The air is thick in my office. Combine it with the dreaded lump in my chest, and it may as well suffocate me. My lungs are working overtime, expanding just for the next gulp of air.

Rolling back and forth in my chair is all I can do, since I’ve already paced the floor until my feet hurt.

I’ve re-read the front page of the local paper until my eyes crossed. If my family didn’t trust me to do my job, they would be on their way out here to fire me. But no, I’m waiting here patiently for them to walk through the door of my office because they are worried, or so they say. The trepidation in my mother’s voice could be felt from across the nation, and I’m not sure what I’ll do or say when they get here.

I should be worried about this sudden uproar in the media and what all of it says about me as the team owner. Except I don’t really care about any of that; even Liam’s jab didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would.

What I care about is finding the words to finally unlock the chains of guilt I’ve circled so tightly around my heart that it’s left me barely able to breathe anymore.

And then there’s Liam. The little stunt we let get out of hand is going to cause all kinds of chaos. Our past is going to be exposed to every sports channel in the nation by the time this fiasco is over. It was always a possible threat in the back of my mind, but once he stepped off that elevator, all my thoughts except seeing him in person extinguished. Before long, everyone will know I’m the girl who dumped the man the world idolizes on the field and covets as the sexiest man alive. Unless I get my head on straight, I’ll be the villain, no questions asked.

We’ve already dealt with all the mumbles and hushed whispers through the media about the mafia. I’ve heard it all. Been called names I wouldn’t even say, and now this. I’ve brought it all on myself. And today I sit here feeling so lonely, so vulnerable and nervous that I’m on the fringe of letting my walls tumble down.

How could I have been so careless with everything? So silly to think I could walk around with this invisible shield protecting me and keep this all inside?

“Justice.” I glance up from staring at the same blurry spot in the newspaper to see my parents. The sound of my loving mother’s voice tightens those chains a little tighter.

Her face is flawless, except the frown turning her smile the opposite way it normally goes whenever she sees my brother or me.

My mother isn’t old by any means, but today she looks her age. God, I wish I had told them how I felt years ago.

My father leans casually against the doorframe, one hand on my mom’s back, the other shoved in his jeans, worry etched on his face.

I hate seeing them this way. I hate everything about this entire situation that I can’t seem to get past. It’s crushed me for as long as I can remember.

“I’m sorry you felt the need to fly out here. I’m fine. Like I told you on the phone, we tried to talk; we ended up arguing. Then it happened. He kissed me. I had no idea someone would take our picture, put it in the paper, and rattle off about what they heard.”

For a woman who appears to be strong, I am the weakest person I know. Strong because of these two people, weak because I love them so much I don’t want to hurt them.

The truth is, they could give a shit about the media or what anyone has to say about us. It’s me with the problem and me with the issue. Me who can’t speak the truth, and that is why they are out here. They know; I can feel it in my bones that they are standing there waiting for me to be the woman they taught me to be. Strong, independent. Most of all they want loyalty and honesty when it comes to their children, and by their somber looks, they’ve waited long enough.

My mom slips through the door. Tears cascade down my face before she reaches me. I’ve cried non-stop since Liam and I argued the other night. Boarded myself up in my house the next day. Snuck in here early yesterday morning to concentrate on the upcoming interview only to be slammed in the gut when Sage delivered the final blow. The Idaho Statesman paper containing the article and a picture of Liam and me all over each other, in color nonetheless.  

I didn’t have time to call my family to tell them about this before my cell phone was blowing up. I avoided them until they started calling Sage and there was no more avoiding to be had. It’s my coping mechanism when everything becomes way too much to handle. I shut down, hole up, and avoid the world.

I should have learned years ago that bottling things up doesn’t do a bit of good for the problem at hand; all it does is escalate it more, builds it up, up, and up like a floating balloon, and when it pops you come spiraling down.

I crashed long ago and all the while stayed there lifeless and numb while pushing myself into doing anything and everything to try and forget.

I can’t do this anymore. The pretending I don’t need my parents to help me pick my heart back up off the ground after all this time needs to stop, because no matter the age, a woman needs her family, yet when it comes to the one thing I’ve never been able to understand, I’ve shut them out.

I met Liam Blake after a party when I was nineteen years old. He wasn’t like every other sports star on campus. He didn’t think he was hot shit because he was the man everyone wanted to be. He was the center of attention. The quarterback with as much power and accurate aim with a football as Mariano Rivera had with a baseball.

The girls on campus threw themselves at him like wolves, and the men idolized him. I drank the Kool-Aid without a second thought. It was instant and natural.

I was a fresh canvas ready to be painted and admired. I was a virgin, unlike some of the other girls I hung around with. I was different, and Liam wasn't the typical arrogant, cocky jock. We matched. It happened, and I fell for that man in an instant.

I wasn’t innocent because I didn't date; I did here and there after I turned sixteen and my mother put my dad in his place by telling him he couldn’t protect me forever.

I was focused on my grades, sports, and spent time with my cousins and friends.

I kept my ears away from hearing things I shouldn’t. My mouth shut when I did, and I tried so damn hard to justify what the people I loved would do when they walked out the door.

With Liam, though, he made me forget how at times I felt dirty over my family’s dealings.

Me, the girl people grew up hating because I was the daughter, the cousin, the best friend of people they feared.

A member of the family who stole and traded guns for a living dating a man who was going somewhere in his life would not mix outside of college, and it didn’t have a thing to do with his color.

