There was . . . another video? Of Lisa? And it was coming out now? This made no sense. Her heart ached for Lisa. To go through the same hell as Chelsea, but to be a more public figure, had to be rough. She wished she could reach out to her, to let her know that someone else understood what she was going through. But would a call from her even be welcomed? She doubted it.
A male body scooted next to her on the bench, and Chelsea stiffened. Right now was not the time to hit on her. “Seat’s taken,” she said, deliberately not looking up from her phone.
“That’s a shame,” a familiar voice said, barely audible as the crowd started to roar. Chelsea looked up into Sebastian’s face just as the announcer came on, his voice blasting over the speakers as he welcomed everyone to the bout that night. Stunned, she gazed up at him. He was . . . here?
Next to her?
Sebastian smiled, the edges of his beautiful mouth curling up, eyes crinkling, and she was lost in the masculine beauty of his face. He said something else, but it was lost in the noise of the crowd. And oh, she suddenly hated them. Why couldn’t the world be silent when she needed it to be?
The roar grew louder, and she shook her head and touched her ear, indicating she’d missed what he’d said.
Sebastian leaned in and yelled, “Want to go talk somewhere?”
She wanted to fling herself in his arms and bury her face against his neck. But the music changed, and Pisa’s new team skated out, just as Drew sat down on the other side of her. Oh, should she stay or should she go? Would Pisa understand? Or would she even know that Sebastian was next to Chelsea? She hesitated, torn, and then lifted a finger to Sebastian, indicating they should wait, and then pointed at the track. “I have to stay to cheer her on,” she yelled back.
“I’ll wait for you,” he shouted just as the announcer began the roll call of names.
She nodded and forced herself to stare at the track. She knew Pisa would be looking for her and Drew in the audience. And even though the lighting would probably make it impossible for Pisa to see them, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t bail on her friend, the person who always picked her up when she was down. So she waited, and clapped and whistled for each player that was introduced, and all the while her thoughts were in a jumble. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sebastian texting someone on his phone, and a stab of jealousy shot through her.
Was he texting Lisa? Had he come here to tell Chelsea it was over? Why did that hurt so much?
She closed her eyes against the pain. God, why had he come here to tell her in person? He should have just texted her . . . Then again, maybe he had. Damn it, she should have answered them. Then she wouldn’t be sitting here, in agony, waiting for the worst to be flung down on her. For him to twist the knife. This wasn’t going to help her get over him. Not in the slightest.
A hand touched her arm.
Chelsea opened her eyes and saw Sebastian holding his phone out to her. She read the message he’d typed in.
Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to look at your beautiful face? I don’t know if you’ve been counting, but it’s been eleven of the longest days of my life. 264 of the most gut-wrenchingly awful hours, and 15,840 of the slowest minutes ever. Not a single one of those minutes passed in which I didn’t think of you. Over and over again.
Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up at the top of the screen to see who he was texting it to.
Safety Date Chelsea.
Oh.
Her vision blurred with tears. The music changed and a new team started to come out on the track, but Chelsea stared at that phone, at the beautiful message there . . . and began to type one back. Still using his phone, she entered in her response.
You shouldn’t be here. We’re done. Our marriage just can’t be, okay?