“You can’t be serious, Ben. How could you think I could ever be friends with her? After what you told me. Do you think that little of me?” Amanda said. Her eyes were flat, the sparkle gone. Like she’d been caught.
“What’s going on?” Harty cut in, his gaze darting between everyone before landing on Penny.
“I don’t know, but it’s not good,” Ben heard Penny whisper as she looked over her shoulder.
Fucking reporters were leaning in like vultures, cameras and phones recording every disastrous word he uttered. Shit. This was not good. He bit back the snarl that threatened to burst when Harty put his hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“I got this,” he said, before turning toward the vultures. “Show’s over, folks,” Harty said, raising his arms as if to shoo them away like congregating geese on a field.
Ben bit back a pained laugh. They did resemble the squawking animals quite well as they shuffled down the hallway, twittering about what could be going on with the team’s captain. His life was imploding, and he hadn’t seen it coming. Tara was good at that shit. But Amanda. She was better. She’d blindsided him.
“Maybe you should step into one of the offices and sort this out?” Penny said.
“Nope. I have no desire to sort out what is obvious.” He turned on Amanda, trying to ignore Tara’s smirk. Fuck. He’d never punch a woman, but she was testing him. She’d wrecked him before, and he refused to let it happen again.
“Ben, please,” Amanda said, gripping his arm.
He shrugged free of her. “No. My life was quiet before you showed up. No one knew about the club. There weren’t pictures of me up on social media. I played hockey, and that was it. Then you show up and everything goes haywire. And now this.” He gestured toward Tara. “You are friends with the woman who tried to destroy my career. Who pretended to love me for a scoop.”
“Ben. I just work with her. I had no idea who she really was. You have to believe me. I never mentioned you playing at the club in my article and I can’t control who takes pictures of us.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s out there for everyone to see. You’ve disrupted my life. Fuck. I never should’ve trusted another reporter. The story is always more important than the subject. I thought I was falling in love with you. And now this.”
He paused at her gasp. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. Did it even matter now? Did it thrill her to know he’d truly fallen for her lies? For her games?
He thought he loved her, but did he even know who she was? She worked with the woman who wanted to destroy him. They’d seemed friendly when he’d walked out of the locker room. He wanted to believe her. Hell. He wanted that more than his next breath, but what if he was wrong?
“I told myself I’d never trust anyone with a press pass again. I should’ve known better.”
He watched the light die in her eyes for a brief second, before they flared again with fury, and he was helpless to stop the train wreck.
Chapter 24
Jagged coastlines and more waterfalls than I could ever imagine. Took a hike through the waterfalls at Krka National Park in Croatia. This has to be on your bucket list. Words cannot describe how stunning they really are.
~ Adventurous Amanda, June 2015
“That’s right. I’m a reporter, and you’re never going to get over that. Never going to trust me. I could tell you that I won’t write about you until I’m blue in the face and it wouldn’t matter. Deep down all you see is a press pass, one that I don’t even have, by the way. I’m done fighting who I am with you. I didn’t know who she was. Do you honestly think I would have anything to do with her if I had? Fuck. Are you even over her?”
She didn’t wait for a response. But holy shit, how was Ann really Tara? Had she targeted Amanda from the beginning? What were the freaking odds?
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m done. I tried. I deserve better. I deserve someone who trusts me, who doesn’t think I have ulterior motives. I would’ve done anything for you. I didn’t even mention you playing at the club in my article. I played down how great the place is because you asked me to. And for what? To stand here and have you doubt me? Forget it.”
“Amanda,” he started.
“And how dare you throw out that you thought you loved me? You say that now as you’re destroying what we have because you can’t see the truth that’s right in front of you?”
“Amanda,” he said again. She refused to be drawn into the pain in his eyes. Fuck him. He didn’t get to rip her to shreds in front of everyone and come out looking like the victim.
