Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 17

LOLO'S POV

The days that follow feel like a haze, each one blending into the next, the weight of my decision pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. Every time I look at Brooks, I see the hurt in his eyes and the lingering doubt that I've somehow damaged what we had. It's like a ghost haunting me, whispering in my ear that I've made the wrong choice and that I've let my fear destroy something beautiful.

Work has become a welcome distraction, a way to keep my mind off the gnawing ache in my chest. But even here, I can't escape the whispers, the sideways glances, and the knowing smirks from colleagues who think they're clever enough to piece together the truth. The media has been relentless, their insidious questions and insinuations seeping into every crevice of my life, making it impossible to breathe.

It feels like the walls are closing in on me, and I don't know how much longer I can hold it all together. Every day, I wake up with this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way beneath me. And the worst part is that I don't know if I'll be able to catch myself when I fall.

I sit in my office, staring blankly at the stack of papers on my desk, my mind far away from the numbers and contracts in front of me. My father's voice echoes in my head, his warning still fresh, a constant reminder of the impossible expectations he's placed on me. He's been watching me like a hawk, his suspicions growing with each passing day and his anger simmering just below the surface. And I know that if he finds out the truth, if he learns just how deep my feelings for Brooks run, there will be hell to pay.

A sharp knock on my door jolts me from my thoughts, and I quickly straighten up, trying to push the worry from my face. "Come in," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.

The door swings open, and I'm met with the stern expression of my father, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine. He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, and suddenly the room feels much smaller, the air thick with tension.

"Lolo," he says, his voice clipped, every syllable carefully measured.

My heart sinks, and I force myself to meet his gaze, even as fear coils tight in my chest. "What is it, Dad?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral and calm, even though I can feel the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he walks over to my desk, his steps slow and deliberate, each one sending a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through me. He stops in front of me, his hands resting on the edge of my desk as he leans forward, his eyes boring into mine.

"I've been hearing things, Lolo," he says, his tone deceptively calm, but I can hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Things about you and that quarterback."

My stomach churns, and I feel the blood drain from my face. I know where this is going, and I know it's not going to end well. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but the words stick in my throat, tangled in the web of lies and half-truths I've been telling myself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. But he sees right through me, his eyes narrowing and his expression hardening.

"Don't play dumb with me, Lolo," he snaps, his voice sharp and cutting. "Do you have any idea what this could do to our family? To our reputation?"

His words hit me like a slap to the face, each one a dagger to my heart. I want to scream to tell him that I don't care about the family's reputation or that I don't care about the damn rules he's imposed on me. But I can't. I'm too scared, too wrapped up in the fear of what he might do if he knew the truth.