Page 150 of Broken Saint
“Yes,” I hiss, eagerly taking both from her.
“What time is it?” My eyes scan the room, landing on a clock before anyone can answer. “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” Macie agrees.
I look at all of them. I have no idea how long they’ve been awake, but I’d say quite a while, looking at their appearances. Their hair is perfect, their makeup on point, and they’re already wearing their boys’ jerseys, Letty and Peyton in Saints blue and Macie in Chiefs black and red.
My overnight bag taunts me from the side of the bed. I’ve got Colt’s jersey in there waiting for me.
Excitement tingles in my belly. I might have been wearing it at the last game, but it wasn’t the same.
Letty reads out loud a sports article she’s found online that discusses all things Saints and Chiefs as I sip my coffee, hoping like hell it’s going to wake me up enough to function.
“Are there any photos of me online?” I ask, the memory of the flashing lights from the press last night suddenly hitting me.
“Uh…” She hesitates, and my stomach knots.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap a little too harshly.
“Yes, there are photos and articles. A lot of them.”
“Shit,” I hiss, fear turning my blood to ice.
It’s so easy to get swept up in the crazy bubble that is their real life. But in the cold light of day, things don’t seem as simple.
My hands tremble as I think about millions of people across the country seeing my photo, judging me purely on my looks, on the fact that Colt is attracted to me.
Acid swirls in my stomach.
I’ve seen what happens in the media, on social media, if someone doesn’t fit.
What if the rest of the world doesn’t think I’m meant to be in this life? What if they don't think I’m the one who should be standing by their beloved Saint?
“You look like you’re about to vomit,” Peyton points out as all the blood drains from my face.
I’m not, but knowing that doesn’t stop me from throwing the sheets back and running to the bathroom to hide.
My breathing is so erratic by the time I get there I can barely control it.
My entire body trembles as fear seeps into every inch of me.
My mind spins with all the what-ifs. I remember previous hate campaigns on certain people, celebrities, and their partners.
The toxic side of the internet and the media that believes they’re entitled to an opinion on how others live their lives. Others that they’ve never met, let alone know anything about.
Turning the faucet on, I cup a handful of cold water and throw it onto my face.
“Fuck,” I gasp, still desperately trying to get a hold of myself.
I hate this. I hate how just the thought of some stupid strangers telling me that I’m not good enough for a man like Colton can send me straight into a tailspin.
If I’m serious about him—which I am—then I need to figure out a way to overcome this.
This is only the beginning. The first night and just a hint of the limelight I’m sure is to come.
Resting my hands on the counter, I suck in another deep, calming breath before I look up.
My gasp of shock fills the room as I take in the state of my face and the darkness in my eyes.