The front page of the newspaper twists and balls in my fist as I walk down the hallway. I pause in the doorway just as I’m about to burst into Justice’s office to see if she’s alright. Voices and sobs are what I hear, and what I see freezes me in place. “Shit,” I mumble. It’s a damn train wreck I can’t look away from. She’s broken, sobbing, and hurting.

I hear more than I want to, fairly certain I’m not supposed to be overhearing this private conversation. Yet my feet remain paralyzed in place.

There's no mistaking the hell Justice is going through. Shuffling to the left, I slump against the wall, defeated, as her pleas for forgiveness shoot right through me.

There's no doubt as I listen to her crumble and hear her sobs that this is all on my shoulders. I came here angry and prepared to put Justice through as much suffering as she inflicted on me when I should have come in and tried to work it all out before I signed the contract.

The thing was and still is, there's one big roadblock, and that’s my beating heart. I’ve tried knocking it over, going around it. Any damn thing to get the barrier out of my way, but it won't budge. Truth be told, it wasn’t meant to. My barrier is her. She’s cemented into my soul, and I’ve never truly wanted to break her.

When I hear her mom suggest going back to her place, I move my feet. I’m punching the lobby on the elevator buttons in a matter of seconds. My heart tumbles and falls, mimicking the elevator’s movement.

“What the hell have I done?” I tuck the paper in my back pocket and scrub my face.

It took us no time to get into a toxic battle. Hell, it happened the day I walked into the meeting, and it’s only escalated from there.

Justice is dead-on about one thing. The media will eat her alive. Make her out to be the villain, and I, America’s heartthrob who everyone thinks does no wrong, will be looked upon as the jilted man. I’ll be damned if I allow that to happen to her.

Regardless of what they may think, she’s worked her ass off alongside her family to do the impossible. It takes more than money to put together a professional football team. It takes pride, courage, and strength. Let’s not forget the hours of dedication. And the beautiful woman who I witnessed bleeding her soul out explaining why she left me has mastered all those things.

The Idaho sun is blinding when I bust out the front doors of the lobby. I pull down my aviators and take the built-up frustration out on the asphalt of the parking lot. I need to get out of here before she spots me. I’ve been known to be a ticking time bomb, and going off on her for not trusting me, not giving me a choice to make up my own mind before I’ve absorbed what I heard will happen if I don’t take the time I need.

It’s taken years of learning discipline and dedication from football to help me control it, but this right here is about to push me over the damn edge.

I slam the door of my Range Rover and lean my head back to calm my shit. I need one minute, one fucking minute to pull it together.

There’s only one place I’ll find any resemblance of normalcy to calm me down.

I fire up the engine, look in the mirror to back out when I spot a flash of vibrant blonde hair blowing in the wind. Justice. She’s flanked by her parents. Her large black sunglasses are hiding what has to be her swollen, red eyes. I came here to talk to her about the paper, apologize for my snap reaction the night I kissed her, and to tell her this entire team has her back if the press goes on some sort of attacking spree. Never did I expect to walk in on what I did.

I also wanted to formulate a plan to be civil with each other. It seems it might be too late for that with the media and her family now involved and my stubborn heart that won’t stay out of the way.

I weave in and out of traffic until I’m pulling into my parents’ three-story home nestled in the foothills of Boise. I find myself cracking a smile. They’ve already had the outside repainted a light pink with blue trim. It’s their thing. Every single house they’ve owned together has been the same color. It’s part of their childhood pinky promise pact and has become my symbolism of home.

I jog up the intricate path to the front door, and I’m immediately slammed with the aroma of Mom’s cooking. Comfort, that’s what I need right now.

The weight of the world that’s found its way on my shoulders lightens a bit when I step through the door.

“Bubs.” Rowe jumps up from the dinner table and rushes my way.

I swing my arms wide open and wait for my sister to get right where I want her.

“I want to show you something.” She grabs my hand and drags me to what she was working on.

Football plays, I’m sure of it.

The girl loves the sport as much as my father and I put together. When she was younger, football was her trigger, causing one panic attack after the other from a childhood trauma, until Dad entered her life. Mom and Dad’s life growing up wasn’t your typical story. Mom was raised by a social worker, Miss Tami, while Dad was adopted into a well-off family. They lost each other at a young age, but met again in their college years. Miss Tami was also raising Rowe, and when Tami was killed in a car accident, Mom and Dad adopted her without thinking twice. And now football is her passion.

“New plays.” She taps her chubby index finger on the paper in front of me.

I take a seat next to her and listen to her rattle off. We’ve never busted her bubble telling her we are not superheroes with special powers. We indulge her.

“Oh, and I made you a bracelet with your new team colors.” She dangles a tri-colored braided bracelet in front of my face.