She lifted her hand, slicing it down. “No. You had your chance. Multiple chances. I’m done waiting for you to figure your shit out.” She turned to Penny, who looked just as shell-shocked as Amanda felt. “Can you take me home?”
“Yes,” Penny said, shooting a glare at Ben before tucking Amanda’s trembling arm through hers. “Ethan, I’ll see you at home later.”
Ethan pressed a kiss to the top of Penny’s head, whispering that he’d be waiting however long it took. Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. Why couldn’t she have that? What was so wrong with her that happiness like that was off the table? She refused to turn back and look at Ben as Penny lead her out of the arena. He would never see her tears. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
***
A week later, she smiled across the desk at Charlotte, the editor-in-chief for The Savvy Traveler. Charlotte had called a few days ago for an in-person interview, and Amanda had leapt at the chance to get out of San Francisco. It’d been eight days since the disaster, and Ben’s reaction to seeing her with Tara still burned like acid reflux after too many hot wings. Nothing was going to soothe the ache.
Why hadn’t he believed her? He’d just lumped her in with the media, throwing her job in her face. A job that had nothing to do with reporting, or sports, or celebrities. It was the first time she’d put herself out there, and this was the result. No wonder she’d steered clear from dropping the walls from around her heart before. It fucking hurt. And her concentration was shot.
“So, we’d like to offer you one of the positions,” Charlotte’s words pierced through Amanda’s brain. She was on a goddamn interview for her dream job, and all she could think about was Ben.
Fucking nightmare.
“It would be a full-time position. Traveling at least four to five months out of the year. You could also include articles about local travel in between international excursions. We would like to talk to you about relocating to the East Coast, as well.”
Holy shit. This was it. What she wanted. And it felt hollow. She was going to hunt Ben down and murder him. She wouldn’t pass on the job for a man. She. Wasn’t. That. Woman.
She felt herself nod. Heard herself say thank you and that sounds wonderful.
“Let’s talk more next week and iron out the details. How does that sound?” Charlotte said.
“Great. Thank you so much again for the opportunity,” she said as they both stood, and she shook Charlotte’s hand.
“We can’t wait to have you on board. We think that your blog will tie in perfectly. We love what you’ve posted already, so it should be an easy transition. I can’t wait to get your ideas of where you might want to go. Send me a list in the next few weeks and we will discuss.”
***
A short while later, takeout in hand, she headed up to her hotel room. She glanced at her phone. Still no messages or texts from Ben. Not that she was expecting any at this point, and it stung. She wanted to hate him for his assumptions, but she’d given it a lot of thought in the last week, and part of her understood his reaction. Tara had almost destroyed him, and coming face to face with her again must’ve been a punch to the gut.
But he hadn’t paused to listen to Amanda and she’d debated if it—if he—was worth the effort if he still couldn’t separate her job and his past. She wasn’t Tara, and while she would typically just walk away, she couldn’t.
She bit the inside of h
er cheek. She’d been doing that a lot recently. Stupid tears. The only man she’d ever cried over was her grandfather—until Ben. Fuck, she didn’t want to cry about a man who didn’t trust her.
But when she closed her eyes, she saw the pain in his, at his accusations, and her spit back fury.
She shook her head. She had plans tonight. Takeout. A bottle of wine. Maybe some room service dessert.
And not the game. She refused to watch it. It hurt to watch him on the ice. Knowing that she should’ve been there for the last two games to support him. The games they’d lost. In fact, they’d lost the three games they’d played since that night with Tara. They were facing elimination tonight, and she wished her heart didn’t ache for him. But, dammit, it did.
This week had been rough. Coming face to face with Ann—no, Tara—whatever the hell she wanted to call herself. Seriously. It was like a damn soap opera, and she hadn’t watched those since college. Tara had been syrupy sweet all week. Asking how she was. How Ben was. That triumphant gleam in the woman’s eyes that she’d successfully taken down the guy who’d apparently ruined her, when it’d been her own lies that had accomplished that. That she had the balls to even speak to Amanda was insane. She’d questioned Ann’s motives for a while before agreeing to meet for that drink during the game. She should’ve listened to her gut.
