22. Zak

Ihad to walk away.

When I looked into Matt's eyes, when I saw them glow with a whole lot of emotions that mirror the ones in my soul, I knew I had to put as much distance between us as possible.

If I didn't, I'd end up getting sucked back into his black hole.

This time, maybe, for good.

There was fire there. Heat. Lust. Need.

But I also saw the accusatory look in his eyes, the rejection, and the shock.

Complicated. We always were so fucking complicated.

But fuck it. I'm more concerned with self-preservation at this point.

For once, I'm going to let the storm rage without me in the eye of it.

I ignore the shiver that slaps my spine as I lead Ryan Blake toward the owner's box. Matt's eyes still burn bright, searing a hole into my flesh with every step I take. Every shred of self-control in my grasp goes toward keeping my gaze front and center even though every cell of my being wants to twist around and look at him one more time, to witness that I still affect him on some deep, dark level.

I push open the door, half-listening to Ryan as Jake Parsons approaches. He claps me on the back, and I manage a smile for him even though my heart feels as though it's being skewered.

"What are you doing up here?" Jake asks with more than a hint of question in his tone.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I didn't want to broadcast my plans to anyone, especially Jake and Marc. They'd turn the whole thing into some publicity circus, and it's the last thing I want going into the game.

My eyes dart toward the field, tiny palpitations assaulting my heart.

I didn't think I'd ever be in a locker room again.

Last time I was there…

No. Fuck, no. I'm not thinking about that.

Not today.

Not now.

Not fucking ever.

It's behind me. Buried.

"I'm gearing up for the game. Just like everyone else." My lips pull into a tight smile.

Jake nods and casts a curious look at Ryan, who's moving toward the buffet of food set up along the back of the box. "I hope you considered what we talked about. As the owner, you set the tone for the team and the performance. They need you, Zak."

My fingers tingle at my sides. I really want to punch him in the face.

Anything to stop him from talking.

"These guys are paid a shit ton of money to do a job, whether or not I'm involved. They don't need a pep talk from me to win a game."

"You'd better hope so. Today isn't important from a stats perspective, but it gives the world a first glimpse of the team. You know sportscasters form opinions early. The team needs to pull it together, especially for the Raptors. Because if things go south today, the media won't care about pointing fingers at anyone but you. And I don't think you want to be the scapegoat here."

I swallow hard, tiny prickles of anxiety piercing my chest.

The Raptors… and their All-American running back, Brett fucking Travers.

I'm not sure if Jake says anything else after that. All I can hear is that name thrashing between my ears the way my heart pummels the side of my ribcage in a frenzy.

Jake moves past me, clearly finished with his speech, and glad hands some other guys in the box. I walk over to Ryan, my mouth dry. Clearing my throat, I twist the cap off a bottle of water and guzzle it. Like I really needed anything else to make this day more stressful.

"Listen, hang out here for a while, okay? Eat, drink. But don't tell anyone where I'm going."

"You got it, boss." Ryan grins, then stuffs a forkful of salad into his mouth. "You can count on me to be discreet as fuck."

I smile at my top hedge fund manager and one of my trusted colleagues. "I'm pretty sure everyone will want to know more about you than me, anyway."

And I planned it that way, too. Parading Ryan through here, allowing us to be photographed by the paparazzi. My hope is that it'll take the eyes off me and focus them on him.

Let the world speculate about my romantic life while I clear the air with my new team.

Not because Jake or Marc strongly recommended it.

But because it's my dad's legacy, and I need to do it for him. He won't ever be able to watch his team play, scream from the sidelines, or celebrate the wins.

I can do it for him, though. I can do everything in my power to make sure those wins happen, to give the team the boost I know Dad would.

With all the newfound clarity from my therapy session with Dr. Forest, I know it's my only way forward. It's time to put the past behind me, and that includes Matt Harrison.

I have the power to shape my future. I don't need to be a victim to the past anymore. Dr. Forest was right. Self-acceptance is my greatest strength. And the strength that I need is already inside of me. I just need to channel it.

What better way to start than by giving my new team the support and encouragement they've been lacking?

I repeat the thoughts over and over, making them my new mantra, as I slow to a stop in front of the elevator.

The elevator doors open after a few seconds, and I stab the button to take me down to the lower level of the stadium. As soon as the doors creak open, my eyes are assaulted by flashing camera lights. I barely have a chance to step off the elevator before questions are pelted at me from all directions.

Fuck, why did I ever think I could fly under the damn radar on my own turf?

"Mr. Kacey, how do you feel about the upcoming season?"

"Do you think the players will be impacted by all the controversy about you in the media?"

"What have you done to prepare the team for the start of the season?"

These were not the people I came down to talk to. These particular vultures are so interested in what I want out of the team and the season, but they're all cut from the same cloth. They want answers, and they'll do anything to get them… even twist the truth.

My pulse jumps into my throat, anger coursing through me.

Why should I give them a goddamn thing? I don't owe them shit.

They're playing nice now because they need something, but where were they over the past few weeks? None of them gave a crap about hearing my side of things. They just wanted to paint me as some kind of evil, gay villain who wanted to destroy the organization.

Fuck them.

I force my lips into a tight smile. "Thanks for coming. If you'll excuse me, I have to meet with my team."

The flashes follow me. So do the footsteps.

How in the hell is my team not going to feel like I'm showing up in their locker room as a publicity stunt?

I pick up the pace. A low murmur of voices elevates into excitement behind me. I twist my head around to see what got them off my back, and my stomach free falls into my shoes when he looks back at me, a shit-eating grin on his smug ass face.

Brett fucking Travers.

He struts into the hallway wearing warm-up clothes, a wide smile on his face at the sight of the cameras.

More questions get hurled our way but only one stands out.

"This must be an exciting match-up for you both. Ohio State alums coming together for the first time in years, facing off for preseason," one of the media dicks says in an animated voice. "Mr. Kacey, do you think the Crusaders have what it takes to beat them here at home?"

I hear more words but can't drag my gaze away from Brett. He looks at me with laughing eyes, ones that shout, "I won, you fucking lost, and that's the way it's always gonna be."

All the media assholes who've been tormenting me and my mom… they're the same as Brett. Intolerant, ignorant, hateful, and not in any way giving a shit about who they target, who they hurt, who they ruin.

My spine tenses, lungs wrapped tight with angst. Sweat beads form along the back of my neck, and my temples throb, filling my head with white noise.

"That's a good question, Kacey," Brett murmurs through his scumbag smile. "But let's be real. You sure as hell didn't have it years ago when you ran away like a pussy. Why should anyone believe you have it now?"