The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2)

The Game Changer (The Perfect Game #2) Page 32

“Yeah. They’re fucking vultures.”

I pushed off the bed and walked into the kitchen. I opened the cupboard and pulled out a glass. Filling it with water, I gulped the entire thing down. “How did you hear about the article?”

“The team’s publicist saw it and alerted me. He’s putting out an official statement on my behalf.”

“What is your statement?” I asked, placing the glass down on the cold granite countertop.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I started getting pissed, the heat rising in my belly.

“The team makes a statement, and I’m required to go along with it,” he told me, trying to make me feel better but failing miserably.

“What if you don’t agree with it? What if it’s a horrible, stupid statement? You’re just supposed to smile and nod your head?”

“That’s what happens, Kitten. They put out a statement that’s best for the team, and I’m supposed to agree with it. I have no say.”

I turned my back to him, storming into our bedroom. “That’s fucking ridiculous! This is your life we’re talking about! And my life. These are horrible lies about you and about me. We can’t just sit here and agree with some statement you didn’t even make.”

He followed right behind me. “What do you want to do? Make our own statement?”

I grabbed my running shoes from the closet. “I have to get the fuck out of here.” The heat spread quickly throughout my entire body as my temper flared beyond control.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“You’re not the only one with a temper, Jack. Just because I don’t go around putting my fist in people’s faces doesn’t mean I don’t lose my shit!”

“Running away isn’t really showing you have a temper. It just shows you have…” he paused, “legs.”

I laced up my gym shoes. “Just leave me alone.”

“See? Legs for running away instead of staying here and talking it out!” he yelled, his voice frustrated.

“I can’t think clearly when I’m around you. I need to be away from you.” His eyes. His face. They all distracted me from my internal thoughts.

I slammed the door and walked down the stairs to our gym, thankful it was empty. I turned on a treadmill before plugging into my iPod. The music of Imagine Dragons blasted in my ears as I started running faster and faster, all the frustration from the last few months pouring out in beads of sweat across my forehead. Wishing I could stomp out all the blog posts, newspaper articles, gossip columns, message board threads, and Chrystle from my memory with each step, I slammed my feet against the moving surface.

After an hour of running on pure adrenaline, nothing changed. I didn’t feel better, relieved, or calmed. The same pressures and hurt remained. I realized this was something I could no longer ignore.

I wasn’t happy.

The past four months had helped dissolve my strength into a puddle of self-doubt and misery. Being with Jack meant accepting all the other things that came with it, and I hated it. My head pounded as I walked back into our apartment. Ignoring Jack, I moved past him and into the shower. He tried to follow me, but I closed and locked the door. I took my time, hoping the hot water would wash away my doubts, but nothing helped. Afterward, I towel dried my hair before emerging with another towel wrapped around my body.

Jack sat on our bed, watching my every move as I quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a tank top.

“I didn’t sign up for this, Jack.” I snapped my eyes shut, willing the online pictures and tabloid article to disappear from my mind.

“You didn’t sign up for what exactly?” he asked cautiously, his head tilting to one side.

I sighed. “I didn’t sign up for this life. This constant invasion of privacy… this scrutiny. This judgment. People get to say and write whatever they want about me, and I just have to sit here and take it. I can’t deal with it anymore.”

The tears started to fall, and I didn’t bother to stop them. “Did you know that my pictures are plastered all over websites where people get to vote on whether or not they think I’m hot enough for you?” I screamed through my frustration.

Logically I knew it wasn’t Jack’s fault, but my embarrassment overruled all logic at the moment. “Do you know how horrible that feels? To be judged on my looks by a bunch of fucking strangers? Heaven forbid I’m actually a good person who loves her boyfriend and works hard and treats people well. But that doesn’t count. None of that matters!”

I threw my hands out, shaking my head. “It’s all about what I wear and how my hair looks and how much weight I need to lose. Why do people think it’s OK to tear apart the way I look? Did you know there’s an entire thread on the baseball website dedicated to hating me? Not liking me, but hating me. What the hell did I even do to anyone?”

“What? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked. “I’ll have administration get that shit taken down right now! I will not have any threads about you on a baseball website. Unless it’s good stuff.” He forced a small smile, his dimples barely showing.

“I’ve been called every name in the book. Whore, slut, gold digger, ugly, fat, bitch, cunt, tramp, cleat chaser… and I can’t fucking take it, Jack. I don’t know how anyone does.”

“What are you saying, Kitten?” He took two steps toward me, and I instinctively stepped back.

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” My heart battered against my chest as I denied the truth. I knew exactly what I was saying… I just apparently couldn’t form the actual words.

