Three hours of arguing over the World Cup qualifier budget left a sharp ringing in my ears. The new training schedule sat on the passenger seat of my SUV, a thick stack of paper I had sacrificed my entire evening to finalize.
My phone buzzed against the center console.
*Chloe.*
I tapped the screen to answer, keeping my eyes on the dark, empty road. Three years ago, she had been broke and desperate. I handed her a job as a player assistant. The pay was excellent, the expectations incredibly low. I spent half my nights fixing her mistakes and organizing player requests because she was my best friend.
"Hey, Chloe, did you mess up the travel logs again?" I asked.
A high-pitched shriek tore through the speaker.
I yanked the phone away from my ear, swerving slightly in my lane. "Chloe? Are you okay? What’s going on?"
More noise followed. A rhythmic thumping. A muffled gasp.
She pocket-dialed me. I sighed, reaching out to hit the red button on the screen.
"That's it," a man groaned over the line. "You never treat me like Evelyn does. You're the best."
My finger froze a millimeter above the glass.
That voice.
Julian.
My fiancé.
The same man who kissed my forehead at seven this morning and promised to have dinner waiting for me when I got home.
"Julian, don't stop!" Chloe screamed, her voice echoing off the dashboard.
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I gripped the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned stark white. The streetlights blurred into streaks of yellow.
"What are you doing?" I yelled.
The sounds over the speaker abruptly stopped. A loud rustling followed, like heavy sheets being ripped off a mattress. Frantic whispers replaced the moans.
"Shit, my phone," Chloe hissed.
"Give it to me," Julian snapped.
Heavy panting filled the silence. I stared straight ahead, my chest tight, waiting for the punchline of a sick joke.
"Evelyn?" Julian’s voice cracked.
"Tell me I didn't just hear my fiancé sleeping with my best friend," I said.
"Babe, wait. It’s a misunderstanding."
A harsh laugh ripped from my throat. "A misunderstanding? You were moaning her name!"
"I can explain," Julian pleaded, his tone dropping into a pathetic whine. "I swear I can explain everything."
"Explain what?" I demanded, pressing harder on the gas pedal. "Explain how you accidentally tripped and fell into the girl I hired?"
"Evie, please listen to me. We were just stressed. You've been so busy with the qualifiers, and she was just there."
"So you used her?" I asked.
"Yes! I mean, no! It meant nothing."
"You told her she was the best, Julian. You brought up my name."
"I didn't mean it," he rushed out. "Can we just... can we pretend this call never happened? Please, Evie. I love you. Let's talk about this at home."
"Pretend?" I screamed, slamming my palm against the wheel. "You piece of trash, I’m going to—"
Blinding white light flooded my windshield.
A pair of high beams swerved directly into my lane.
I jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. Tires screeched against the asphalt. The SUV spun violently out of control.
"Evelyn! What was that sound?" Julian shouted.
Metal crunched. Glass shattered inward, raining over my face and arms. The airbag deployed with a brutal punch to my chest.
Pain exploded through my skull.
The world flipped, and then collapsed into absolute darkness.
***
"Are you alright, miss?"
A deep voice cut through the thick fog in my brain.
I groaned, my eyelids heavy. The harsh scent of cheap floor wax and stale sweat invaded my nose. I definitely wasn't in my car anymore.
I forced my eyes open.
A face hovered above me. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and dark, concerned eyes.
Adrian.
I blinked, trying to clear the blurry edges of my vision. Adrian wasn't supposed to be here. He played for a rival club now, thousands of miles away in Europe. We hadn't spoken in two years.
"Miss? Can you hear me?" he asked, extending a hand.
I ignored it, pressing my palms against the cold, hard floor to push myself up. My head throbbed, but I wasn't bleeding. I touched my chest. No broken ribs.
"Where am I?" I muttered, glancing around.
Peeling gray paint on the walls. Rusted lockers lined up in the corner. A single fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scuffed linoleum.
This wasn't a hospital.
This was the old downtown training center. The one the city demolished five years ago.
"You took a pretty hard hit from that stray ball," Adrian said. He squatted next to me, his brow furrowed. "Do you need a doctor?"
I stared at him. He wore a faded practice jersey, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders. He looked younger. His face lacked the faint scar over his left eyebrow he got during the finals two years ago.
"What year is it?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Adrian tilted his head. "Are you sure you don't have a concussion? It's 2019."
My jaw dropped.
2019. The year before Julian got drafted. The year I paid his rent, bought his gear, and worked three jobs to fund his dream. The year I hired Chloe.
"Did someone call an ambulance?" Adrian shouted over his shoulder toward the empty hallway.
"No, wait," I said quickly. "Don't call anyone."
"You were out cold for two minutes," he argued.
"I said I'm fine."
I grabbed the edge of a nearby bench and hauled myself to my feet. The room spun for a second, but I locked my knees and stood tall.
Adrian stood up with me, towering over my frame. "You don't look fine. You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Something like that," I whispered.
I looked down at my hands. The heavy diamond engagement ring Julian gave me last year was gone. My fingernails were painted a chipped red, a color I hadn't worn since my early twenties.
"Do you want me to get Julian?" Adrian asked, crossing his arms. "He's out on the field."
Hearing that name sent a fresh wave of nausea through my stomach. Just minutes ago, I was listening to him cheat on me. Now, he was outside, playing the struggling athlete who needed my money to survive.
"No," I said, my voice hardening. "Don't get him."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Suit yourself. But you should probably sit down before you pass out again."
"I'm not going to pass out." I smoothed down the front of my shirt. "I have things to do."
"Like what?"
"Like firing my assistant," I said.
Before Adrian could ask another question, the heavy metal door at the end of the locker room swung open.
"Evie!" a familiar voice called out.
Julian jogged into the room, his face flushed with exertion, a bright, innocent smile plastered across his face.
"Hey, babe," Julian said, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. "I heard you got hit. Are you okay?"
I stepped back, letting his hands grasp empty air.
Julian frowned, confusion flashing in his eyes. "Evie? What's wrong?"
I stared at the man who had just ruined my life, realizing I now had the chance to ruin his first.
