Dropping The Ball - A New Year’s Billionaire Romance - Weston Parker Page 0,78

I changed my clothes. The paper booties were even still on my feet. My television was off and so were my lights. All night, I’d sat there in the dark, replaying every moment Rylee and I had had together while trying to work out when she’d decided to end it if we hit a bump in the road.

Bart was taking over her detail for the time being, leaving me with nothing to do except drink and feel sorry for myself. I wasn’t breaking my promise to her. I wouldn’t give up. I knew that was what she wanted right now and that she thought she was doing it for me, but I wasn’t getting onboard with her plan.

I could handle myself, and I could handle whatever curveballs life threw at us. Her disease scared me too, but that didn’t mean I was running from her. I’d stand right next to her and brace for the storms we’d face together. The MS, the press, my job, and the dangers it put me in. None of it was too much for me, and none of it was enough to make me want to throw in the towel.

Throughout the night, I’d given myself time to wallow. I’d needed time to process what had happened and to deal with my own fears about it. Seeing her grow pale before her legs gave in…

Fuck. I’ve never been that scared in my life.

Now that the first traces of morning had come, hazy sunlight shining in through the crack in my curtains, I knew it was time to start doing something about the promise I’d made. I was nowhere near over the fear. I’d probably live with it for the rest of my life, but hopefully, I could spend all that time living with it but also with her.

I’d have shielded her from it if I could, but I couldn’t. I also doubted she’d have let me even if it was possible. Rylee was fucking strong. She might not think it, but I knew it enough for both of us.

Wincing when my phone clattered on the coffee table with an incoming text, I grabbed it. I was desperate for news from the hospital, but it wasn’t that. Well, not exactly.

Bart: Tani got Max. Will drop him off later. You okay?

No, but I didn’t want him worrying about me. He had to take care of my girl. It fucking hurt that I had to rely on someone else to do it, but that was the way the chips had fallen. For now anyway.

Me: Thanks. Keep her safe. Talk later.

I tossed the phone down and stretched my aching muscles. Catching a whiff of myself when I lifted my arms above my head, I realized I needed to take a shower before I tried doing anything else.

The scotch made my head swim when I got up, but I stumbled my way to the bathroom and yanked my clothes off. After taking an ice-cold shower that cleared some of the fog from my brain, I pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt. It was freezing outside, but I needed to feel the cold to sober all the way up.

Pure alcohol seeped from my pores while I ran, my head throbbed almost as badly as my heart, and my mouth tasted awful, but I kept going. Having heavy metal playing through my earphones wasn’t helping my head at all, but at least the pounding drums kept me distracted from my thoughts.

Until Rylee’s face jumped out at me from the paper when I passed a newsstand. I thought I was imagining it at first, but no. There was no mistaking those piercing eyes or the long auburn locks framing her face. I recognized a smaller shot of my own face in the corner of the page, but I didn’t really care about that.

Slamming to a stop, I jogged back to the stand and scowled when I recognized the name on the byline. Nathan Biles.

Blindly grabbing my wallet and extracting some money, I shoved it at the woman manning the stand and grabbed a copy of the latest New York Times without looking at her. I scanned the article, becoming more furious with every word I read.

RYLEE NAPLES IS DONE! The headline screamed in bold print from the page. My blood boiled when I realized it was an expose.

For years we’ve all been wondering what happened to make Broadway’s brightest star, Rylee Naples, quit the stage. We’ve been fed lies about