Illegal Contact, page 26
Xavier takes a step forward. Roman straightens, matching him. They're the same height, the same build, two mountains of muscle about to collide.
"Xavier, stop," I put my hands on his chest, trying to push him back, but it's like pushing against a wall.
"You need to step back," Roman says, his voice dropping lower.
"You need to take your fucking hands off her," Xavier counters.
"She's not your property."
"She's my—" Xavier stops himself, jaw clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack.
"Your what?" Roman challenges. "Because from where I'm standing, she came here alone. She's been dancing with me. So, unless you've got something to say—"
"I've got plenty to say." Xavier's hands are fisted at his sides. "Starting with, get your hands off my girlfriend."
The word lands like a bomb.
Roman's eyebrows raise. He looks down at me, questioning.
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't believe Xavier just said that out loud, here, now, like this.
"Is that true?" Roman asks me gently.
"I—"
"It's true," Xavier cuts in, his voice hard. "So, step back."
"Xavier, stop!" I'm pushing against him with both hands now, but I'm five-six, and he's six-four, and nothing I do makes him move. "Stop it!"
Roman hasn't backed down. "If she's your girlfriend, why's she dancing with me?"
"Because she's trying to prove a point,"
"Or maybe because you're not treating her right,"
"You don't know anything about,"
"I know she's here with me and not with you."
"Xavier!" I'm practically shouting now, desperate. "Please!"
But they're not listening. They're chest to chest now, both bristling with aggression, and I'm trapped between them, tiny in comparison to them and terrified they're actually going to fight.
Then suddenly Malik is there, grabbing Xavier from behind. Another player, taller, wearing a New York jersey I recognize from the bus, grabs Roman.
"Yo, yo, yo!" Malik is pulling Xavier back, physically hauling him away. "Not here, man! Not tonight!"
"Get off me!" Xavier tries to shake him off, but Malik holds firm.
Roman lets himself be pulled back more easily, but his eyes are still on Xavier, still challenging.
"You good?" the New York player asks him.
"I'm fine." Roman's gaze shifts to me, and his expression softens. "Find me later," he says. Then he winks.
Xavier lunges.
Malik barely catches him, wrapping both arms around his chest. "X! Chill! You're gonna get kicked out!"
I'm standing there, shaking, fury and humiliation and heartbreak all warring in my chest.
Xavier finally frees himself from Malik's grip, but his eyes lock onto mine, and what I see there—the jealousy, the possession, the entitlement—breaks something inside me. I can barely form words. Can barely think past the rage.
So I don't say anything.
I look him dead in the eyes and walk away.
Through the crowd, through the club, out into the cold New York night.
Behind me, I hear Xavier shouting my name. Hear Malik trying to hold him back.
But I don't stop.
I flag down a cab and throw myself into the back seat.
"Hotel Paramount," I manage, my voice shaking.
The cab pulls away from the curb, and I look back through the rear window.
Xavier is on the sidewalk, Malik still holding his arm, watching the cab disappear into traffic.
His face is twisted with fury and something that might be fear.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
Let him feel helpless, small, and invisible for once.
I turn away, facing forward, and try to ignore the tears streaming down my face.
This isn't over.
Not even close.
But tonight? Tonight I'm done.
****
The shower is scalding.
I stand under the spray until the water runs cold, until I can't tell the difference between the water on my face and the tears.
Then I dry off mechanically, pull on pajamas, soft cotton shorts, and an oversized t-shirt that used to be Xavier's. I don't have the energy to care about the irony.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, when the pounding starts.
Not knocking. Pounding.
"Taylor!" Xavier's voice through the door. "Open the door!"
I don't move.
"Taylor!"
"Go away," I call back, my voice hollow.
"Open this goddamn door!"
"No."
"Taylor, I swear to God, if you don't open this door right now, I will knock it down. I'm not leaving. We're talking about this. NOW."
I believe him. Can hear it in his voice, the barely controlled fury, the desperation.
With a sigh, I stand and walk to the door. Unlock it. Open it.
Then I turn and walk back to the center of the room, crossing my arms over my chest.
He walks in. The door clicks shut behind him, and we stand there. Silent and glaring at each other across the small space.
The anger radiates off him in waves. His chest is heaving like he ran here. His eyes are wild, unfocused, burning with everything he's holding back.
I wait.
"Okay," I say finally, my voice flat. "So are you going to say something? Because if not, I need to go to bed."
"What the fuck was that?" The words explode out of him. "What the fuck was that, Taylor?"
"What was what?"
"Don't play stupid!" He takes a step closer. "That guy! That asshole with his hands all over you!"
"His hands were on my waist."
"He was all over you!"
"Like that woman was all over you earlier? Or the one at the restaurant last night? Or the ones in the lobby? Or in Vegas? Or every single day since we've been together?" My voice is rising now, matching his energy. "Like that?"
"That's different!"
