His grin is wicked. “I plan on making lots of girls lucky.”

“Thank you.”

“You would be if I was the one making you lucky.”

My chuckle is tired. “Thank you for being here with me, Jax.” Moving my arm from beneath the covers, I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “I’m a shitty friend right now and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a good one when it’s staring me in the face.”

“You know what they’re going to ask you,” Coach Riley says as we walk toward the conference room, our team captain and vice-captain following behind.

“Yes, I know.”

“We need to discuss how you’re going to answer.”

“I know how you want me to answer,” I retort.

Coach takes my arm, forcing me to pause. I look up, my jaw set. “Elliott, I know your situation, and wanting to stand up for Brody is truly admirable, but you’re just going to get sucked inside the circus. This will only tarnish your reputation further. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not about what I want,” I hiss harshly. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

“Ah hell, Elliott.” Coach Riley lets go of my arm and rubs his brow the same way he does every time the opposition gets through our defense and scores. He’s already tried debating my stance without success. It’s too late for last-ditch efforts.

I reach for the door of the private entryway and swing it wide, holding it open. “Let’s just do this.”

Coach walks through first, followed by our captains. I bring up the rear, stepping up onto the platform and taking a seat at the end of the long table. Nervous flurries fill my stomach as I look out at the media. They’re impatient, having been kept waiting for over half an hour. I lift my chin, ignoring the flash of cameras.

Coach Riley begins with a brief opening statement. He follows it up with details of our training preparation, exhibition matches, and FIFA tournament schedule. I barely hear a word he speaks until he opens up the floor for questions.

Cameras, microphones, and eyes, all shoot my way. I brace, my heart pounding.

“Jordan, can you tell us where Brody Madden is? Is he on his way to Australia to be with you?”

I lean into the microphone and give my one word answer. “No.”

Coach Riley grants a brief nod of approval before another question is yelled my way. “Have you spoken to Brody since he announced his retirement from the NFL?”

“No,” I answer again.

My teammates relax beside me when I don’t expand further.

“Are you and Brody still together?”

Seriously? A proud, strong man has been forced to his knees with the public reveling in his downfall and I’m supposed to just abandon him? It’s all I can do to keep the tremors of fury from my voice. “Yes, of course we—”

My coach butts in. “That has no bearing on why we’re here today.”

The media gives him their attention. “Just how vigorous is drug testing in the Australian teams, Coach Riley? Is the entire team undergoing rigorous screening? Has Jordan Elliott been tested?”

I want to close my eyes because they were all right. I’ve had hate mail, vicious messages, slurs from teammates, and now the media is joining in. I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders, and as my eyes scan the room they land on my brother standing at the back. He’s leaning against the wall beside Jax.

He shakes his head at me, disappointment so sharp in his eyes I feel the stab of it clear across the room. I glare for a brief second before shifting my gaze away.

“Soccer is a clean sport,” Coach retorts, the veins in his neck pulsing angrily. “My girls are elite athletes who train hard and train right. If you start casting aspersions on any member of this team I’ll have you thrown out of this room.”

Cameras return to me when the next question is called out from somewhere in the back. “Jordan, did you know Brody Madden was taking drugs? And do you think his fine and suspension is fair, despite his decision to retire? Professional athletes are in the spotlight and should be setting an example for the younger generation. It seems to me that more should be done about the use of drugs in sport. Instead they’re getting minimal punishment and having it swept beneath the rug.”

The room falls silent, the only noise coming from the click of cameras and light whirr of the microphone. They want an answer and I’m prepared to give it to them. My only hope is that Brody is watching and can hear my words.

I draw a deep breath and lean forward. “It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about what it takes to be the best, and every expectation that comes with it.” I glance across at my coach. He closes his eyes for a second, resigned. “It takes everything you have. People put you up here,” I say, holding my hand up high. “But being up there is hard, and it’s lonely. And if you fall, it’s a long way down and no one’s waiting at the bottom to catch you.” My voice cracks and I have to pause for a moment. Jax gives me a silent thumbs-up from the back of the room, encouraging me to keep going. “The pressure to live up to that is immense. So immense that sometimes people do whatever it takes not to bow underneath it, or god forbid, break. And if they do, it’s only because they were human. People make mistakes. Every single day. It doesn’t mean they aren’t strong enough, or didn’t give enough. It means they gave too much and they tried too hard. It means they deserve forgiveness from those who were expecting too much, and from those who were supposed to be there supporting them when it got too hard.”

Please hear what I’m telling you, Brody. I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken. I need you to forgive me for not being there when you needed me.

The media regroup and a reporter from the front catches my eye. “Jordan, how do you feel about being selected for the team?”

I break out in a blinding smile at her question. More camera flashes fill the room. “I’m excited and I’m thankful to be here right now, to be a part of the Australian soccer team, to be selected for something so great,” I answer. “And when I go out there and give my best, I won’t be doing it just for myself or my country, I’ll be doing it for Brody too, because he’s still a good person, and maybe he isn’t the best in your eyes anymore, but he still is in mine.” My eyes fill with tears and that’s okay. I don’t care if they see them. “He’s still the best in mine.”

My phone rings later that night, waking me from an exhausted sleep. Training that day was long and rough, and I was so glad to get back to the hotel, to have Jaxon there to laugh and joke with, and pretend for just one night that everything was fine.

I reach for the phone from the bedside table and answer without checking the screen, my voice husky with sleep. “Hello?”

“Jordan.”

I hear the quiver in Brody’s voice. My grip tightens on the phone. I shoot into a sitting position, wide-awake in a single instant. “Brody?”

He sucks in a sharp breath as if hearing me speak his name hurts. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“You asshole!” I shout. “Do you know what I’ve been through? You just up and left. You left me! And what, it takes me talking to the media for you get in touch? Screw you, Brody,” I hiss. “If you’re phoning just because you’re pissed for what I said then you can just hang up right now.” My chest is thumping with anger. “In fact, I’m going to do it for you.”

I jab the red button, ending the call, and as I sit there in the dark, my breathing harsh and my body trembling, panic begins to claw its way up my throat. What did I just do? With shaky fingers, I go to my recent calls list to hit redial but the number listed is unknown. I can’t phone him back.

Before I can scream my frustration, it rings in my hand. Wild with relief, I press the green button and put the phone to my ear. “Brody? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just—”