Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 36

BROOKS' POV

I walked down the hallway, each step echoing in the empty corridor, my mind still reeling from the conversation with Coach. The adrenaline from our confrontation hadn't worn off, leaving me wired and restless. I could still feel the tension in my muscles and the tightness in my chest, but there was something else too—something that felt almost like relief. I had stood my ground. I had made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere, no matter how fucking hard it got.

But the reality of what lay ahead hit me like a freight train. We had agreed on a plan—playing nice for the cameras, keeping our relationship under wraps—but it was a thin line to walk. And it didn't guarantee shit. The media was relentless, like a pack of vultures ready to tear us apart at the first sign of weakness. And then there was Coach. Lolo's father might have backed down for now, but I knew he was far from convinced. One wrong move, one slip-up, and he'd be back on my ass, threatening to ruin everything.

I needed to see Lolo. I needed to reassure her that we could pull this off and that we could make it through this shitstorm together. But more than that, I needed to feel her, to hold her in my arms, and to remind myself why I was fighting so fucking hard. She was worth every ounce of stress and every sleepless night.

I made my way to the back entrance of the facility, the one we'd started using to avoid the press. They were like parasites, always lurking, always waiting for a crack in the armor. But not tonight. Tonight, it was just me and Lolo. The rest of the world could go to hell.

The night air was cool against my skin as I stepped outside, my breath visible in the chilly darkness. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, scanning the area for any sign of prying eyes before making my way to the car we'd arranged to meet in. It was parked in the shadows, out of sight from the main road, and I felt a sense of satisfaction at the thought of outsmarting the vultures for once.

Lolo was already there, sitting in the driver's seat, her silhouette barely visible in the dim light. I opened the passenger door and slid in beside her, the warmth of the car a stark contrast to the cold outside. She looked over at me, her eyes searching mine for answers and reassurance.

"Hey," I said, my voice low, almost a whisper in the confined space.

"Hey," she replied, her voice just as quiet. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that twisted something deep inside me. She was scared—hell, we both were—but she was trying to stay strong. For us.

"How'd it go?" she asked, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white.

I sighed, leaning back in the seat and running a hand through my hair. "It wasn't pretty," I admitted, not wanting to sugarcoat it. "He's pissed, Lolo. I'm pissed that we're risking everything. But I think he knows we're serious. I told him I'm not backing down."

She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes reflecting the same worry that was gnawing at my insides. "He's not going to make this easy for us, is he?"

"No," I said, reaching out to take her hand, intertwining our fingers. "But we'll get through it. We just have to stick to the plan, keep our heads down, and ride this out. The media will eventually move on to someone else, and your dad... he'll come around."

"What if he doesn't?" she asked, her voice trembling just a bit.

"Then we deal with it," I said firmly. "But we don't let him—or anyone else—come between us."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I just hate this, Brooks. I hate having to hide and pretend like I don't care about you. It feels so fucking wrong."