My raw knuckles pound her door, voice hoarse from calling her name. The paparazzi staked out below the stairs throw me annoyed looks. They’ve been here for hours and have shot me from every angle. I shift my feet on the top step, working blood into my ankles as a bouquet hangs from my grip. The flowers won’t keep much longer in the heat.

"Dude," a man says, a camera slung around his neck. "She’s not there. Do something else."

I glance at the huddle of people below. "You can fuck off any time you like."

"Hey, I’m just doing my job."

Fuck him. I raise my fist to the wood again. "Saffie!"

I’m not proud of the lengths I had to go to find her place, which is smack dab in Noe Valley on a quiet street with Victorian-style homes. A set of extremely steep steps leads to a dark green entrance, which clashes horribly against the salmon-pink walls.

"Saffie!" I call out. "You can’t ignore me forever. I just want to talk."

Floorboards creak as a shape through the fogged glass grows bigger. The lock slides and the door opens—to a woman I’ve never seen before.

A set of high-arching, haughty eyebrows sit above shadowed eyes. Thick, brown curls frame a waifish face frowning with disdain. "Hi, I’m Grayson. It’s nice to—"

"Fiona. You got a pass because it gave me a personal thrill to watch you beg to come into my apartment, but the stalking is getting old, man. Saffie wants nothing to do with you."

I lift the bouquet. She crosses her arms. "Please. All I’m asking is for five lousy minutes. She didn’t hear my side of the story."

Her eyes soften. "She doesn’t need to."

"Yes, she does!" Damn it, will no one listen? "Give this to her and tell her to call me."

Fiona takes the flowers reluctantly. "You’ve given us enough for me to start a job as a florist. Stop with them, already. I don’t have unlimited vases."

I palm the door before it shuts, searching her eyes for sympathy. "I know I fucked up, but that doesn’t mean I’m a monster. I want her back. That’s why I’m here every goddamn day."

She sighs, glancing over her shoulder. "You should talk to him."

"No," says another voice.

That’s her. Saffie.

I glimpse her shining black hair and ruby-stained lips. "Saffie!"

She scowls. "Fine. I will deal with him. Just move."

Fiona retreats from the doorway before sending me a glare that seems to say: Fuck with my friend, and I’ll kill you.

Photographers click madly as Saffie slides into view. My heart clenches at the sight of her. For three weeks, I’ve called and left voice messages. I’ve sent fleets of gift baskets and flowers accompanied with cards that probably sounded repetitive. I’m sorry, Saffie. Please forgive me, Saffie. You’re the reason I’m still here.

Everyone told me to let her go.

Looking at her again is like a fist releasing its hold on my heart for the first time in weeks, and yet it’s a gut punch because her mouth sags down, and her eyes shine with sadness. I want to kiss that frown away, but she flinches when I reach for her.

"I can’t stand another day without you." My voice cracks. "Please give me a chance."

"I’m only talking to you now because you won’t leave. Three weeks, Grayson. Take a hint."

"You didn’t let me explain. That recording your brother took was taken out of fucking context. Yes, I said that, but I also said our relationship was serious, and that I regretted pulling you into this mess."

She shakes her head. "It’s too late, Grayson. You had plenty of chances to tell me the truth."

"And if I had you would’ve never wanted to see me again."

She tosses her hair, trying to shout through the tremble in her voice. "Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. You used me to further your career. I can’t forgive that, and I won’t apologize for it."

"What do I have to do?" I grab the door, the edges digging into my palm. "I’ll quit if that means I get you back."

She meets my gaze, hesitating. Even Saffie can’t disguise the longing in her eyes. "Go away, Grayson. No more flowers."

The door slams in my face, and I feel it as though it’s severing our connection. Paparazzi click madly as I descend the steps, wondering if the hollow feeling in my chest is heartbreak. It’s like she ripped out my pulse and stuffed my ribs with cotton.

At some point, I’ll have to stop before the tabloids run wild with my antics. Love means letting someone go when it’s best for them, but I can’t accept that Saffie and I will spend a lifetime apart, not with the connection we have.

"Grayson, did you break up with Saffie?" The photogs dog my footsteps as I take a right, heading for the Mission. It’s dangerous to walk the streets without a means of quick escape, especially when I’m bound to be recognized, but I want a mob to beat me down. I’ll trade physical pain for the ache pounding in my chest, the despair that we’ll never be together.

No, I won’t accept that.

Not until I’ve given it my best shot.

I open my phone, flipping to my Twitter account where I type in a status.

Will be making a major decision later today.

* * *

I stagger into the gastropub in Union Square where I’m meeting Coach. My feet are raw from walking, and my scalp burns. It was blazing hot in the Mission, but I endured it as though my pain was a gift to her.

I spot a broad-shouldered man with a crew cut sitting on the second level of the pub. I climb the steps, staring at the back of his head, and then the guy across from him. Henry.

Goddamn it.

Coach lured me here without mentioning that asshole would be present.

Heaving a sigh, I head for the table and note with deep satisfaction that Henry looks like shit. I think losing the Nike sponsorship hit him hard. He used to be the most sought-after athlete for companies looking to advertise. Now they’re dropping like flies. They might’ve forgiven a lapse of judgment, but not this. On top of everything, Kris has been making the rounds on social media, milking the drama for all the money it’ll get her.

Almost makes me feel sorry for him.

