Page 96 of Worth the Try
Chapter 34
Ansel
The past few days have been an absolute blur. The Granite’s owner called shortly after the news broke and reamed me six ways to Sunday, but once calmed down enough to listen to my side of things, he seemed to be okay. Not that it was the last time he called or anything. I spent the weekend holed up with Lewis and Kari, strategizing on talking points, reaching out to my personal sponsors and team sponsors, and generally trying to keep my shit together. Which was nearly impossible when my lawyer reported on what she was doing on the legal side.
Spoiler alert: There’s pretty much nothing she can do. Which is utter and complete bullshit. And I was quick to tell her that, but she swore that she and her team were doing everything they could.
Rosie managed to remain relatively oblivious to the whole thing, which has been the only silver lining to all of this.
And Elodie…
Fuck. Elodie.
It’s ninety-five degrees, and she’s curled up on the screened-in patio couch wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, eyes glued toher phone. Beside her, Rosie chatters about one thing or another while she puts her favorite puzzle together on the coffee table.
I pour them both some lemonade, cutting the juice with water and dropping freshly sliced jalapeños in it for Elodie just the way I know she likes.
Rosie’s eyes sparkle when she sees the glasses in my hands. “Lemonade!” She jumps up and takes it from me, doing a little happy dance as she sips it through a curly straw. The curly straws are mandatory, as I’ve been informed they make everything taste better.
Elodie’s eyes are the opposite, dull and sad, as I ease down beside her and hand hers over. “Thanks.”
“You really shouldn’t pay so much attention to all that.” I tip my chin to her phone. “We both know that none of it is true, and it’s not good for you.”
She shakes her head, a lone tear tracing down her cheek. “I’m so sorry. I never should have gone to that gala.”
I’ve lost count of how many times she’s apologized. “We couldn’t have seen this coming, Elodie.”
“It’s my worst nightmare. Everyone knows who I am. My mother won’t stop texting with updates on how bad this is for her pageant presidency bid and keeps demanding that I make it all stop, as if I have control over anything. Complete strangers are DM’ing me and telling me I don’t deserve to live,” she says, her voice low. “I thought that maybe it’d die down, you know? But it’s only gotten worse. The freakingBritishtabloids have caught on, Ansel! They’re gleeful that the ‘Yank ruggers’ finally have some drama. Do you know how bad this is? What they’re calling me?” Her voice is shrill, and I watch as she works to rein herself back in.
“I’m aware,” I tell her. “Well aware. I have agents asking if they need to find a new team for their player. Marketing called this morning to tell me sales are either going to take a hitbecause of this, or they’ll explode, and they’re not sure which yet. The owner called me again. We’ve talked more in the past three days than I ever wanted to talk to the man. Lewis is earning every cent he makes off me. And Kari’s blowing up my phone. The press are hounding me for a quote, but Kari’s holding us off until this afternoon’s press conference.”
She whips her head toward me. “Press conference?”
I keep going. “My parents have called. The players have called, half of them to see if I’m okay and the other half to see if we’re practicing this week.” I huff out a dry laugh. “So. Yes. I’m aware.”
Her face is pale. “And…Lauren? Have you heard anything from her?”
I shake my head. “That’s the worst of it. Through everything, I can’t figure out what she gets out of stirring all this up. She can’t really want custody.”
Because I will crumble if she takes my little girl.
Every reasonable part of me knows that it’s impossible, that no judge in their right mind would grant her custody after she literally abandoned her child to my care, but reasonable packed its bags about two days ago. Reasonable is long gone, and in its place is nothing but dread, cold fury, and a thirst for vengeance.
“She’s…” Elodie cuts herself off with a meaningful look at Rosie, who’s humming to herself while she works on the puzzle nearby. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Rosie stays here.”
“That’sallthat matters,” I say vehemently.
Elodie studies me quietly, her eyes puffy and smudged with purple from lack of sleep, while my mind whirls with everything I need to do.
“You’re good to watch her?” I ask, indicating my daughter.
“It’s my job, Ansel,” she reminds me wryly. “I’m definitely good to watch her.”
I still check one last time before I leave for the Granite’s facilities.
I’m tryingto pull my shit together in the coach’s office for the millionth time when Mark, the head of finance, stops by. “Certainly one way to make a splash, Coach.” He grins as he speaks.
“Don’t call me Coach,” I shoot back, thankful for the immediate friendliness he offers.