“Thanks, sis.” I snag it from her and kiss her forehead.

Mom’s at my side tying it on my wrist. Yet another Blake tradition that’s held true throughout the years. I have more of these bracelets than I do touchdown passes. Each one of them means everything to me.

That stressful weight pushing down on my shoulders continues to lessen with each ticking second I’m with my family.

Dad joins us as Mom sets out the lasagna, tossed salad, and garlic bread. Does she ever know her son. Lasagna is my all-time favorite, especially hers.

The dinner table is quiet with only the sounds of clanking silverware and Rowe’s random comments about new T-shirt designs. She pauses every once in a while to jot down notes, not paying attention to the elephant in the room that’s morphing into an uncomfortable state.

“I went to see Justice today,” I announce.

This gains the attention of the entire table, Rowe included. Dad gives me a stern nod to go on.

I continue. “I went there to apologize and work out some sort of damn plan on how to get along with her for the sake of the team and fans.” Not to mention my sanity.

I pause, run my hand down the condensation on my glass. No one speaks up as they are all waiting for the punchline.

“Her parents were with her. She was all sorts of torn up. I overheard their conversation from outside of her office.” I run my hands through my hair, defeated, and slouch back in my chair.

“Did you talk to her?” Dad asks.

I shake my head. My parents called me this morning about the article. We talked briefly about it, which was when I decided to go see her.

“Probably for the best until you get your damn head straight on your shoulders.” He repeats the same thing he told me on the drive back to his place after I kicked everyone out of the office. Only this time he says it a little softer and with a lot less swear words in the mix.

“I’m lost, and to be honest, I don’t know what to do.”

It takes everything in me to verbally admit it. But it’s the damn truth that stares back at me in the mirror every single day and continues to haunt me. Rowe reaches over and places her hand on top of mine.

“Do you still love her?”

I peer over at my older sister, who has more knowledge, understanding, and wisdom than most give her credit for. I nod because it’s the damn truth.

“Then why be an asshole to her?”

“It’s complicated; I can’t get past why she left me, Rowe.”

“You can if you love her.” She twists to face me, grabbing my other hand. “I love you, and I’ve had to forgive you over and over.”

“It’s not the same.” My patience begins to run thin.

“It is. You’ve hurt my feelings, broke my cell phone, and you’ve been rude to me, but I’ve forgiven you.  Dad’s been an asshole to Mom, and she forgave him. People, in general, are just assholes.”

“Rowe,” Mom warns her from across the table. She loves to cuss and tries to get as many bad words in a sentence as she can. She’s on an asshole kick lately. My sister is also right. The world is full of assholes. Me included.

Rowe ignores the warning. “And we all know Mom has her asshole moments in the mornings, and we all forgive her. So if you love her, then you should forgive her and tell her that. All you’re doing is making yourself miserable. I love you, Liam, and you deserve happiness even if you are an asshole.”

Dad does his best to hold in his chuckle at the end of the table. Mom swats him on his bicep. Rowe beams with pride after her little speech. It was simple and to the point. Me breaking her cell phone years back out of jealousy and the months it took us to forgive each other makes me think. Justice broke my heart and hers at the same time, and the only damn reason I'm still torn up over it is that my fractured organ still loves her. If Rowe could forgive me, then I sure as hell can give forgiveness.

“You’re right, Rowe.”

She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I love you.” I nudge her.

“Know that, too, asshole.” I bark out a laugh.

Rowe goes back to eating and doodling on her paper. When she sneaks an extra piece of garlic bread, Mom gently offers her more salad or cut-up melon instead of another serving of carbs. Rowe’s weight has been an uphill battle and the one thing Mom works on a daily basis with Rowe. Even as high functioning as she is with Down syndrome, she’ll always be under our parents’ roof; or mine if ever need be.

“So, what are you going to do, son?” Dad asks, taking a long pull from his Coors Light.

“Forgive.”

He jerks his chin my way. “That can be a slippery slope, Liam. You need to be all in or nothing. If you choose forgiveness, which personally I think is best, know this. Once you do forgive her, you need to let it go. Don’t throw the past back in her face again. It ends right there, Liam. You're a smart man, damn good one, too. Sit down and have a good talk with her without getting all pissed off. Rein in your temper for her sake, not yours. You need a working relationship within the professional sense, and I think it’d do your soul good on the personal level as well.”

“Second-chance romances have always been my favorite,” Mom adds.

She reaches over and grabs my dad’s hand, and they share a short exchange. “I’d still be lost today if your dad hadn’t come back into my life. He had to push me out of my comfort zone. It wasn’t easy. It was rough as hell on both of us for a long time, but one thing I’ll never regret. He was mine and I was his since the day we met. It really is that simple, Liam. You are a good man. I have no doubt you’ll make the right choice.”

