by Sienna Parks
Her name is a dagger to my heart. How could she do this to me?
Without a word, I grab my belt and head back to the living room, turning the volume up loud before walking out and slamming the door behind me.
How foolish of me to think a journalist just happened across my path and into my bed.
Into my heart.
13
JULES
I awake with a bang! I reach for Travis, afraid that there’s an intruder, but he’s nowhere to be found. The TV is blaring down the hallway, and when I hear the announcer speak his name… I know.
I pull the sheet from my bed and run to the door in an attempt to stop him.
“Travis! Wait! Please! Let me explain.” I see his large frame as he makes his way to the stairs. I can hear the neighbors rustling around behind closed doors probably watching my humiliation through the peephole.
“There’s nothing to say. I should have known better. Journalists are all the same… blood thirsty.”
“That’s not true.” He spins to face me, slightly off-kilter at the sight of me wrapped in nothing but a sheet.
“You sold me out. And, you didn’t even have the decency to warn me. You know what I’ve been through, and you did it anyway. But, hey, one footballer ruined is a small price to pay for a rung up the career ladder, right?”
“I care about you, Travis. I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Sorry I ever laid eyes on you.” He moves past me taking the stairs two at a time. “Goodbye, Juliet.”
Without thinking, I gather up my sheet and go after him trying not to fall to my death in the process. I beg him to stop on every flight of stairs as we spiral down toward the entrance to my building.
“Please. Give me a chance to make it up to you. Let me explain. I didn’t want to do it!” I can hear the hysteria in my voice, but I can’t hide the panic that’s taking over me. He won’t look around, the tension in his body visible as he fights against himself as much as me.
“Go to hell!”
Before I realize what I’ve done, the cool night air sends a shiver down my spine. Camera flashes are everywhere as I stumble into Travis’s broad shoulders. He’s frozen to the spot. Questions come from all angles asking who I am and why he’s back.
“No comment.” Travis repeats those two words on a loop as he turns to face me, fury etched in every line of his features. Shielding me from the paparazzi, he finds his way through the crowd and back inside.
“Haven’t you done enough damage? Go back upstairs, Jules, and don’t talk to the press. They’ll have enough fodder with this picture to keep them going for weeks.”
“I’m so sorry, Travis. I thought you knew about the article when you turned up tonight.” He’s getting more and more agitated as he forces me out of sight of the cameras and up the stairs.
“Sure. You ruin everything I’ve built to safeguard my kid over the past four years, but I thought I’d just swing by for a quick roll in the sheets. Don’t be so goddamn naïve. You’re a kid. How could you possibly understand what you’ve just unleashed in my life? You’ve barely lived.”
“I’m twenty-five. I’m not a kid. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough.” He turns on his heels and leaves me crying in the stairwell. I can still hear the rabble of reporters outside, so I force myself to my feet and scramble up endless flights of stairs to the safety of my apartment.
With the door closed tightly behind me, and the locks firmly in place, I drop to the floor and sob. I just lost any chance of the future I wanted.
I watch in abject horror as the paparazzi swarm Travis. Eli is clutched close to his chest as he shields him from the camera flashes and raucous mob.
I did this.
Killing two birds with one stone, whatever way you look at it, is killing. I thought I could further my career and bring Travis back from the mountain—from his isolated life. Somewhere in the dumbest part of my mind, I convinced myself I was doing him a favor. Giving us a chance to succeed. I missed him, but he told me he couldn’t come back. I gave him the chance to tell me who he was, but he wouldn’t hear of it. As days turned into weeks, I wanted to believe that somehow, he would find his way to me, and when weeks became months, I lost any shred of hope I was clinging to.
I toiled with releasing this article right up until the moment I submitted it to the newspaper. The minute I got on the plane to come back here, my fingers started typing. It was as if they had a life of their own, but I never intended for anyone to read it.
My boss was livid that I’d been gone without a word and missed my deadline. I was quick to write him a fluff piece to justify my trip, but he saw right through it—as if he could smell a story. I tried to write a vague article about my knight in shining armor—a stranger in the woods who saved my life. But, every time I tried… Travis was there. I kept coming back to his story. I knew I couldn’t put it out there, but when my rent was due, and the newspaper threatened to demote me to a freelance contributor, I caved. I needed the money—it’s not an excuse, just a fact. One that I’m ashamed of.
If I’m honest, I was pissed when he refused to compromise with me. I wanted to make it work. I put myself out there and asked him to try. I’ve never been the type of girl who asks a guy for anything. I don’t want to be perceived as needy, and I refuse to wear my heart on my sleeve. It’s not who I am—I told him, but he didn’t listen.
Then, he turns up professing his love for me, and now, I regret my actions more than he’ll ever know. With no concept of fame and the realities that come with it, I naïvely thought he could come back to LA. Football has never been my strong suit, but I knew his return would make for a good story. I still remember the newspapers with his picture splashed on every cover. I figured, after all these years, it wouldn’t be as big a deal.
News vans follow him wherever he goes—anytime, day or night. Photographers are camped outside the gates of his LA home hoping for even a glimpse of him and Elijah. He knew this would happen. He didn’t trust me with the truth… and he was right. I threw them to the wolves for a wage bump and my name on the front page.
