summer before he left for Europe. When I asked him about it, he shrugged and replied that he wasn't sure about girls sometimes. I didn't know what he'd meant, and I'd never asked.
Just then, Bryce walked into the kitchen. "You gotta see something." He reached for my beer and rotated on his heel. He walked down the stairs before I could comprehend what he'd said. Or realized he'd taken my beer.
I grabbed another beer and headed after him. Grace trailed behind. I heard the television, and my stomach clenched. I already knew what I was going to see.
On the screen was an image of Bryce as he carried me out of the frat house. An anchor narrated how witnesses overheard Sheldon Jeneve, high school sweetheart to the Sun's newest striker Bryce Scout, exchange insults and assault another former high school classmate. The anchor continued to speculate as to whether the authorities would get involved, if the still unidentified victim would press charges, and if it had anything to do with the rumors that Bryce Scout had had an affair with Spanish model Guadalupe?
"I hated that bitch. You slept with her?"
"No!" Bryce cried out. He pointed at the television. "Is that all you heard? My supposed infidelity? We have worse problems, Sheldon. They caught you on tape at the house."
I shrugged. "Corrigan's not going to press charges."
"Wait—what?!" Grace exclaimed.
She was ignored.
Bryce pressed, "I don't care about that. The media have us on their radar. I don't want a repeat of what happened in Spain."
"I never asked to be stalked. And really, they should learn what it's like to have their pictures taken and their privacy violated."
Bryce threw his hands in the air. "You followed a reporter to his home and videotaped him giving oral sex to his mistress. That's over the line. You were lucky he didn't press charges."
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against one of the couches.
Grace sighed. "Oh no. I know that face."
Bryce straightened. "Sheldon, what did you do to that reporter?"
"You never asked before. Why ask now?"
"What did you do?"
I clipped out, "That girl wasn't his mistress. She was his daughter's underage friend. They've got laws over there too. I used that law, and it worked. It got him off our backs."
"You never told me any of that."
Bryce was tense, too tense. I frowned. "You didn't need to know. You didn't need to know any of it. You were there to play soccer. You played soccer. You did your job. And my job—I did my job."
"Oh God," Bryce mumbled and shook his head. "What else did you do? Do I even want to know?"
"What do you expect?" I yelled. My heart should've been pounding. It wasn't. I had a cold feeling in my gut. It was stuck there and refused to move. "What I do with my boyfriend is no one else's business. No one needs to know if I eat salad or meat at some restaurant. They shouldn't speculate if I'm sick because I'm pregnant, if that's why I skipped a championship game. It's my life. It's my privacy. Hell yeah, I'm going to do something to protect it."
Bryce looked at me like I was an alien, like I made no sense to him. And then his expression changed. I blinked at the sudden understanding on his face. His shoulders dropped, and his voice went soft. "I should've protected you better."
I shrugged. Whatever. "They were reporters. They were harmless."
Bryce moved closer. "I'm not talking about them."
What—oh.
"Stop." I moved back. I held out my arms to stop him, but I couldn't see through my tears.
"Oh." And Grace understood.
Bryce pulled me into his arms and tucked his chin into the crook of my shoulder. He whispered as he rubbed my arm in a tender motion, "I didn't want this. I won't let them hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
He meant the Marcus Donadelis out there. It was the second time he'd reassured me about him. There was something extra in Bryce's tone this time.
I felt it. I felt him. He really would do anything to stop someone.
I sighed and hugged Bryce back. My
Just then, Bryce walked into the kitchen. "You gotta see something." He reached for my beer and rotated on his heel. He walked down the stairs before I could comprehend what he'd said. Or realized he'd taken my beer.
I grabbed another beer and headed after him. Grace trailed behind. I heard the television, and my stomach clenched. I already knew what I was going to see.
On the screen was an image of Bryce as he carried me out of the frat house. An anchor narrated how witnesses overheard Sheldon Jeneve, high school sweetheart to the Sun's newest striker Bryce Scout, exchange insults and assault another former high school classmate. The anchor continued to speculate as to whether the authorities would get involved, if the still unidentified victim would press charges, and if it had anything to do with the rumors that Bryce Scout had had an affair with Spanish model Guadalupe?
"I hated that bitch. You slept with her?"
"No!" Bryce cried out. He pointed at the television. "Is that all you heard? My supposed infidelity? We have worse problems, Sheldon. They caught you on tape at the house."
I shrugged. "Corrigan's not going to press charges."
"Wait—what?!" Grace exclaimed.
She was ignored.
Bryce pressed, "I don't care about that. The media have us on their radar. I don't want a repeat of what happened in Spain."
"I never asked to be stalked. And really, they should learn what it's like to have their pictures taken and their privacy violated."
Bryce threw his hands in the air. "You followed a reporter to his home and videotaped him giving oral sex to his mistress. That's over the line. You were lucky he didn't press charges."
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against one of the couches.
Grace sighed. "Oh no. I know that face."
Bryce straightened. "Sheldon, what did you do to that reporter?"
"You never asked before. Why ask now?"
"What did you do?"
I clipped out, "That girl wasn't his mistress. She was his daughter's underage friend. They've got laws over there too. I used that law, and it worked. It got him off our backs."
"You never told me any of that."
Bryce was tense, too tense. I frowned. "You didn't need to know. You didn't need to know any of it. You were there to play soccer. You played soccer. You did your job. And my job—I did my job."
"Oh God," Bryce mumbled and shook his head. "What else did you do? Do I even want to know?"
"What do you expect?" I yelled. My heart should've been pounding. It wasn't. I had a cold feeling in my gut. It was stuck there and refused to move. "What I do with my boyfriend is no one else's business. No one needs to know if I eat salad or meat at some restaurant. They shouldn't speculate if I'm sick because I'm pregnant, if that's why I skipped a championship game. It's my life. It's my privacy. Hell yeah, I'm going to do something to protect it."
Bryce looked at me like I was an alien, like I made no sense to him. And then his expression changed. I blinked at the sudden understanding on his face. His shoulders dropped, and his voice went soft. "I should've protected you better."
I shrugged. Whatever. "They were reporters. They were harmless."
Bryce moved closer. "I'm not talking about them."
What—oh.
"Stop." I moved back. I held out my arms to stop him, but I couldn't see through my tears.
"Oh." And Grace understood.
Bryce pulled me into his arms and tucked his chin into the crook of my shoulder. He whispered as he rubbed my arm in a tender motion, "I didn't want this. I won't let them hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you again."
He meant the Marcus Donadelis out there. It was the second time he'd reassured me about him. There was something extra in Bryce's tone this time.
I felt it. I felt him. He really would do anything to stop someone.
I sighed and hugged Bryce back. My
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