“You have to head to work today, don’t you?” I pour the protein shake I’ve just blended into two large cups, one for me and one for Ivy.

“Yes.” She quietly sets the small bag she’d brought with her on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, cognizant two of my teammates are still passed out in the living room on the couches. She flashes me a regretful smile. “I’ve got some new applications to go through and need to plan a case with Darcy and Leif.”

“Speaking of Leif,” I start. “When will I get to meet this notorious tech guru?”

She laughs. “He’s kind of a hermit, so he doesn’t leave his apartment much.” She shakes her head, and her smile is filled with affection. “He has an office, but it’s rarely used unless we really need him to come in for a big case.”

“How often has that been?” I take a long drink of my shake.

Wrinkling her brow in thought, she twists her lips before answering, “Actually, only once so far.” Her features turn somber. “We had a woman who needed help escaping a rough relationship.” Her eyes regard me thoughtfully. “I actually spotted her last night, and she’s…much happier now.”

“Wow.” That’s all I can say even as I attempt to rack my brain and figure out who it might be. “You’re amazing, you know that?” And I mean it. She has no idea how much I admire her.

She waves off the compliment. “It’s not all me. The three of us work well together, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything without them.”

“Go ahead and try your shake.”

She reaches for the cup I’ve placed a straw in for her and tastes it, her expression morphing into surprise. “That’s actually pretty good.”

I wink. “I’ve been telling you my shakes are good. In fact”—I break off in a casual shrug—“one might even say they bring the girls to my yard.”

“Is that even remotely true?”

“Not even,” I answer quickly, with a sheepish look.

She grins. “You’ve been dying to say that for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yep,” I answer, popping the “p” at the end.

Ivy laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and the sound of her laughter wraps around me, filling me with a happiness I’ve never experienced before.

I walk around the island and draw her into my arms and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Ivy, I—”

The sound of heavy footfalls on my stairs at rapid speed draws our attention. “Jones! Turn on the TV! Now!”

With amazing speed for as large as he is, Tank moves swiftly past the kitchen and into the living room, Myers following him, rousing the others asleep in the room. Reaching for the remote, he turns on the television, and the first thing I see is my face, a photo of me clad in my Jags uniform, which is nothing noteworthy.

What causes me to nearly lose my grip on my protein shake is the headline beneath the photo.

Beloved NFL quarterback and Heisman Trophy winner accused of child molestation

“What. The. FUCK?” I bellow and slam down my cup on the kitchen counter, uncaring at the spattering of shake that it causes.

My photo disappears, only to be replaced by one of me with an arm draped around Sammy Tate as he hugs me. It must’ve been taken from that final day of Youth Football Clinic.

Beneath the photo, the same headline remains, accusing me of child molestation.

I stare in disbelief. The photo, what should appear as nothing more than a simple and friendly hug that lasted a mere two seconds, now looks vile and perverted.

The news anchor’s face now fills the screen.

“Joining us live from Gainesville, Florida, we have Nathan Tate who alleges Jaguars quarterback Becket Jones inappropriately touched his son numerous times while his son attended the Youth Football Clinic Jones participated in.”

The screen splits to show her on the left and the man I’ve come to dread on the right.

“Mr. Tate, can you tell us when these incidents took place?”

“I do, and I can. My son will corroborate everything, but as you can imagine, he’s not comfortable being on camera or with talking about it publicly.” He shakes his head, and I see right through the sham of sadness he’s trying to portray. “It’s just too painful.”

“I can understand that,” she says in a soothing tone. “And can you tell us how this transpired?”

He turns his eyes to stare directly at the camera. “His girlfriend played a role in this, as well. Ivy Hayes”—his tone shifts, a threatening edge to it—“or maybe I should say Ivy Donohue.”

The anchorwoman darts a glance off camera, appearing startled, before she turns back to Nathan. “Ivy Donohue?” she repeats slowly. “The former child star?”

My eyes shift to where Ivy stands a few feet away, her face pale in color. I can only manage to stare at her in dazed disbelief before returning my attention to the TV.

It seems Nathan Tate is only getting started.

“That’s right.” He smirks proudly.

“Turn it off!” I yell.

Tank mashes the button on the remote, immersing us in silence.

“Jesus.” I drag a hand through my hair. “What the fuck is this shit?” No sooner do I get the words out does my phone start vibrating on the counter.

I inhale a deep breath and exhale slowly before addressing the guys. “Look, I sure as shit didn’t molest anyone, let alone a freaking kid.”

“For fuck’s sake, Beck.” Dax makes a face and tosses up his hands in exasperation. “We know that.”

“What we need to know…” Tank’s voice is deceptively calm, and this serious quality is at odds with his usual jovial personality. He settles an assessing gaze on Ivy, who seems to be rooted to the spot. “Is exactly what you had to do with this.”

