[BOOK2]
Friendship built their world. Love will break it open. ❤️
*****
I want her.
I want her more than I've ever wanted anything.
But I can't have her. Because the moment I admit that out loud, the moment I risk everything we've built, I could lo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
After I hung up on Dad, I just stood there.
Phone still in my hand, fingers numb, breath shallow. The silence around me felt deafening—thicker than air, heavier than grief. I stared at the screen until it dimmed, until the quiet started to vibrate in my ears like an old wound reopened.
Then I turned around and went to my room.
The walk back was silent. Just me.
And the memory of dad's voice echoing through my bones.
"Tell me what you need."
Four words. Not a demand. Not a judgment. Just a steady thread of belief I didn't know I still deserved.
And I told him.
God, I told him everything.
I told him about Jake. About how he was planning something—something twisted and deliberate—but I didn't know what. How he looked me in the eye and told me the only way to protect Theo was to break him first. And how I did it. How I didn't fight hard enough. How I let it happen because I was scared. Because I thought protecting Theo's future meant giving up my place in it.
My voice cracked halfway through, but I didn't stop. For once, I let myself say it all. No filters. No sugar-coating. Just the truth, raw and bitter and ugly.
And Dad didn't yell. He didn't gasp. He didn't ask me why I hadn't come to him sooner.
He just went quiet for a long moment.
Then said,
"Okay, caterpillar."
Two words. Like an anchor. Like a promise.
And somehow, that was worse than if he'd been angry. Because it meant he understood. Because it meant I didn't have to explain anymore.
By the time I woke up the next morning, he'd texted that he was already back in London.
Didn't tell Mum. Didn't tell Matteo. Didn't even tell his team. Just packed a bag, booked a flight, and left.
When he called again, his voice was clipped, focused.
"Darling, I've got someone at Harrington. A name on the athletics board. Old contact. I'll reach out, when I hear something."
I could hear the scrape of a chair, the rustle of papers, the unmistakable edge in his tone when he was slipping into work mode. The same voice he used when referees made the wrong call. When his team was two goals down with twenty minutes left.
The voice that meant someone was going to regret messing with his kid.
"Start digging. Messages, photos, threats—anything you can find. Pathetic shits like Jacob always leave a trail."
A pause.
"You give me something to work with, and I'll handle the rest."
It was the first time in weeks I could breathe without my lungs were splintering apart.
