Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 35

LOLO'S POV

I slumped on the edge of my bed, the weight of everything pressing down on my chest like a goddamn boulder. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger—pale, eyes bloodshot from endless fucking crying. I couldn't believe how much of a mess I'd become, all because of this situation. The echoes of my father's voice, loud and accusatory, were still ringing in my ears. "You're throwing away everything for him!" he'd screamed. The way he'd looked at me, like I was some sort of disappointment, like I was making the worst mistake of my life—it stung more than I wanted to admit.

I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over again. But fuck it, they came anyway, hot and angry, running down my face like a betrayal of my own willpower. It wasn't just my father's words tearing me apart; it was the cold, harsh reality that there was some truth in them. I was risking it all for Brooks—my career, my family, my reputation, all the shit I'd worked so hard to build. But what the fuck was I supposed to do? I loved him. I loved him in a way that scared the living shit out of me, and that love was burning everything else to the ground.

A knock on the door jolted me out of my spiraling thoughts. I quickly wiped my face, trying to get a grip on myself. "Come in," I managed to say, my voice shaky as hell.

Brooks stepped in, his face serious, the tension radiating off him like a furnace. He closed the door behind him and just looked at me, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Lolo, we need to fucking talk," he said, not wasting any time.

I nodded, my throat too tight to form words. He came over, sat beside me on the bed, and for a moment, we just sat there in silence. It was a heavy, loaded silence, filled with all the shit we hadn't said to each other.

"We can't keep doing this," Brooks finally said, his voice low but firm. "This bullshit of sneaking around, lying to everyone—it's going to fuck us up, Lolo."

"I know," I whispered, barely able to get the words out. "But what the hell are we supposed to do? The media's on our asses, my father's losing his goddamn mind... it feels like we're fucked no matter what we do."

He reached for my hand, his touch grounding me, reminding me of what we had, even in the middle of this shitstorm. "We need a plan," he said, his tone decisive. "We play nice for the cameras, give them what they want—pictures of us being professional, nothing more. We make it look like we've split, like we're just co-workers."

The idea of pretending like we didn't mean shit to each other, like all this was just some fling, made my stomach turn. But he was right. It was the only way to take the heat off us, to stop my father from losing his mind and ruining Brooks' career. "Okay," I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "But what about us, when no one's watching?"

He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto mine, intense and unwavering. "When we're alone, it's just us," he said, his voice rough. "Fuck the rest of them. We do what we need to do to keep them off our backs, but when it's just you and me, nothing changes."

A tear slipped down my cheek, but this time it wasn't out of fear or anger. It was relief, mixed with the tiniest bit of hope. "I fucking love you," I whispered, the words almost getting caught in my throat.

"I fucking love you too," he said, his voice a growl, before he kissed me. It wasn't gentle or soft—it was fierce, raw, and full of everything we'd been holding back.

For a few moments, everything else disappeared—the media, my father, the pressure from all sides. It was just us, tangled in each other, desperately trying to hold on to what we had. But I knew this was only a temporary escape. We had a shitload of problems to face, and no amount of kissing was going to fix that.