Page 125 of Scoring Eden

Zora assured me that she’s working with Alex’s lawyer, Oliver, to have the article retracted and have another printed in its place. One all about how a defamed lawyer named Sebastian Hague fabricated court documents and pioneered a smear campaign against his ex-wife for the purpose of kidnapping a child he’d previously shown no interest in.

Aspen scratches her cheek. “I guess the team investor didn’t take it well that their captain has been publicly accused of buying sex from a vulnerable woman. So, they’re… Well, they… They’re kicking him off the team.”

My muscles turn to stone. “What?”

“Aunt Aspen, what did you say?” Macon tosses his Legos to the side and vaults over the coffee table. “Alex is being kicked off the team?”

“He had to go in for a meeting at nine, and I think they’re holding a press conference at the stadium to confirm it in about”—she checks the time on her phone—“half an hour. I’m sorry, E, but he didn’t want me to tell you because you’ve already been through enough, and the last thing he’d want is for you to sit here worrying and feeling guilty when you should be celebrating having Macon home.”

“Mom!” Macon tugs my sleeve, his eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them, his cheeks flushed with more panic than they were this morning when he thought I’d died. “We have to do something.”

He’s right.

We have to do something.

But what?

What can we do when the decision has already been made?

I scrunch my eyes and think. If the roles were reversed, what would Alex do?

“Macon, get your shoes on. Aspen, grab the car keys.” If we’re going to make it to the stadium in the next thirty minutes, then I’ll need my leadfooted sister to get us there. “Just don’t kill us on the drive, okay?”

Her brows are knitted in confusion as she nods. “What are you thinking, E?”

“I’m thinking that Alex has spent his entire life saving everyone. It’s about time someone saves him.”

“Where the fuck do we go?”

I’m panting as we race through the stadium concourse, my feet sore from running and my chest tight. We’ve been searching for the media room for at least ten minutes now, and I’m convinced we’ve looped back around on ourselves.

Macon, however, hasn’t broken a sweat. But then, he’s wearing more suitable footwear than the block-heeled boots I’d thrown on in my haste, and all those hours spent performing the Hamilton soundtrack has obviously built him impressive stamina. “Maybe we should go down to the pitch. The media room must be close by for when they hold conferences after games, right?”

Aspen squeaks to a stop on the linoleum, the sound ricocheting off the high ceilings, grabs my son by the shoulders, and shakes. “You, sir, are a genius.”

We slam through a set of closed double doors to our right and find ourselves at the top steps of the stands. Racing down them, I slip more than once and almost twist my ankle, but my sister is there to hoist me back up and drag me toward the grass in the center.

We hurdle over the barricade and screech to a stop on the turf, looking around the vast space to get a clue of where Alex might be.

“Look!” Macon points toward a dark spot in the center of the grandstands. “That’s the players tunnel. I bet he’s that way.”

It’s our one shot.

We’re already late. The press conference must be well underway by now, maybe even drawing to a close, but we can’t give up now. Not after everything Alex has done for me over the past couple of months. What he’s done for me today.

He got Macon back for me.

And yes, I know that the information Zora found this morning would have yielded the same result, but I might take a leaf out of Aspen’s book and forget to mention that part when we retell the story later too.

He’s given me everything. Not just money and a real bed to sleep on for the past few weeks, but he’s given me kindness. True kindness. Something I’ve never experienced from a man before. He’s given me security. The chance at a new life. His heart, even if he hasn’t realized it yet.

He’s given me July.

So even if I can’t do anything for Alex, I have to try.

“Let’s go.”

There’s no breath left in my lungs when we make it to the tunnel. I’ve never been one for running, and that’s coming back to bite me in the ass now, because as we move between the red-painted walls, my vision is blurry, and there’s the distinct taste of blood in my mouth.