Amanda wanted to get Tara fired, but what would the reason be? Tara wasn’t a reporter for the magazine, and they weren’t writing news pieces. Aside from the fact that she was a sketchy back-stabbing bitch, there were no grounds to fire her, so Amanda had ignored her. Yelling at Tara would accomplish nothing. In fact, it would probably make the woman smirk even more. Amanda wouldn’t give Tara that satisfaction.
Amanda couldn’t wait to get out of that office. She was giving her notice this week. She could live on her savings for a while. Good riddance to Betsy and Tara and all the drama she didn’t need. She couldn’t stand to run into the woman who had caused Ben so much pain, even if he’d broken Amanda’s heart. His thrown out declaration of love had hurt almost as much as his lack of trust had.
And yet, here she was, plopping down on the bed in her hotel room, and turning on the game. She settled against the headboard and took a big gulp of wine as the rink-side reporter interviewed Ben. Damn. They couldn’t have picked another player?
He ran his hands through his hair, already sweat dampened from the warm-up, and she told the tingle in her belly to knock it the fuck off. His eyes looked sad. She took another gulp, listening to him talk about how they were going to win tonight, how they were a strong team and the effort was there to win.
She should’ve turned the game off—worked on a new blog post or started mapping out a few travel destinations to run by Charlotte. She should probably try to find a place to live. New York was so freaking expensive, and only paying utilities on her grandfather’s house had been a lifesaver. What would she do with the house? Let her mother continue to live there until she moved in with the next guy? Was Amanda ready to leave her friends? The family she had left?
She told herself that she wanted to start over. New adventures were fun, and she was always up for a change. But she wasn’t as excited as she should be. Which was ridiculous, because what was waiting for her at home? A mother who drove her crazy and a relationship in tatters.
It kept coming back to that, and her heart squeezed in her chest. She wanted to push everything aside and start fresh, but a part of her—a part that kept growing—understood his accusations. Yes, he should’ve listened to her, and his reaction had hurt. Holy fuck, it’d hurt, but she’d never been betrayed by someone as badly as what Tara had done to him.
She focused on the game, watching Ben skate up the ice. She wanted to be there for him. She missed him. But how many times could her job come between them? And was she ready to risk her heart and hand it over to him?
She scoffed. Who was she kidding? He’d had it for ages. If he hadn’t, his rejection wouldn’t have hurt nearly as much.
She stared at her phone, but she wasn’t sure where to begin, so she turned her attention back to the game.
***
A few hours later, the final buzzer sounded and sticks were broken against the boards as the Strikers lost. They put on a good front during the handshake line, but she read the dejection clear on their faces, and her heart broke for Ben. She wanted to be there for him.
She swiped on her phone, her fingers hovering over his picture, before tapping the screen and opening up their text chain. She doubted he’d enjoy the humor of her texting we need to talk, so she kept it simple, telling him how sorry she was that they’d lost and asking if he wanted to grab dinner the following night.
Then she clicked on her email, and reached out to Charlotte. Hopefully the woman would still be Amanda’s boss tomorrow morning.
Ben stared at the message from Amanda for the hundredth time the following morning. He’d been in such a pathetic state last night after the loss that he’d kept his phone off. He didn’t want to see the text from his father telling him next year would be his year.
He hadn’t expected to hear from Amanda. It’d been nine days since he’d let her walk away from him. Nine days of assuming the worst and not getting the answers he needed. Not seeing her in the stands last night drove home the fact that he couldn’t just walk away from her. His shock had worn off and he wanted an explanation. And he wasn’t willing to wait until dinner.