"HOW?" I'm shouting now. "How is it different? You POSTED us! You told the world you're taken! Everyone KNOWS you have someone now! So why are you still letting women act like you don't?”
"Because I wasn't trying to make you jealous! I wasn't flirting with them!"
"Neither was I!"
"Bullshit!" He's in my face now, close enough that I can see the veins in his neck. "You wore that dress to get my attention. You danced with him to make me jealous. You let him touch you because you wanted me to see!"
"YES!" The admission tears out of me. "Yes, Xavier! I wanted you to see! I wanted you to feel what I've been feeling for months! Is that what you want to hear?"
"So you admit it!"
"Of course, I admit it! I'm not ashamed of it!" Tears are burning behind my eyes, but I won't let them fall. Not yet. "You needed to understand! You needed to know what it's like to watch someone you love let other people touch them! To feel invisible! To feel like you don't matter!"
"You matter! Jesus Christ, Taylor, you're all that matters!"
"Then why don't you act like it?" My voice cracks. "Why don't you set boundaries? Why don't you create space? Why don't you make me feel like I'm more important than being polite to strangers?"
"I do! I,"
"No, you don't!" I'm crying now, hot angry tears streaming down my face. "You check if I LOOK okay, but you never actually make sure I AM okay! You see me hurting and you hope I'll get over it instead of fixing the problem!"
"What do you want me to do? Be rude? Push women away? Cause a scene every time someone talks to me?"
"I want you to care more about my feelings than their feelings! I want you to prioritize me! I want you to understand that your actions have consequences even if you don't mean them to!"
"I can't control how other people act!"
"But you can control how you respond!" I'm shaking now, everything pouring out. "You can step back. You can create distance. You can say 'I have a girlfriend.' But you don't! You never do! Because you don't want to deal with the awkwardness or the questions or the consequences of people knowing about us!"
"That's not fair—"
"You called me your girlfriend tonight!" The words come out broken, jagged. "In front of everyone! In front of Roman, in front of your team, in front of God and everyone, you claimed me! And you know what? It felt amazing for about five seconds! And then I realized you only did it because you were jealous! Because another man wanted me! Not because you wanted to claim me, but because you wanted to keep me away from him!"
"That's not true,"
"Yes, it is!" I'm sobbing now, barely able to get the words out. "You don't want to go public because you love me. You want to go public because you're jealous! Because you can't stand watching other men look at me the way women look at you every single day!"
"I can't stand it because I love you!"
"Then why doesn't it feel like love?" The question hangs in the air between us, devastating in its simplicity. "Why does loving you hurt so much?"
His face crumbles. "Taylor,"
"Do you know what tonight was like for me?" My voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Watching you with that woman draped all over you? Seeing you smile at her? And then having you pull me aside and call me a child? Tell me I'm throwing a tantrum? Dismiss everything I've been trying to tell you for months?"
"I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you shouldn't have. But you did. Because that's what you think of me, that's what you think of my pain, that it's childish. That it's attention-seeking. That it's something I should get over if I really loved you."
"I don't think that."
"Yes, you do!" I'm backing away from him now, putting distance between us, because I can't think when he's close. "You think I'm being irrational. Insecure. Jealous for no reason. You think if I just trusted you more, if I just believed you when you say those women don't mean anything, everything would be fine."
"They don't mean anything! You're the only one I want!"
"You made that post after Vegas! You claimed me! You said, 'The only woman who gets to sit on my lap is mine! ' You TOLD the world you're taken! So it's not about protecting my career anymore, Xavier! Everyone already knows you're unavailable! But you're STILL acting like you're single! You're STILL letting women disrespect what we have! So what's the excuse now? Huh? What's the reason?"
"It's to protect your job!"
"No!" I'm shaking my head, tears falling faster now. "No, it's not. Not anymore. Maybe at first, yes. But now? Now it's because you like it. You like having me and still keeping your freedom. You like being able to flirt, charm, and have women want you without consequences. You like being the single, successful athlete that everyone wants. And I'm the one who has to sit back and watch and pretend it doesn't kill me!"
"That's not," His voice breaks. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?" I'm begging now, desperate for an answer that makes sense. "Tell me, Xavier. Tell me why, after months of my begging you to set boundaries, you only do it when I'm watching. Tell me why you only create space when you think I'll notice. Tell me why my pain isn't enough motivation, but your jealousy is."
He's quiet. For the first time since he walked in, he has no answer.
"That's what I thought," I whisper.
"I love you." His voice is wrecked, broken. "Taylor, I love you more than anything."
"I know." Fresh tears spill over. "I know you do. And I love you too. So much it's destroying me."
"Then we can fix this. We can—"
"How?" The word is barely audible. "How do we fix this, Xavier? Because I've tried. God, I've tried so hard. I've explained and begged and fought and cried, and nothing changes. Nothing ever changes."
"I'll change. I promise, I'll—"
"You shouldn't have to promise!" I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe. "You should just want to! You should just do it! You should care about my feelings enough that you don't need me to beg you to respect them!"