It’s time to face reality. It’s way overdue. Deep down, I knew this was the only option. Anger and hatred only turn you into a bitter person over time. That’s not me, nor is it Justice.

* * *

I adjust the light blue tie as I sit behind the table at the press conference. The room fills with reporters armed with pens, notepads, and their fangs hanging out. Most of them ready to get the dirt about the newspaper article. The side door swings open, drawing everyone’s attention.

I’m blinded by the beauty entering dressed to impress. Her sleek black dress hugs every single one of her curves to perfection. It’s professional and sexy all intertwined in a woman who is undoubtedly hiding behind her nerves. The heels on her stilettos clicking on the tiled floor create a song of their own.

My jaw ticks and soon I’m grinding my teeth out of frustration. I had every intention of talking to her this morning. I have no idea how our talk is going to go, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to have it head south and have her present herself to these vultures afterward. She needs to remain focused on the task.

She smiles but doesn’t quite make eye contact with me as she takes the podium. Her parents both take a seat in the front row. Calla seems calm, while Cain looks as if he’ll slice someone in half if they say the wrong thing.

Justice begins with a blanket statement about how excited she is for the upcoming season and how well the team is doing. She talks about different players, the coaches, and her family’s excitement.

When she opens the floor for questions, they don’t waste a second about slamming her with a question right off the bat, and it’s not about the Idaho Diamonds.

“Ms. Bexley, do you have a comment about the article on the front of the Idaho Statesman?”

She squares her shoulders, and it takes everything inside of me to remain seated. My vision blurs with violent rage.

“No, I do not. I’m here to talk football and suggest if you want your questions answered based on football and this team, you ask one, or I’m moving on.”

Most of them won’t listen; these people will push her until she either caves or walks away. Another reporter wins out over the roar of questions. “Is it true that you and Liam Blake dated for a year in college?”

“Again, I’m more than happy to answer any question about football. We here at the Idaho Diamonds have one focus, and that’s on the field.”

“Really? Because our sources say otherwise. You dated, you left, and now you were spotted together. You claim you care about this sport and the fans. Don’t you think you owe them some information about your relationship?”

“I owe them the ability to bring the best, and that’s what I’ll do.”

It doesn’t stop. They’re predators after weak prey. Or at least that’s what they think. The joke is on them because Justice Bexley is the most determined person I know.

“Liam.” A reporter waves for my attention, causing me to lean toward the microphone. “Any comments on the kiss outside of Whiskey Jacks?”

I pretend I’m in the red zone about to throw a pass to win the game. I focus on what’s important and not what’s pissing me off.

“Preseason starts next week. Our team is strong. The management did one fine job recruiting players. We hope to see you all on opening day.”

It goes on like this until the dumb fucks realize no one is going to take the bait. Things die down once she turns the conference over to our coach. I start to calm when they start asking the right questions.

Today is the first time Justice and I have been on the same team since I arrived here. I keep my distance as I follow her back out the side door, determined not to give the press anything else to talk about.

The door shuts, and Justice begins to pick up her pace. I look behind me to see her parents standing near the door. Cain gives me a subtle nod. I mouth “Thank you” and wait until she rounds a corner before calling out her name.

“Justice.”

She doesn’t stop. Damn it.

“Justice, we need to talk. Please.” I make it to her side and lightly grab her by the arm.

Tears are streaming down her face, leaving behind black trails of mascara.

“Hey, none of that.” I back her up to the wall in the deserted corridor, bringing the pads of my thumbs up to her face to catch her tears.

“Stupid goddamn Walgreens near me didn’t have waterproof mascara, and I haven’t had time to order my favorite brand online.”

I smile, and she gifts me with a weak one herself. I pull her body to mine, wrapping my arms around her, and just hold her. Justice cries, getting the frustration out. I know the woman well. When she gets pissed, she cries and then gets even more pissed off because she’s crying. It’s a vicious cycle.

“That was horrible,” she murmurs into my chest.

I can’t help myself and kiss the top of her head, getting drunk on cherries and coconut. “I’ve actually seen worse. It will all blow over. I promise.”

“Liam.” Her voice is determined, and I know this is about to go bad if I don’t get out what I need to.

I pull back and stare down at her. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“After that shit show, you are suggesting we go somewhere and talk? How many times did you get hit in the head at practice today?”

I chuckle. “We need to talk, and you know it. I promise no more asshole. We both need it. This shit between us needs to be put to bed forever.”

“You promise not to be an asshole?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Do you have a concussion?”

This time, I throw my head back while laughing full out. Damn, this feels good even though we still have the gritty part to get through. “Rowe was the one who told me to quit being an asshole.”

Justice shocks me when she trails her hands up my suit jacket, adjusting my lapels. “I’ve always loved that girl.”