I haven’t forgiven myself for leaving him, for not spilling my guts out to my parents about everything. I’m utterly miserable.

All those cruel words he spat at me are true. I’m running inside a circle, and I can’t find my way out.

I left Liam because for the first time in my life I tried and failed to tell someone I was embarrassed by who I was. I was ashamed, and I hated myself for it. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the shame, which turned into a vicious cycle of self-loathing I hid deep in my soul.

I kept putting him off every time he would ask to meet my family. I had already met his, so it was only right he met mine. I fell in love with his parents and his sister but never gave him the privilege of meeting mine.

God, his sister, Rowe, is full of life and had everyone laughing and smiling constantly. Rowe’s enthusiasm for football and the love for her two favorite players—her dad and brother—was contagious. They'd harass her all the time, trying to make her pick a favorite. She never did. She told them she loved them both for different reasons, and she loved to tease them as much as they did her.

I remember the time when she told Liam he had a lot of catching up to do with their dad while turning around and telling their father not to be surprised if Liam didn’t pass him in the famous department. She'd end up going to her design room and working on her latest line of clothes. Rowe never let the fact she has Down syndrome hinder her life in the slightest. I’ve been so caught up in him that I have never asked how she is.

“You really need to let us do some of the work, honey, and take some time to pull yourself together. You have to tell him how you feel. Give him the answers he needs, or you will never be able to move on. I promise you, you won’t.” My mom speaks softly from her spot on the floor where she’s now dragged me to sit next to her.

She’s right.

“What I did is killing me. It’s eating my soul and spirit. He’s so angry with me, and that kiss didn’t come from love. It’s coming from his anger. I don’t know what to do anymore or even how to go about telling him. My will to survive without him eventually can’t win if I don’t tell him the truth, and living without him any longer is destroying me. But there’s more than the love I have for him. I think you know it, too. I’m so, so sorry. I left him because I was afraid of what we would do to his career.” I drop my head and cry. Big sobs escape my heavy-weighted lungs. They hurt and inflict more pain than I’ve felt in my entire life.

I thought the weight of guilt I’ve been carrying around for years would lessen after I confessed. It doesn’t. The exact opposite happens along with a whole new box of shame that's been taped shut for years. It makes me sick thinking my family wasn’t good enough.

“Justice. You are our daughter. You don’t think we didn’t know the reason why you broke up with him? Why out of the blue you started begging us to let you go to college elsewhere? Why you shut down on us? We knew, sweetheart. Hell, we talked about this kind of shit after you were born. Your mom hated this life at first, too. Her circumstances might have been different, but I’m standing before you now with nothing but honor flowing through my veins because for all the sins I’ve committed, all the law-breaking I’ve done. I’m proud of my children. Proud of the woman you’ve become. Our respect grew for you more the longer you held it in. It ripped me to bits and pieces to see you beating yourself up, but you had to tell us on your own terms.”

My dad lets it all out as he joins us on the floor. My foundation is holding me while I crack at the core. I don't do this. I don't have breakdowns or show my weakness. The ways of the world and my past choices have come to prove different. My shoulders slump and the sobs wracking my body grow out of control. Dad soothes my back with his hand, while Mom holds my hand in hers. The panic multiplies when I'm unable to calm myself down.

“Maybe I should thank the newspaper for this little push,” I joke and wipe away my tears. I would have eventually told them; by then, though, it could have been too late for Liam and me, and as much as I love him, I swore I would tell my family first.

“Let us take you home and be your parents.” Mom takes hold of my chin, pushes up gently so I’ll look at her.

My lips quiver, and it takes me a while to get a single word out. “I don’t want to be saved. I just need some of this crap to ease up. Slow down.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not your choice anymore. Life fucking sucks, and you’re done traveling through this alone.” I can’t help but let out a coughed-up laugh at Dad’s choice of words as he wraps his arm around me, tugging me close. I melt into him just like I did when I was a little girl. “We’re here for you, and if you see that as saving, then tough shit. We have your back while you work this out with Liam. We aren’t asking you to step away from your duties here. We love you, and this is the end of it.”

“He’s so angry.” I change the topic and allow everything to pour out of me at once. “Because of what I’ve done, the media is going to hate me. They won’t care I left because I love him and I didn’t want anything to taint his future or career. They will eat me up; they could talk about us. This could ruin everything we’ve worked for. I feel like I’ve disrespected my family through this whole process, and it’s killing me. I’m sorry.”

“Justice, do you honestly think we can’t handle the press? This team and you don’t have a damn thing to do with our lifestyle. Let them talk. I really don’t give a shit. None of us do, and you shouldn’t either. Liam, he’s coming at you for the truth the only way he knows how. It happens, and sometimes you get shit on; it’s how you clean that shit up that matters. It’s how you grab a new towel instead of throwing it in and quitting. As for the family part, we get it. Our lifestyle isn’t an easy one to digest. I said this discussion is over. You pull yourself together. Figure out a way to tell him and go after him.”

Silence wraps around us as I process everything. Dad’s right, like always. I have to rise and battle through this. Just not today. I need my parents and their love right now.

“Let’s go to your new place and order Chinese takeout,” Mom suggests.

“And wine. Lots of wine just for tonight,” I add.

“Fucking wine. Can’t stand that shit. It smells like a musty basement. Tastes like vinegar and is dull as a cardboard box.” This is coming from my dad as he helps both of us off the floor.

The man will never change what he drinks. It’s always been whiskey or nothing.