Despite the smoothness of my Jordan's soles, my shoes tap against the white tiled floor. I wince as my footsteps echo across the narrow hallway lined with framed photos and awards. Just as the sound of my steps softens against the change in flooring to carpet, the hallway yawns open to reveal a spacious workspace filled with desks and low-rise cubicles. The outer perimeter is lined with offices, glass walls and serrated metal doors.
The space is filled with chat, laughter, phones ringing and the ruffling of papers despite the holiday weekend. Ignoring a few lingering and awed stares, I follow the instructions I received and head straight down the row to the corner office.
Knocking, I wait for the soft 'come in' before I swing the door open, revealing an expansive office with substantial window panels covering two walls. A glass wall opens the office to the floor cubicles, while the last wall is lined with trophies, framed photos and a low bookshelf with binders and folders. A dark slate-coloured carpeted floor covers the space between where I'm standing with the door open and where the large black marble base with black oak veneer desktop finish desk is situated.
Ethan Collins sits with his back to the window overlooking the skyline of Downtown Cardill. Skyscrapers fill the background, the sky is a picturesque blue with soft clouds milling about, and I can hear the honking of cars that's very faint over the chatter filtering in from the bullpen.
Muting the noise slipping in, I softly close the door behind me, stepping into his office as Collins glances up from his laptop. His suit jacket hangs over the back of his chair, a single AirPod in one ear, his tie slightly loosened around his neck with a crisp white dress shirt fitting over his shoulders and chest.
I'm surprised that in the three years since he got the job at Athletic Talents—the sports agency he once interned at, which made him change career paths completely—he's already managed to secure himself a corner office. I don't know much about his work, considering I don't have an agent myself, but he must be doing well.
A smile curls at his lips, his jawline covered with coarse dark hair, and his blue eyes—similar to Ryan's—greet me. I note the silver band on his ring finger, his wedding a blur in the back of my mind as my only focus that day had been on Blondie and the soft frown that consistently tugged at her lips.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Collins stands, straightening his light grey dress pants before holding out his arm, "Does this mean you're finally taking up my offer to be your agent?"
I slap his hand, dabbing him as I snicker under my breath, "Fuck no. I can't afford your fees."
He chuckles, sitting as I take a seat opposite him, "Fuck, I need to rethink my percentage if the millionaire is questioning it."
"Fuck off. I'm not a millionaire." I silently add 'yet' as l sprawl my legs out, stretching back.
Though I did sign my contract, I'm getting my payments as prorated bonuses which means the millions they signed me for are actually spread out over my first year with the team. Still, a significant amount of money is being deposited into my account, but not close to a million yet.
"Sure, sure. That's what they all say."
"Anyway," I shake my head and tip my chin toward his silver ring, "Congrats again on the wedding. How's married life treating you?"
He leans back in his chair, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Small circles of colour sprout across his cheekbones, "It's going really well, better than what people were trying to scare me off with. I mean, we were basically married before without the legality of signing papers."
I pinch my lips together, giving him a thoughtful nod, "So Tegan hasn't kicked you out yet?" I refer to his now wife, Tegan, whom he had previously been dating for almost seven years.
"Still quite early, could happen any time now," he flashes me a smile with a glint in his dark blue eyes. He's hopelessly in love with his wife, and even if she were to kick him out, he would stay close by and grovel for days to be with her again.
And for the first time, I know what that feels like. To be hopelessly in love that I don't want to spend a second apart from my girlfriend. Even coming here today, knowing the reason, half of me was fighting with the other half for insisting that she stay behind. That it should be me who does this because if it backfires, I want none of it to affect Blondie. But yet, a small part of me still yearns to have her with me.
"What's up with you? I heard through the grapevine that you got yourself a new girlfriend." Collins is very much the older version of Ryan, who can't hide a single thought or emotion from crossing their face. A taunting grin curls at his lips as his eyes glean with amusement.
"Fucking hell, Ryan," I mumble under my breath. I forgot that she still has those long-standing Sunday brunches with her family, where they love to gossip and catch up. Apparently, I've been a popular topic as of late, considering how even Collins knows about Blondie.
But despite my words, there's a soft smile, knowing Ryan only means well for Blondie.
"That's a long story."
"I'll bet," he arches a brow, "But I'm sure you didn't come all this way to discuss your love life."
Drawing air into my lungs, I heave a sigh, "No, I didn't."
He leans forward, interlacing his fingers and placing them before him, "What can I help you with?" His tone suddenly takes on a hint of professionalism.
"I need some advice."
His brows pinch together, concern pooling in his eyes as if recalling the last time I asked for his help, "Is this about Flint?"
I shake my head, "No, thankfully, he remains buried in the past," I haven't heard from my old coach since he got fired, and I would like it to stay that way, "But I'm having issues with his protégé."
