I say.
He pins me with a withering glare. “You’re noble, Maddox. You always have been. I’ll give you that.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you want to point the finger away from your brother, it should be on the woman behind you. We all know that for the most part, you were a victim of circumstance.”
“A victim of circumstance?” I sputter. “The woman has a name, and she isn’t the cause of this. You’re the one who brought Braxton into this. You could have left her be, but you wanted to throw shit in Roy Heights’ face, and she was the easiest way for you to do it.”
His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he sniffs. “You asked what your choices were going forward. And now I’m telling you, it’s her or us. Either put the blame on her publicly for this entire thing, or you’re done here. Keep in mind that at the end of the day, we also have a broken NDA on our hands.”
“Are you blackmailing him? Fuck, Alex. We’re not going down this NDA route. You know that’s a far-fetched plan if we can find evidence that she didn’t break it, which I’m positive we will the minute we start ripping her car apart,” Dougie cuts in.
Alex laughs, but it’s bitter. “If Maddox wants a contract with the Warriors next season, he’s going to do exactly as I ask. There’s no other way to fix this for us. The Warriors organization comes first here, not the feelings of a woman or a player who’s lucky to still even be here in the first place.”
“You’ve been dragging your feet on this contract for months. I want to know the truth before we even continue this conversation,” Dad says.
“I want more than the truth. I want a contract in front of me right the fuck now,” Dougie adds.
I rear back. “Are you kidding me? I don’t need to see a contract because I’m not going to say shit about Braxton. I’m not going there.”
“What would he need to say?” Braxton asks, and four sets of eyes fly toward her. She doesn’t shrink under the pressure of it all, and I want to shout how proud I am of her while also shaking some sense into her.
Alex sidesteps me and focuses on her. “He needs to say that this was real for him, but you were playing him the entire time. Everyone needs to think that you were simply playing a hand for your father. You lied to Rose Carpenter about the fake dating arrangement to make Maddox look bad. Like father, like daughter.”
“You want me to be your scapegoat,” she says.
He nods. “Exactly.”
“Braxton,” Dad mutters, shaking his head at her. “Let us take care of this.”
My girl gives him a soft smile before slipping her eyes over me—an apology glistening in the deep blue—and finding Alex again.
“And if he does this, he’ll still be a Warrior next season?”
“I don’t need a contract from you, Alex. You know damn fucking well that I don’t need you anymore. I’m not doing this,” I interrupt, taking a step forward only to have Dad hold me back this time, a hand clamped around my wrist.
Alex ignores me and walks to his desk, grabbing a thin stack of paper and bringing it to Dougie.
“Yes. If he does this, he’ll be a Warrior for the next eight years. I’ve already had the GM draw up the contract. Eight seasons, twelve million dollars a year.”
Braxton gasps at the high number, and I stiffen further, my muscles burning.
“So, I’ll have a contract, a fat bank account, and be miserable every single day because of what it ended up costing me? No, thanks. I’ll take my chances at free agency,” I say, spinning to face Braxton. Her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed. “We’re leaving.”