I pull the chair beside Henry and nod at Coach, who nurses a beer. A strange cocktail with a bacon garnish sits in front of Henry, who seizes it and drinks deeply.

Coach frowns at him. "The extra calories aren’t worth it, son."

Staring at Coach, Henry drains the rest of the drink and pops the bacon in his mouth

I can’t resist taunting him. "Rough week, huh?"

Henry grunts.

Coach waves his hands, breathing in deep. "Look, I called you both here today because we have tough decisions to make. Fans are pissed at you, Henry."

I laugh. "Yeah, no shit."

His eyes wheel to mine. "They’re not happy with you either. Many of them caught on to the fact you only dated his sister to get back at him. Anyway, Tanner and I decided that this team dynamic is too toxic to continue."

Which is what I’ve been saying for months. "Fine, I agree."

"Someone will be traded," he says, watching us both. "It’s just a matter of who."

"Grayson," Henry blurts. "He’s begged for this since the beginning."

My mind’s full of Saffie’s mournful voice. She said I used her to further my career. "I’m not leaving the Grizzlies."

Aghast, Henry faces me. "What are you talking about? This is what you wanted."

" I changed my mind." It was worth coming here to see the panic blooming on Henry’s face.

"What the hell, man? This is the ticket out you’ve been screaming for."

I grab the menu, flagging the waitress. "I’ll have the kale salad with grilled chicken, please."

She takes menus as Henry’s gaze bores a hole in my skull. When the server sweeps away, I smirk at him. "The guys made a compelling argument. Mainly that they’d rather have me on the team than you."

"Okay," he grinds out. "Is it money you want?"

"Because I don’t have enough of that already?"

He straightens, looking desperate. "I’ll give you anything, man."

I’m enjoying watching him grovel. "Why the hell are you so attached to the Grizzlies anyway?"

"Because we work well together. I’ve played with the same men for years, and it takes time to build trust."

I sneer at him. "Apologize to your sister, and maybe I’ll consider it."

"Is this about her? Jesus, Grayson, it’s none of your damn business. Didn’t you hurt her enough?"

Rage bristles my neck. Coach drowns my reply, booming. "Shut the hell up. Both of you. I swear to Christ, I’ve never had a couple of drama queens as big as you two. Grayson, in the morning I’ll expect an answer from you. If you say no, I’m sure there will be plenty of leagues who’ll trade me for Henry."

Coach stands up to leave, tossing a few bills on the table, but Henry blocks his way. "Wait! There has to be something you can do."

"Even if I could, I wouldn’t. The two of you together is a disaster." Coach pushes him aside.

I watch as Henry seizes his arm. "Tanner can’t expect me to uproot my life because I made one mistake!"

Coach was never a man of sentimentality. "One?" he echoes in a thunderous voice. "Are you fucking joking? You fucked his girlfriend. Got her pregnant. Cheated on your wife. The red line was way back here, and you took a flying leap over it. Be glad you’re a star athlete, or your career would already be finished."

Defeated, Henry sinks into the chair, and I regret ordering food. Fuck it. I’ll leave him to suffer in silence.

"I’m out of here," I say, sliding a twenty on the table. "You can have my lunch. It’s the last favor I will ever give you."

"Wait."

I pause. "For what? I won’t change my mind."

Henry stares at me, eyes bloodshot. "I didn’t expect this to happen."

"You mean the part where you knocked up Kris, or where you recorded our conversation in secret?"

"All of it," he says shakily. "It was wrong of me, and I’m sorry. We used to be best friends."

He looks at me, hope gleaming in his eyes. I might’ve forgiven him for Kris if I still had Saffie in my life.

"Go to hell."

He flinches. "Sorry. I made a mistake—lots of them. I realize that now."

He made them out of blatant disregard for his teammate’s feelings, and he recorded me so he could hurt her. "I don’t owe you anything. You can count me as a person who never wants to see you again."

Shoving the chair under the table, I walk around Henry and head toward the door.

A team of paparazzi waits outside. I breeze past them, squeezing through the narrow street. It’s only seven blocks to my apartment building, but tourists swell the sidewalks. Giant red buses chug along the busy road, and men bang on upturned buckets, the beat crashing into my skull. I’ve always hated this part of town. I didn’t know any better when I moved, had no idea how the heat baking the cement would saturate the air with piss, or that I’d have to dodge homeless taking shits on the pavement, or that my privacy would become a novelty.

A group of reporters gathers at my apartment building, blocked by security guards. My publicist will give me so much shit for this, but it’s the only way to get Saffie back.

I’m sure of it.

A mid-thirties woman in a bright blue dress lunges for me, stabbing my chest with the microphone. "Grayson! Do you have—"

"I’ve got something to say, yeah." The others crowd me, and suddenly I’m facing a dozen reporters and their microphones. "I quit." A horde of questions nearly drowns my next sentence. "I’m retiring from soccer, effective immediately." I lick my lips, staring into the camera aimed at my face. "I apologize to my fans, who have stuck by me my whole career, but I owe the greatest apology to the woman I hurt. Saffie Pardini, I’m sorry. I messed up, and I’m trying to make it right." I take a deep breath. "And I love you. I’m sorry I took so long, but I mean it from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you’ll learn to forgive me one day." I retreat into a solid wall of people and wave at security.

They scream questions as I push through the horde demanding to know why I’m giving up my position in the World Cup, my multi-million-dollar contract with the Grizzlies. The answer is simple.

None of it’s worth it without her.