“Jax?” My gaze turns to the screen and my next breath lodges in my lungs, almost making me choke. It’s Brody on ESPN. He’s taking a seat at a dais, his agent on his left, coach and team manager on his right. Adjusting the microphone, he leans in and looks at the cameras ahead of him.

Flashbulbs are going off in a frenzy and reporters are yelling questions. Through it all Brody holds a piece of paper in his hand, his expression unreadable to those looking at him. Except me. I know that face. He’s exhausted and tense and doing whatever he can to hide it.

“Brody knows,” I breathe. I look at Jax. “He knew I was talking to the media tomorrow.”

“Of course he did.”

Frustration builds. I stand and toss my pizza slice back in the box, my appetite gone. Turning to face Jax, I fold my arms. “And he sent you here to stop me from doing it.”

Brody clears his throat. It draws our attention back to the screen, saving Jax from a response. “I’m going to read a brief statement.” He exhales and looks down at his page before looking back up again. “First I want to confirm that yes, I was in hospital from excessive drug use. This has put me in a Stage II violation of the NFL’s Substance Abuse Program. Second I want to stress that I acted alone. Those closest to me were not involved, nor aware of what I was taking. The NFL has issued a four game suspension, along with a substantial fine. I will not be appealing the decision. In fact…” Brody hesitates “…I’m retiring from the NFL, effective immediately. Thanks for your time.”

He stands to leave. I cover half my face with both hands as I sag back on the edge of the bed, speechless with shock. He’s giving up everything he worked for. His dream. Oh, Brody.

Reporters explode.

“Why retire?”

“Why don’t you just take the suspension?”

“What drugs were you taking?”

Half out of his seat, Brody leans in to the microphone and stares out at the sea of reporters. “I’ve chosen to retire because remaining in that kind of pressure-packed environment would be detrimental to my recovery.”

“Are you saying you couldn’t handle the pressure?”

My hands fist in my lap. Assholes! Damn them.

“Jesus,” Jax breathes as Brody sits back down.

“Pressure in the NFL is about being better, faster, stronger. Not just against the other teams, but your own. For me, I had something to prove to everyone but myself, and the problem was that I was willing to do whatever it took. That was wrong. All I can do now is apologize to those who looked up to me and expected better than what I could give.”

“What will you do now?”

Brody remains strong and calm when he answers, “I don’t know. Right now I want to focus on being healthy and finding what makes me happy.”

“What about Jordan? Your soccer star wife has started training in Australia for the FIFA tournament. Have you split? Was your wife taking drugs too?

Brody’s eyes turn hard with anger, his first full show of emotion. “As I said earlier,” he bites out, “I acted alone. Those closest to me were not involved. Further, the subject of my wife is not up for discussion. Again, thanks for your time.”

With that he stands and disappears from view, reporters yelling questions in his wake.

Jax and I sit there in silent unity for several moments, our eyes stuck on the screen and my heart pounding harder than a jackhammer. “Did you know he was going to retire?” I eventually croak.

Picking up the remote, Jax switches the television off, the corners of his mouth turned down. He takes his time answering, as if recovering from his own sense of shock. “No.”

A stab of hurt hits me, just under the breastbone. It grows until my body quivers with it. Jax reaches for my hand. Taking it in his, he threads our fingers together, his skin warm against the chill of mine.

“Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” How is that even a question? “Brody just retired from the NFL, and I had no idea he was going to do it because he’s not talking to me. He’s making important life decisions without me, and for all I know, they’re ones that don’t include me anymore.” My voice rises, matching my hurt. I snatch my hand free and stand. “How does any part of that make me okay?”

He picks up the glass of water from the table by the bed and holds it out. “Just take a few deep breaths and—”

“I don’t need to fucking breathe!” I yell irrationally. I grab the glass of water from his hand and turn, hurling it at the wall. It smashes on impact, sending shards of glass in every direction. “And I don’t need a fucking drink of water!”

“Whoa!” Jax stands, approaching me like I’m a wild animal to tame. “I know rock stars like to trash their hotel rooms, but jocks? That’s gotta be new.”

I bring a trembling hand to my forehead, unable to deal. My eyes feel raw and bitter when they meet his. “Do you have to make a joke out of everything?”

Pausing, Jax shrugs. “It’s how I cope.”

“Shit.” Dropping to a crouch, I wipe tears from my face and sniff noisily as I begin picking up the largest of the glass shards from the floor. Jax drops beside me, plucking up some of the smaller, sharper ones. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“He’s doing this to protect you, Jordan.”

I rise and walk to the small bin in the corner of my suite. “I don’t need to be protected.”

Dropping the smashed pieces of glass inside, I turn back to pick up more but Jax has got most of them. The rest will need vacuuming. He drops them in the bin. “It’s what you do for those you love.”

“Exactly. So why can’t I do that for him too? Damn his double standards.” Stalking to the mini bar, I reach for a tiny bottle of vodka. Unscrewing the cap I pour half into a shot glass from the little bench.

Jax grabs my hand when the glass is halfway to my lips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m having a drink,” I retort. Shrugging free, I toss the liquid down my throat. My eyes water and I gasp at the burn. Jax raises his brows at me. I point at him with the same hand still holding the empty shot glass. “I’m also still doing the press conference tomorrow. If Brody thought speaking first would stop me, he was wrong.”

“Jordan—”

“Don’t even,” I snap angrily.

His mouth closes and his brow furrows in obvious frustration. “Right. Well, I’m just going to use the bathroom and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Jax slams the door behind him. I empty the rest of the little bottle into the shot glass and down that too. When I’m done, I shuffle to my bag, pull out a pair of purple bed socks, and tug them up over my cold toes.

The toilet flushes and after hearing the sound of Jax washing his hands, the door opens. By then I’m tucked in bed on my side, lights off, covers up to my shoulders, and the late night local news playing out on the television.

For a brief moment the room is flooded with light until he flicks the bathroom switch, bringing back the low, artificial glow from the television.

“Jax?”

I sense him pause before coming toward me. He crouches by the side of the bed, bringing us to eye level. “What’s up, Killer?”

“How long are you here for?”

“Two days.”

“Really?” It’s a thirty-four-hour round trip flight, and it’s not cheap. “You flew all this way just to hold my hand for one weekend?”

Jax nods. “I did. And it’s lucky because you look like crap. You’re not sleeping or eating are you?”

“I’m trying but it’s not working. I’m so tired.” My eyes fill and my stomach gurgles, not liking alcohol on an empty stomach. “And I miss him.”

I reach up, brushing hair out of my face. Jax takes over the task, tucking the strands behind my ear with care. When he’s done, his eyes return to mine. “That makes you lucky. You have someone in your life worth missing.”

When did Jax get so sweet? My voice lowers to a whisper. “You’re going to make some girl very lucky one day.”