"I do care,"
"Not enough." The words fall between us like stones. "You don't care enough."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Xavier's face is wet. When did he start crying? I didn't even notice.
"What are you saying?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"I'm saying..." I have to force the words out. Have to make myself say what I've known since I got in that cab. "I can't do this anymore."
"Taylor—"
"I can't!" It comes out as a sob. "I can't keep breaking my own heart! I can't keep loving someone who makes me feel invisible! I can't keep being your secret while watching you belong to everyone else!"
"You're not my secret! You're—"
"I am!" I'm screaming now, everything pouring out. "I am your secret! That's exactly what I am! And I'm tired of it! I'm tired of hiding! I'm tired of hurting! I'm tired of loving you!"
The last words hang in the air, devastating.
Xavier takes a step toward me, hands outstretched. "Baby, please—"
"No." I step back, holding up my hands. "No. Don't."
"We can fix this. Whatever you need, I'll do it. I'll—"
"It's too late." My voice is flat now, empty. "You're only saying this because you're scared of losing me. Not because you actually want to do it. And I can't, I can't be with someone who only changes when they're afraid. I need someone who changes because they love me. Because my happiness matters more than their comfort."
"Your happiness does matter—"
"Not enough." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the broken pieces together. "Not enough to matter when it counts."
He's crying openly now, and it breaks something in me to see him like this. But I can't let it stop me. Can't let it pull me back in.
"I love you," he says again, desperate. "Please. Please don't do this."
"I love you too." The words taste like goodbye. "But I love myself more. And I need to choose myself this time. I need to choose not hurting over loving you."
"Taylor,"
"I need you to leave." My voice is steady now, even through the tears. "Please. I need you to leave."
"I'm not giving up on us—"
"Xavier." I meet his eyes, and whatever he sees there makes him stop. "Please. Just go."
For a long moment, he doesn't move. Just stands there, tears streaming down his face, looking at me like I'm killing him.
Maybe I am.
Maybe we're killing each other.
"This isn't over," he finally says, his voice raw.
"Yes, it is." The words are barely a whisper. "It has to be."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again like he wants to argue, to fight, to refuse to accept this.
But then his shoulders slump. Defeated.
He walks to the door, each step seeming to take effort.
At the threshold, he pauses. Looks back.
"I love you," he says one more time.
"I know," I whisper. "I'm sorry it wasn't enough."
Then he's gone.
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like the end of the world.
And I collapse. I'm sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, sobbing so hard I can't breathe.
It's over.
We're over.
And even though I know it was the right thing to do, even though I know I couldn't keep destroying myself for a love that hurt more than it healed, it doesn't make it hurt any less.
I cry until there's nothing left.
Until I'm empty and hollow and broken.
Until the sky outside starts to lighten with the first hints of dawn in the silence, wondering how you survive loving someone you can't be with.
Wondering if I'll ever feel whole again.
My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. My eyes burn, swollen and dry. Every breath hurts.
36
Impact
I wake up to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and, for exactly three seconds, I forget.
Then it all comes crashing back.
My chest constricts. The same ache that's been there for seven days intensifies until I can't tell if I'm breathing or drowning.
New York. The club. Roman's hands on my waist. Xavier's face when he saw us dancing.
The fight. His voice breaking. The door closing.
Us ending.
I stare at the ceiling, my body heavy against the mattress, as if gravity's doubled overnight—game day. The words echo in my head, hollow and distant. Win today, and we're guaranteed a playoff spot. Lose, and we're fighting for our lives in the Wild Card games.
I should care.
Instead, I lie here, counting the cracks in the ceiling I've memorized over the last week.
Move. You have to move.
The shower runs too hot. I stand under the spray with my forehead pressed against the tile, water beating against my shoulders, and will myself to feel something other than empty. Steam fills my lungs.
Nothing helps.
I wrap myself in a towel and stare at my reflection. Dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Eyes that look like I've been crying for days - because I have. I reach for my makeup bag, hands moving on autopilot. Foundation. Concealer. Mascara. Building a mask I can hide behind.
Professional. Competent. Fine.
All lies.
The coffee I make sits untouched on the counter, going cold while I stand in the kitchen in my sports bra and work pants, staring at nothing. I need to put on my shirt. Need to gather my things. Need to leave.
My phone sits face down on the counter where I left it last night. I haven't looked at it. Can't look at it. Don't want to see his name, or worse, not see his name.
"You okay?"
I jump. Sunni was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, already in her scrubs. She asks the same question every morning. Every morning I lie.
"I'm fine."
Her eyes move over my face, reading all the things I'm not saying. "Big game today."
"Yeah." The word comes out flat.
"You going to be okay? Seeing him?"
Tension locks my jaw because yes, I'm going to see him. I'm going to have to touch him - tape his shoulder, his knee, prepare his body for the game while mine falls apart. I'm going to have to act normal while every cell in my body screams.