I’ve been offered more money than I make in a year, by several newspapers, to tell my story. Damsel in distress, lost on a mountain, rescued by grief-stricken Travis Thorburn. The paparazzi have tried to snap my picture since my half-naked debut with Travis, but I think they expected me to lead them straight to him. Nothing could be further from the truth. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him or Eli, and I can’t blame him. I ruined their lives for my career.
My boss, Norm, is making every accommodation for me now still riding the high of the scoop. When I told him I wanted to work on bigger and better articles, he didn’t even try to fight me. Then, I told him I needed to work from home more—no problem. But, I’ve had a few job offers in other states, and I’m considering leaving LA for good.
I grew up spending weekends in the California hills and going to high school parties on the beach. This is the only place I’ve ever called home, but with every passing day, I’m losing my sense of self. I don’t think I can stay here and constantly be reminded of Travis.
And then it hits me.
The despair that is eating away at my insides is only a fraction of what he must have felt when his wife died. Memories on every corner, reminders of her wherever he looked. It must have been unbearable.
He loved her.
Like a bolt of lightning, I’m struck with the stark reality of the feeling gnawing at me—it’s love. I love him. And, I’ve lost him… forever.
Protesting only makes it worse. Norm is intent on me covering the LA Rams’ game tonight. I’ve suggested candidates more qualified to write a sports article, but he insists it will sell better with my name plastered under the headline.
No one has worn the number eighty-two jersey since Travis left the team, but tonight they’re making it official—they’re retiring his jersey and paying s
pecial tribute to his wife and son. Elijah will be presented with a bite-size version of his daddy’s jersey.
Today has made it easy for me. I’ll be handing in my notice this week and accepting a job offer in New York. It’s not my dream job, but it’s a step up on the ladder. And, let’s face it, it can’t be worse than this.
From the moment I sat down in the press conference room, my stomach has been in knots. There’s a buzz in the air, and it’s a first for me. Up until now, I’ve written solitary columns with very little input from anyone else and zero interaction with other journalists.
I’ve made sure I’ll be hidden from Travis’s line of sight. I’d hate to make this harder on him than it needs to be. The past three weeks have been the worst kind of torture seeing Travis on every news channel, and knowing I can’t reach out and touch him. I never got a chance to meet Elijah, but from what I’ve seen on TV and in the newspapers, he’s just as magnetic as his father. I can see the likeness between them, but there’s also a distinct resemblance to the mother he never met.
Like a true stalker, I’ve googled every old article and photo of Travis. His fairy-tale romance was chronicled in every detail, and his astronomical rise to football fame was celebrated at every turn. He was the poster boy for the American dream—tall, handsome, athletic, and revered by millions.
I watch the clock, Tick… tock… tick… tock. It takes forever, and then, in the blink of an eye, I sense a change in the room. I can feel his energy before I see his face. The room is alive with a thousand whispered words of anticipation. The journalist next to me turning to share the moment.
“Can you believe he’s back? Who runs off to the mountains just because someone died? Think he had a mental breakdown?” I look around the room, the same snide whispers on everyone’s lips.
“He was grieving.”
“Whatever. It’s a crying shame. He’s hot as hell.” I busy myself to avoid continuing the conversation. I’m sick to my stomach. “Here he comes.” Her words send my nerves into overdrive.
From a distance, I see his bright blue eyes scanning the room. He looks different. His hair is shorter and his face clean shaven. Any trace of the life he’s been living the past four years has been eradicated. In a sharp, three-piece suit, he’s almost unrecognizable as the rugged man who saved my life on that mountain.
His looks don’t matter. He’s always going to be stunning to me. It’s the vulnerability I see masked with a welcoming smile. I’m drawn to the man who puts his son above all else. The man who loved so fiercely it broke him when he lost his wife. Isn’t that what most of us strive for? If I die, I want someone to miss me, someone who feels my loss so deeply they can barely breathe.
As he takes a seat behind the microphone, he’s joined by the Rams’ head coach and his best friend and teammate, Fletcher Danes. They were a legendary combination on the field. Fletch was never the same after Travis left, but he seems to have welcomed the return of his friend with open arms.
The rabble of reporters starts bombarding them with questions, the coach settling the crowd with his booming voice.
“The Rams are thrilled to welcome one of the best players of all time back to the fold today. As you know, Travis was always at the heart of the team, and we were all saddened by the tragic loss of his wife, Angela. She was a wonderful person, a devoted wife, and I’m sure I speak for everyone here at the Rams when I say she’s sorely missed.”
Reporters shout to be heard calling to Travis directly.
“What does it feel like to be back, Travis? Is this a permanent move?” Coach steps in, resting his hand on Trav’s shoulder.
“Starting off with the easy questions, I see. Give him a few minutes to get comfortable. We’re happy to be able to retire his jersey today. Everyone on the team agreed that no one would take over number eighty-two, but it’s nice to make it official.”