Collins' features harden at the mention of Sinclair. I almost forgot that in the process of hurting Ryan, he also betrayed Collins, who happens to be her brother.
I remember Blake telling me that Ryan didn't tell her brother what exactly happened between her and Sinclair. But it still had to hurt to know that his best friend betrayed his trust when it came to his sister.
I don't bother questioning how Collins could have ever been friends with Sinclair because, like many people, Collins only got to see the show he put on for the world, not the different facets and personalities he really has.
He leans back into his chair again, getting comfortable and starts swivelling. Though the hard lines on his face, the tightness around his lips doesn't ease.
"So, Sinclair is back to his fucking tricks," his eyes roam over the desktop, skimming over the contents as he works his jaw, "What do you need my help with?"
I don't think he knows much about what happened to Ryan at the time. He wouldn't have gone after Blake for what he did—according to Carter anyway—and would have hounded Sinclair instead. But I'm surprised Collins didn't do anything to warn him off the first time because how could someone who once considered each other friends keep hurting their sister, knowing how much it would have hurt the friend?
But I can't ask what I could do about the photos without telling him about what Sinclair did, and I don't think Ryan wanted him to know what had happened. But I didn't know who else to ask, whom I trust with this, to ask the right questions, or make me aware of the consequences.
I can't betray Ryan's trust, but I don't know who else to trust.
I wanted to ask if this was a smart move on my part; I just wanted to get Sinclair to leave me alone. Not sure I want to do that by sending him to jail. Potentially.
"He's been causing issues, hurting me and provoking me on the field, and the coaches or management can't do anything about it without proof which I don't really have. Even in the game tapes, it's not serious enough for them to warrant a warning. Do you know if legally I can do anything about it?"
He rubs his chin deliberately, scratching his jaw, "I would have to look at your contracts, but unfortunately, there isn't much you could do. Obviously, they can't flag it on the field—since it's your own teammate and such—and if there's no proof of his harassment, it'll be a 'he said, he said' situation and nothing, unfortunately, ever comes of those."
I let out a deflected sigh, hoping not to resort to using the photos in the first place and not being the one to hurt Ryan all over again. No matter how many times she says she's over it, I'm sure a constant reminder the photos—once public—will bring will be anything but pleasant.
Hesitantly I ask, "What do you know about what happened between Ryan and Sinclair?"
"Why? Is there more that I should know about?" He eyes me skeptically. He is a sneaky arsehole; he seems to know when someone is hiding something.
"Just wondering," I not-so-subtly evade the question.
He continues to swivel back and forth, his foot hitting each side of his desk to change direction, "Just that he broke up with her and hurt her in the process."
A thought forms in my mind, "Did you confront him about it?"
"Hell yeah, I did."
Confusion takes hold, "Ryan doesn't know, though, does she?" Ryan didn't want to tell her brother precisely what happened between her and Sinclair for this reason alone. She didn't want to hurt Collins more than he already might have felt from the betrayal.
"What Ryan doesn't know won't hurt her. She didn't tell me exactly what happened between the two because she didn't want to hurt me. She's always been selfless like that," he has this faraway look on his face, almost like he's recalling memories, "Sinclair was, after all, one of my best friends at the time. So she just said they parted ways, but I knew something was up when she stopped coming to Sunday brunch, hanging out with Tegan and me, and attending football games. I confronted him and gave him a black eye and a bloody nose."
"Shit," my eyes widen, wondering why that was never reported in the media. But then again, it could have been before he started off-season training, before he was officially an NFL player.
"Yep, he may have been my friend, but not anymore."
I gulp, realizing that I was, in fact, about to betray Ryan's trust by telling Collins. Though she did say we could use the photos, and eventually, once we did, information about this and Sinclair will come out in the media, I can't reconcile this being different.
Collins would have found out eventually, I try to justify, but you know what they say about the messenger.
"Why do you look constipated?"
I flit my eyes to his, ignoring the question—due to its stupidity—I try to gain the information I need without telling him exactly what happened. "Hypothetically," I start, chewing on my nail bed—a tick I've picked up from Blondie, despite trying to get her to stop, "what if someone assaulted someone else and there was proof of the injury and," my words are so slow and elongated, abundantly aware of Collins' rising temper, "there was a witness—albeit a bit bias—to the assault?"
Collins stops swivelling to level me with a glare. Despite my stating it to be hypothetical, I'm sure he's connecting the dots.
Through a clenched jaw, his molars grinding, he grits, "Aggravated assault that does not involve serious bodily injury is a second-degree felony," he exhales harshly through his nose, "How severely were these hypothetical injuries?"
I wince at his subtle hints and inflections at his certain words, "Just bruises, let's say, and maybe a raspy voice for a while."
"What kind of assault did you say it was?" His hands curl on the armrest, fisting such that his skin turns stark white from the lack of blood flow.