“And who the hell you really are,” Mario adds.

I have to give her credit. Ivy doesn’t waver at being the focus of menacing looks from men who outweigh her and a few who tackle people to the ground for a living.

She knots her fingers together and presses her lips thin before rushing out with, “First off, I had nothing to do with that accusation. I’ve never actually met that man before.”

Dax leans forward on the couch, bracing his forearms on his knees, and levels a hard stare on her. “Define what you mean by ‘never actually met’ him.”

“I can’t say too much because it’s confidential, but—”

“His reputation is on the line, Ivy!” Dax explodes, jumping up from the couch, his hands fisted at his sides.

She jumps, clearly startled.

“Look, I had to help a woman break up with him. We coached her, and it was the toughest case we’ve ever had because of his controlling tendencies. He was a narcissistic psychopath and showed signs that he was edging toward becoming physically abusive. She broke up with him and never looked back.” She looks at me, her expression pleading, and adds, “That was the woman I mentioned seeing last night.”

“Why’d you lie about your name?” Mario asks quietly.

Ivy’s expression falls, and for a second, I want to rush to her. I want to hold and comfort her.

But I’m not certain I even know her at this point.

She shakes her head slowly, full of regret. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I challenge, my tone steely.

She raises her head, her features ripe with anguish. “I can’t.”

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth begin to ache. “I think you need to leave.” I don’t know how I manage to say this so calmly, quiet yet forceful.

I address the guys. “I need to figure this shit out. Sorry to start your morning this way.”

“Pfft,” Dax scoffs. “Dude. We’ve got this.” He’s already got his phone out and is texting someone. “By the way,” he says off-handedly, without looking up, “know how I know you didn’t molest that kid?”

I exchange an odd look with the others before I slowly ask, “How?”

He looks up and grins. “Because you’re in love with my cocoa skin, of course.” He stands and slaps me on the back before heading down the hall. “I’ve got work to do. Gonna head out and be in touch.”

“Same here,” the others agree, gathering their keys. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” They give me comforting pats on the back and exit the living room.

Only to leave me alone with the one woman I can’t bear to be around.

“Becket,” she starts.

“Look.” I stare at her hard. “If you’re going to tell me everything and be completely honest with me, go ahead. Because people who love each other don’t keep secrets…not like this. But if you’re not, I’ll say it one final time.” My words are clipped, steely. “You need to leave.”

I snag my cell phone from the kitchen island and brush past her. I stride down the hall toward the stairs when her softly spoken words reach me.

“Becket, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I bite out. “What are you sorry for? Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Her lips part and, for the briefest moment, I think she’s about to open up and talk to me.

Until she suddenly snaps her mouth shut.

Goddammit. She’s still holding back, and here I am, the guy who’s actually trying. Yet she’s not even willing to meet me halfway.

I drag a hand through my hair in frustration. We could be perfect, if only she’d open up to me. At any other time, I’d be willing to give a little leeway, but with Ivy holding a major secret and having information at the center of this scandal, she needs to be the one to give.

But she’s not willing to do that, so she needs to go.

I pause at the banister with my foot on the first step. I pinch my eyes closed and ignore the phone vibrating in my hand, most likely Chris calling. I draw in a deep breath and murmur familiar words under my breath.

Only love.

For the first time in my life, I’m not sure I’ll be able to achieve this.

I open my eyes and pin her with a hard stare. “I’ve never held back from you. I’ve been nothing but honest. I expected the same from you.” My voice escalates. “Jesus, Ivy! We’re in a relationship, for God’s sake!”

She tosses her hands up, features displaying her distress, the volume of her voice matching mine. “I break people up for a living! That’s just what I do!” She gestures back and forth between us. “What did you expect to happen here? I told you I don’t do relationships, Becket!”

The silence is deafening as I let her response sink in and zero in on one word.

My voice is muted when I ask, “You don’t do relationships or you didn’t do relationships? Which is it, Ivy?”

She remains silent for a painfully long moment before she answers. “Don’t.”

I clench my jaw tight against the anger intermixed with the agonizing pain her words elicit. “I’ve played football long enough to realize certain things, and I can honestly say I’ve put my all into this. But sometimes that’s just not enough.”

I glance down briefly. “This is one of those times when I have to call it a game and face defeat. I fell in love with you only to have it turn out like this. So, congratulations. You’re the winner.”

Confusion lines her features. “How am I the winner?”

I shake my head, self-recrimination flooding me. “You won my heart, Ivy. And I’m the moron who handed it over to you.” I turn to head up the stairs to escape her.

“But—” she starts.

I whip my head around and cut her off with a look, our eyes clashing, and my features hard. I finish with a lethally quiet, “Your bottom line—your endgame—was accomplished. You got what you wanted.” I pause at the sensation of multiple fissures destroying my heart.

“You ditched me.”