I must be the only journalist who isn’t vying for Travis’s attention. My notepad is blank along with my brain. Being in the same room with him is overwhelming. I’m slouched in my seat to avoid his gaze, and yet everything inside me wants to stand up and beg for forgiveness, to tell him how naïve I was, that some of my intentions were honorable, and others were selfish in the worst possible way.
There’s no redemption for me. Thrusting him back into the limelight is the cruelest thing I’ve ever done. If he were to give me the time of day, I don’t know how I could justify my actions. That’s not love. I’m a fraud for even thinking it, but all of this has made me face how I feel for him. I also know he doesn’t need my twisted version of love in his life. It would only make my betrayal more acute.
The cacophony of voices has become white noise as I observe every move… every word from Travis’s lips. It’s not until I hear my name that I’m pulled back to my surroundings.
“What was the nature of your relationship with Juliet Abrams? How did she find you, and why did you agree to the interview after all these years of obscurity?” As the words tumble from the reporter’s mouth, I watch disgust register on Travis’s face. Just the mention of my name sparks his anger.
“Firstly, let me clear this up for everyone. I did not agree to the article in question. I had no intention of returning to LA, but I guess the universe still has a sick sense of humor.” His voice is smooth as silk when he answers with stoic poise. “To answer your first question, I don’t have a relationship with Ms. Abrams. I was simply trying to be a Good Samaritan. Unfortunately, it seems I didn’t earn her trust or respect.”
Without thinking, an anguished gasp escapes me, loud enough for those around me to stop and stare. Like a stream trickling down into the vast ocean, row after row of reporters turn to see what’s going on.
The loud-mouthed girl sitting next to me realizes who I am—I can see the moment it all falls into place for her. My eyes beg for silence, but karma’s a bitch.
“You’re Juliet Abrams!” A collective intake of breath takes over the crowd, and as if Moses himself parted the sea of journalists hiding me from Travis, our eyes lock across the room.
“Travis. Did you know that Ms. Abrams would be here today? Do you have anything you want to say to her?” The questions come thick and fast half-shouting to Travis while everyone around me starts hounding me to give them a quote. I’m dumbstruck. Lost. Alone in the cold of my own making. I can’t take my eyes off him as he stares back in disbelief.
“Well, hello, Ms. Abrams. Nice of you to join us today. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re here. Can’t miss an opportunity to exploit my tragedy, right? In answer to this gentleman’s question, I do have something I want to say to you. You played me like a fiddle. I hope your newfound success is everything you hoped it would be.”
“Travis, I…” All eyes are on me, and I have no recourse.
“Save it. I’ve heard enough to know who you are.”
He forces himself to look away—to focus on the crowd who is out for my blood.
“Next question, please. Today is about something bigger than petty news. It’s about family. The Rams were and still are dear to my heart. To say I’m overwhelmed by the reception I’ve received since I got back, would be an understatement. Thank you doesn’t come close to expressing my gratitude for such a great honor.”
Ten more questions are hurled his way within seconds, but as his eyes dart to mine one last time, he addresses the crowd. His message is for me—confirmation of the hurt I’ve caused.
“I think we’re done here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go and enjoy the day with my boy. I would appreciate your cooperation when it comes to keeping him out of the tabloids. This isn’t a world he’s used to, and as you can imagine, it’s a big adjustment for such a little boy. His life has been turned upside down, and he’s already been through more than most of you will ever understand. He’s not a prize for you to trade. He’s my son.”
He stands from the table and leaves the room with a dignity that puts me to shame. I can’t breathe. Dropping to my seat
, everything starts spinning around me. With Travis gone, the vultures are circling ready to tear me limb from limb. It’s terrifying.
“You were pictured with Mr. Thorburn outside your apartment building in nothing but a sheet. Tell us, what’s it like to sleep with a legend?”
I want to run, but my legs won’t take me. Instead, my eyes fill with tears as photographers blind me with camera flashes. I attempt to shield myself from their unrelenting scrutiny, but it’s futile. I should know that better than anyone.
In this moment, I’m ashamed of my chosen profession. My thirst to uncover a story no matter the collateral damage, being on the other side of it, I see it all in a different light. What I’ve done. Who I am. How I used Travis and his son. Any hope I had of a reconciliation with him is lost. He said it himself—Eli’s world has been turned on its axis, and that falls squarely on my shoulders. Travis took him away from all of this for a reason, and in my ignorance, I thought I knew better.
Exposed and alone, I give in to the chill constricting my heart. Press be damned.
I’m done.
14
TRAVIS
Seeing Eli walk on the field to a roar of adoring fans is more emotional than I expected. I’d always dreamed of taking him out there at the end of a game or when we won the Super Bowl. I think it’s something every player wants to share with their kids.
Eli shows no fear or trepidation, smiling and waving as he holds my hand and makes his way to the center of the field. Tugging on my jacket, he pulls me down to whisper in my ear, “Daddy, this is fun. I wike it! Can we pway, too?”
“Not right now, champ. When we get home, we’ll play.” It’s all the encouragement he needs—he skips off to get his shirt with my name and number emblazoned on the back. Pride wells up inside me as I watch him accept this honor. He holds it up to show me with a huge smile on his tiny little face.