Fiona stretches on the black leather couch, reading the card from the latest bouquet Grayson sent me. She gushes over it with a dreamy sigh as though it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever seen. "He wrote you a poem, Saff."

"I’m sure he Googled love poetry and chose the first one that popped up."

She stares at me. "It’s sweet."

Whatever.

Frowning, she slides it back into the bunch of red roses. "All I’m saying is maybe you should give him another chance."

I pull the laptop over my knees, sending her a glare over the screen. "I don’t do second or third chances, Fi. He thinks he can just buy his way into my life with a florist’s worth of flowers. It will not happen."

"Why not?" she says, fingering the dark red petals wistfully. "Doesn’t it show that he cares?"

"All it does it prove that he doesn’t take me seriously. I said we were over, and I meant it." I stab the keys more roughly than I should.

"I don’t know, Saffie. He seems like a nice guy." She dangles her feet over the arm. "If he didn’t give a shit, he’d leave you alone."

"You’re still not over the fact he’s a soccer star. I’ve never cared about that sort of thing, and neither should you."

"He stood there for hours calling your name. Forgive me for not having a heart of freaking stone."

Sighing, I debate whether I should take the laptop to my room to finish applications. It’s been three long weeks since I packed my bags, left Los Albos Ranch, and arrived on Fiona’s doorstep. Eating has been a challenge. Hell, waking up and peeling myself from bed takes hours instead of the five minutes it used to. At the ranch, he was the reason I woke up excited. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve lost my shit at Luke’s house.

And then he turned out to be a selfish asshole who only wanted me at his side to advance his career. Screw him.

If only it were that easy.

I miss him every day. I miss him so much that a void grows in the center of my chest, as though someone carved out my heart. Learning to forget is an exercise in patience because everything reminds me of him. I think of him when I don’t want to. The damn pineapple sitting on the kitchen table makes me remember Hawaii, and the private moments we shared there. They replay in my head, torturing me with memories of Grayson's broad smile, his body lying in the sun, and the warmth that filled me when he said he wanted more.

My heart clenches with the bitter sting of his betrayal, how he fooled me into thinking it was real. I was an idiot to fall in love. He stabbed me in the back, and that wound won’t heal overnight. Or in three weeks.

At least I realized what I want in life, and that’s not practicing law. Everything I’ve done until now was for my father’s sake. A second wave of pain hits me because the few untainted memories I have of my father are ruined. He’s not my real dad. Who the hell knows who he is—Mom never told me. And she lied all those years, made me think I was his daughter. No wonder she cried all the damn time.

This horrible insecurity also spawned awful questions I can’t ignore. Did she love me? Or regret me?

I shove those thoughts aside, focusing on the bright screen of my laptop. The vet a block down is hiring for assistants. I’ll apply for that and similar jobs while I save money to become a veterinary technician because I can’t stand not living for myself anymore.

Fiona’s flatscreen TV turns on as I type away. Her arm hangs off the couch as she switches channels. "I wonder if there’s a new—ooh!"

She stops at ESPN, which has a close-up of a blonde as a headline fills the bottom of the screen: GRAYSON SHAW QUITS PRO SOCCER.

"Next up, we have a video of Grayson Renato’s shocking announcement outside his San Francisco apartment in Union Square."

I shove the laptop aside as Grayson fills the screen. The footage is edited to show snippets of his statement. Grayson takes a deep breath, looking into the camera. "I’m retiring from soccer, effective immediately." It abruptly skips forward, cutting through the scream of questions. "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. And I love you. I’m sorry I took so long to say it, but I mean it from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you’ll learn to forgive me one day."

My voice drowns out the TV. "He quit?"

Fiona gapes at the screen. "See?" she gloats. "The guy’s madly in love with you."

A twinge of doubt weakens my resolve—he wouldn’t do all this if it weren’t real. "I guess it could be a publicity stunt."

"Oh, come on, Saffie! He wants you back," she bellows. "He’s been here almost every freaking day, banging on our door."

I wave at the TV. "So this is supposed to get my attention?"

"He’ll do anything for you. That’s what this is about."

Numb, I sink into the cushions and watch the commentators debate whether this is the end of Grayson's career. "I didn’t want him to destroy his life for me."

She chews her thumb. "Then you better go over there and tell him, because he’s determined to follow this through."

The laptop slides to the couch as I stand, heart pounding. If he meant every word, then what the hell am I doing here? I have to see him to stop him from doing something so foolish.

Fiona shakes her head. "So help me God, if you won't chase after him, I will. He’s one of the good ones, Saffie. Don’t be an idiot."

I stare at Grayson's high-rise, swallowing hard as though the only way to reach Grayson is by scaling its walls. A sea of reporters blocks the doors. The people crowding the road doubled when Grayson's video went viral on Facebook.

They spot me as soon as I cross the street, sprinting in my direction. I keep my head high, fighting the instinct to run away. They shove microphones in my face as I walk toward the entrance, squeezing through a mass of bodies. Fans wearing Grizzlies jerseys shout abuse. The cacophony follows me until I clear the glass doors, the fans pushed aside by security guards. Then I stand in the lobby and realize I don’t know where the hell he lives.

I approach the receptionist, who’s dressed in a black skirt with a string of pearls strung around her neck. "Um—I need to see Grayson Shaw."

"Your name?"

"Saffie Pardini."

She searches her computer, pulling a screen. "I’m not finding you. Are you sure he put you on the list?"

I sigh. "No."

She smiles apologetically. "Then I’m sorry. I can’t let anyone through without authorization."

Shit.

An elevator chimes. The doors slide open, and Grayson steps out. He’s dressed in black silk pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt. I walk toward him, wanting to laugh at how ridiculous it looks, but then he takes me into his arms. All the anger I held onto for weeks is numbed by heart-wrenching relief.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Twitter." Another thing I missed: the sound of his voice. "My fans took photos of you and tagged me."

The glass rattles behind us as a fan escapes the barrier and pounds the wall. I face Grayson, shaking my head. "What are you doing, Grayson?"

"Anything I can to win you back."

My eyes well. "I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted to destroy your life."

"Babe, you are my life." He grips my waist, his fingers spreading heat through my body as I struggle not to fall into his chest. "I’m no good without you."

"What you did was so stupid." I shove him. "Quitting the team? Are you crazy?"

He gently takes my wrists. "Saffie, I’m in love with you. I know that’s hard for you to accept."

I pull from his touch. "No, it’s not."

"You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be loved. This is what people do when they’re in love. They lay it all on the line for the person most important to them."

Tears spill down my cheeks as he hugs me, refusing to let me go. A violent force bursts open the cage, and every emotion I’ve kept stifled or hidden out of sight suddenly runs through me. I cling to Grayson's broad shoulders, grateful for the shelter of his arms.

"I love you, too."