He started nervously pacing. In all honesty, my nerves even overwhelmed me in that moment. “Don’t do anything stupid, Cass. You know we’re no good without each other.”

I nodded my head as more tears escaped. “I’m not sure we’re any good with each other either.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re just upset.” Jack’s voice shook as he shoved his hands into his front pockets. When I didn’t respond, he begged, “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare give up on us.”

“I feel like I’m losing myself.” I turned away, unable to bear the look in his eyes. “Being in this relationship with you is completely fucking with me,” I admitted, the tears falling down my cheeks without mercy. Guilt rushed through me as my words spilled out. I never intended to admit all of this to him during the baseball season. I wanted to be strong enough to get through it on my own, to talk to him when the season ended, but I couldn’t take any more. My insides had wound up so tight I thought they might shatter. Chrystle’s accusatory article was the last straw.

Jack stepped closer, his arms resting on my shoulders as he turned me toward him. “You don’t get to quit,” he said, reaching for my chin with shaky hands. “You don’t get to walk away from this.”

I wanted to throw up. My feelings contorted inside of me, the conflict raging once again. Part of me wanted to bolt as quickly as I could from everything Jack Carter, while the rest of me wanted to tangle myself up in his arms and never let go.

“I need to figure out how to be with you and still keep my sanity. I feel like a crazed lunatic. Like I have absolutely no control over my life. I can’t keep living like this.” I sobbed until my vision blurred.

He led me toward our couch, pulling me down with him as I cried into his chest. How had I become so twisted up and confused? I knew I loved Jack, but I wasn’t sure I could be with him like this any longer. I pulled away from his grip, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand as he returned to the view, as gorgeous as ever.

He cupped my cheek, moisture filling his dark eyes. “I don’t want to be here without you. We can fix this. But we can’t fix it if you walk away. I can’t make us work by myself.”

“I just need to find some sort of balance. Between your work and my work and all the pressure that comes along with it—” I stopped as I tried to gather my thoughts. “It’s just too much. I need to get myself together. I’m falling apart here.”

He leaned his head into his hands, his fingers tugging at his dark hair. I watched his chest rise and fall, his head shaking before he turned to look at me. “Fine,” he started with a ragged breath. “Get yourself together, then. But don’t you fucking quit on me. After everything we’ve been through, please don’t let this break us.”

Tears ran down my cheeks with his words. I loved Jack, but this was about me. Loving Jack put my own self-worth at risk. A girl could only take so much bashing and criticism from so many fronts until her self-esteem started to take a nosedive. And that wasn’t healthy for either of us.

“I’m going to take a few days off from work and go stay with Melissa.” The words flew from my lips effortlessly. I hadn’t even talked to Melissa, but I knew she would welcome me.

He lowered his head, the look of defeat replacing any hope he once had. “OK, Kitten. You go.”

I nodded, reaching for my cell phone and dialing Matteo’s number. “Hi, Matteo, it’s Cassie. Can you get me to JFK as soon as possible, or are you busy?”

Matteo asked me to hold for a moment while he rearranged his schedule with another driver. I waited, avoiding all eye contact with Jack. Matteo came back on the line, informing me that he’d pick me up in twenty minutes and he’d call me when he was downstairs. I thanked him before I ended the call and turned the ringer back on.

Whether I wanted to or not, it was time to pack.

I sensed Jack watching me from the doorway of the bedroom we shared as I tossed pieces of clothing into my open suitcase. Deliberately, I forced myself not to look at him. He could take the broken parts of me and shatter them even further. If I looked at him, I’d question everything. He could make me stay, and I desperately needed to go. After adding two more pairs of shoes, I zipped up the suitcase and lifted it from the bed.

“Let me help you,” he offered from behind me, his breath gliding across my back.

“It’s fine. I have it,” I said tightly, refusing to face him.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked, his tone desolate.

I shrugged, unsure of my actual plans. “I don’t know. A few days. A week, maybe. I’ll text you,” I offered with a glance in his direction.

Jack’s face turned sullen as the color drained instantly from his cheeks. He reached for me, his fingers tightening around my wrist, stopping all forward movement. “You are coming back. Right, Kitten?” A look of powerlessness covered his face.

My stomach dropped to my feet with his question. I took a few short breaths before responding, “Yes, Jack. I’m coming back.”

It wasn’t a lie, but the truth was almost as painful. Of course I would come back, but I wasn’t sure what I’d be coming back to. “I have a job here.”

His eyebrows pinched together, tears filling his eyes as he let go of my arm. My phone rang, breaking the sorrow-filled heaviness in the room. “Hi, Matteo. OK, I’ll be right down.”