"Hypothetically," I say, reminding him again, but it seems that word triggers him more as his eyes dilate with anger. He crucifies me with a deadly glare, causing me to gulp, "choking."
"To what end?" His voice is eerily calm.
"Suffocation until the witness pushed the assailant away."
He pinches his eyes shut, trying to take calming breaths. "And you said there were photos," his eyes still remain closed, "Were they of the assault or injury?"
"Injury."
"The statute of limitation for aggravated assault in Pennsylvania is two years. How long ago did this hypothetical situation happen?"
I gulp, "Two years."
His eyes pop open, studying me as his brows knit, "Can you be more precise?"
"December, just before Christmas."
His eyes roam over me, trying to make the connection, probably wondering what happened two years ago, before he suddenly charges out of his seat, slamming his palms into his desk, "So she wasn't just that miserable because of Carsen?"
He starts pacing the room, and my eyes track him. "Well, I'm sure it was because of Blake," I wince, realizing how that might sound concerning my best friend, "But I also didn't know that he had broken up with her at the time, so I can't really answer that."
Blake really left me in the dark after his mother's accident two years ago. I didn't know he had broken up with Ryan, didn't know Collins when to confront Blake about it and didn't know they had made up by the time our second semester started.
"You're telling me that instead of punching Carsen, I should have been pummelling Sinclair?" He's still pacing the room, wearing a hole in his carpeted floor, and running his hands through his hair, messing it up.
"Well," I drawl, "Blake kind of already did that when he found out."
That gets him to stop, "When did he find out?"
"Like a month after it happened."
He lets out a sigh that almost sounds like relief, probably recalling the news about Sinclair's injury and subsequent trade to the LA Wolves. "Please tell me he gave Ryan hell for keeping this from everyone for so long."
"I'm sure he did," I try to comfort him, but I honestly don't know and don't think Blake did. He loves Ryan too much to stay angry at her for any period of time.
"So what's the plan?" He asks, plopping down into his chair with a sigh, threading his fingers through his unruly hair.
"Well," I say, dragging my own hand through my hair, "We have the photos of what happened to her, and I'm the only witness to what happened. Which can be deemed as biased, so that's why I'm here. To ask what I can do."
His answer is pretty straightforward, "Take it to the police."
My eyes grow as I'm shocked by his response, "But—"
He's quick to interrupt me, "The statute of limitation is about to expire. You don't have a lot of time to process any of this. I suggest going immediately, like as soon as you leave here."
I bite the inside of my cheek, "How do you know all this off the top of your head?"
"I look at contracts for a living. I was required to take a few law classes in my undergrad. I just so happened to take a criminal law class."
I nod intentionally, still not feeling right about this. I consider the options, not liking that this is the only one. Maybe I can try to get proof of harassment and have him benched by management or traded, so I don't have to work with him anymore.
Collins' sigh brings my attention back to him, "Your doubt says more about you than it does his actions."
"No," I hesitate, shaking my head, "I want Sinclair to face the consequences of his actions, but jail time? For bothering me seems a bit extreme."
"But that's not all he did. He hurt Ryan, someone he had once supposedly loved. What else would he be capable of if he was willing to do that? This probably wasn't the first time he's hurt someone, and it won't be the last. I'm not going to wait around for him to hurt more people we love. What if it's Bailey this time?"
His words make my eyes snap to him as the plan finally solidifies in my mind. That's the whole reason why I wanted to put an end to him.
He threatened Blondie's career.
I stood by and let him get away with causing me pain, pushing me around and calling me nicknames because it wasn't new. I had already faced worse and didn't care about Sinclair enough to warrant doing anything about it.
But when he came for Blondie was when I decided enough was enough. He had talked to her alone prior, and then he threatened her career. I can't allow that to happen; I can't allow him to continue being a thorn in my side. Especially when I'm trying to start a new life with Blondie.
"And it's not like jail time is guaranteed," he continues to explain as if I hadn't already made up my mind, "Especially with the statute of limitation about to expire. If you could bring on a lawsuit before that, the case will be made public. So even if it is dismissed because of the statute of limitation, at least there's a public record, which could also affect his career. Like what you were hoping for."
With a newfound resilience, I stare at Collins, who has helped me more in this lifetime than some people who have claimed to have loved me my whole life.
"Alright," I figure out the logistics in my head, "let's do this."
A/N - Hey! Happy New Year! I know I said this chapter would be up on Monday or Tuesday, but I basically slept the day away on Monday, and then I visited my parents yesterday, so I didn't have time to edit at all.
We only have two more chapters which will both be in Maverick's POV. I started writing chapter 49, which I will have done by next week. My aim is to also finish chapter 50, so I can double update next week and then post both epilogues the following week. But I will let you know once I finish writing. Again, no promises.
I'll see you guys in the new year!
Maddie