“Stevie!” my brother yells, but I continue towards the horde of reporters.
Adrenaline courses through my bloodstream as I throw open the door, the flashes from their cameras becoming blinding and their shouts deafening.
“Miss Shay!”
“Stevie, over here!”
“How long has your relationship been going on?”
“Does your airline know?”
“I’m not going to answer any questions,” I raise my voice over the crowd. “I have nothing to say other than this is me.” I open my arms out wide, unable to hide. “Take your pictures, post it where you want. I don’t care anymore.”
I take a deep breath as the realization of what I’m doing hits me. “I might not look how you want me to, but you know how many women look like me? The words you say online about my body affect not only me but them too. So, I’m done hiding because I’m afraid of what you have to say.” I hold my arms out to the side, putting myself on display. “This is me, and if you feel the need to comment on it, well, that says a whole lot more about you than it does about me.”
The reporters remain quiet, some jotting down on their little notepads and others snapping photos.
“And this is weird, you know? Caring this much about who I am. A picture isn’t going to tell you anything. I’m a sister, a daughter, and a friend. I’m a human with feelings and emotions, and treating me like I’m not, treating these athletes like they’re not, is sick. These guys you idolize are humans. They’re just trying to play a game they love, and some of you are more concerned about their personal lives away from the sport. Let them live. Let me live.”
Turning back to head inside, I take one step before changing my mind. “Oh, and if you’re going to keep following me around, I’ll let you know I volunteer down the street at Senior Dogs of Chicago, so if you’re wanting to stalk me there, I fully expect you to plan on taking some dogs on walks. We need all the volunteers we can get.”
The crowd stirs with a light laugh, causing any remaining pressure on my chest to lift. They can spin this however they want. I’m not afraid of what people have to say anymore.
My eyes flicker above the mob of reporters to the other side of the street, finding Zanders standing on his steps in shock, watching me. He’s fully suited up in his signature game-day suit with his car keys dangling in his hand, but he’s frozen in place.
Finally, a proud grin lifts on his lips as he keeps his stare locked on me.
“Are you and Evan Zanders still seeing each other?” one of the reporters asks, drawing my attention back to the group.
I hesitate, not ready to admit it out loud.
“As I said, I’m not answering any questions.” I duck inside the lobby without giving another glance to the man across the street.
“Who the hell are you?” Ryan proudly laughs, swinging his arm over my shoulder as we head towards the elevator.
Taking a deep breath, the burden of self-loathing that I’ve carried for years begins to melt away, and I could not feel more free than I do at this moment.
“I’m just me.”
46
ZANDERS
Fucking badass.
Stevie slips into her building after leaving the crowd of paparazzi and reporters speechless on her doorstep, and I could not be prouder of that girl.
Standing up for herself, showing the world who she is and not because I wanted her to or because someone else pressured her. But because she owns it and isn’t trying to hide anymore.
Every fiber of my being wants to chase after her and beg her to talk to me. Ask her to let me explain where my head is at and tell her how miserable I’ve been without her. But she asked for time, and she promised we’d talk next flight, so until then, I’m going to deal with the things that are holding me back from being the man she deserves.
Her confidence electrifies me with some of my own as I slip into my Benz and allow my phone to connect to the speaker system in my car. As soon as I pull out of the parking garage, I dial Rich, filling the space with the ringing from his phone.
“EZ, I’m still working on your contract and dealing with the Maddison bullshit. I don’t have much to tell you yet.”
“You’re fired.”
A moment of silence lingers in the car. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you correctly. Are you in your car?”
“You’re fired, Rich.”
He bellows a condescending laugh. “No, I’m not.”
I flash my blinker before turning out of my garage and pulling up to the side of Maddison’s building, not saying another word about it.
My silence gains Rich’s attention. “Zanders, you’re making a huge mistake! You’re less than two weeks away from needing a new team, and you’re firing your agent? No one will sign you. You’ll be lucky to play overseas.”
Leaving Chicago is a massive fear of mine, and I have no desire to do it, but I won’t allow Rich to hear the concern in my voice.
“Then I’ll play overseas,” I say as casually as possible.
“Organizations can’t talk to you while you’re in season. They can only talk to your agent. You know this, right?”
“Yep.”
“Which means teams cannot talk to you without me,” he repeats.
“Yep.”
“So, you’re willingly making the biggest mistake of your career. Do you know how much money I’ve made you over the years?” Rich’s typically commanding tone becomes frantic. “I made you!”
“No, Rich.” I casually lean back on the headrest as I wait for Maddison, cautiously eyeing the paparazzi outside his building that thankfully can’t see through my tinted windows. “You made a media persona and slapped my name on it, but I’m not that person anymore, and I’m not sure I ever was. If Chicago doesn’t want to sign me for my talent, then I’ll find somewhere that will, but you’re not making another dime off me. And good luck tipping off the paparazzi for a cut now that we have no ties.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You leaked Stevie’s name, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t need to confirm. As soon as I stepped out of my building and saw the crowd in front of hers, I knew.
“Please don’t tell me you’re throwing away your career, throwing away your multimillion-dollar contract for some pussy. For your flight attendant. I get the fantasy, I really do, but don’t be so fucking stupid, Zanders.”
“Don’t fucking talk about her.” I sit up straighter, looking out the windows of my car, hoping no one can hear me. “I should’ve fired you years ago.”
“You’re going to regret this.”
“No, Rich. I really won’t. I’ll have my lawyer draft up the paperwork.”
“Zand—”
I hang up the phone with that, just as he’s done to me so many times before. Then I shoot Lindsey, my lawyer, a text to let her know what went down.