He needed to know how she knew Tara. What had she told Tara? They’d seemed friendly when he’d walked out of the locker room, but as soon as he’d told Amanda who “Ann” was, Amanda had turned on the woman. But had that been for show? She could be playing him just like Tara had done all those years ago. But he wasn’t sure. And then he questioned his doubts. Did he just want to believe she was telling him the truth because he loved her? Because she meant more to him that Tara ever had?
He needed answers before he decided if what they had was really over. He’d made too many assumptions since he’d met Amanda, and they’d repeatedly made him look like an ass. There had to be an explanation.
He’d gone over it on loop since she’d stormed out after Tara had been outed.
He was getting his damn answers, and he wasn’t willing to wait until dinner, which was why he was heading down the hall to her desk.
“Look who it is? Come to yell at the reporters again?” the voice he wished he could wipe from his memory called out as he exited the elevator on Amanda’s floor.
“Why are you here?” he bit out, pulling her into an alcove.
“Umm. I work here,” she said, her arms across her chest as she stared at him, disdain in her eyes.
“No. Here. At this magazine. A lifestyle magazine. Didn’t you want to be a hard-hitting reporter? Isn’t that why you wrote that bullshit article about me?” She’d never given him a straight answer for why she’d written it. Or if she’d ever actually given a shit about him, aside from him being a meal-ticket for her. It still burned. He wished it didn’t. But he was done with her messing with his head.
“I did, but the magazine I interned with refused to give me a reference letter for all of the work I did for them.”
“Can you blame them? Your version of the facts was false. That speaks to your integrity as a reporter. Why would a media outlet risk that with their staff?”
“And the rumors you spread about me embellishing my stories made people shy away even more from hiring me.”
“First of all, I never said a damn thing. I wanted nothing to do with you. The last eight years have been blissful. And secondly, you fucking embellish stories. That’s not a rumor, it’s the goddamn truth.”
“Whatever. I did what I thought I had to do to get ahead and you refused to go along with it, even when you claimed to love me.”
He cut her off, holding up his hand. “Are you delusional? You wrote a false article about me. I’m a professional athlete. I couldn’t have that out in public. People would believe it. My playing s
kills would always be questioned. And I thought you loved me. That we were going to be together, but you didn’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. Don’t put your career failures on me.”
“Are you happy now? I’m working at a lifestyle magazine. I’m a damn assistant. I’m up to my eyeballs in spa treatments and recipes about how to make a simple meal look gourmet. I was supposed to manage the online content, at least do some writing of my own, but then Amanda came along, and they gave that role to her. I should be an investigative reporter.”
“Investigative reporters don’t make shit up.”
“You do what you have to do to get ahead. That’s how it works,” she bit back.
“No. That’s not how it works. And I think we’re done here. Leave me and Amanda alone. What was your end game? Becoming friends with her. What did you think you’d get out of it?”
“I saw the way you looked at her in those pictures online. You love her. You used to look at me that way, you know?”
“I was an idiot kid back then, who trusted everyone. I’ve learned my lesson, and the way I look at Amanda—how I feel about Amanda—is light-years different than what it was like with you. It doesn’t even compare.”
He secretly relished in her indrawn breath. And it was the truth. What he had with Amanda was different, and he was an idiot for not believing in her.
“Yeah. It looked like you trusted her the other night. Yelling at her like that speaks volumes about love and trust.”
“Stay out of it, Tara.”
She laughed. “I thought you’d leave her after the bunnies showed up at your precious sanctuary.”
“You sent them?” Ben said, his voice hard, each word clipped. “How did you find out about the place? I didn’t start going there until well after we ended things.”
“That was easy. A friend went to the dive after reading Amanda’s article and mentioned seeing you there. She’s a big hockey fan and recognized you. Then I read Amanda’s article and wondered why she didn’t mention the Strikers’ captain liked to hop up on stage and play. Fans would love that. So it must’ve meant something to you. Posting it on the bunny page was easy. Those idiots worship you,” she sneered.
Skating the Line (San Francisco Strikers Book 2) Page 25
