I've been worried sick.

Mila texted me earlier today when they were on their way back from the prison, but by now it's ten in the evening, and I haven't heard a thing. It seemed like I got through to her when we talked over the phone this morning. It felt like she realized she needed help. But instead, she's been ghosting me half the day.

My phone rings, and I almost drop it with how hastily I slide the goddamn screen. "Where is she?" I ask when I see Jasmine's name light up.

"She's with me. She just needed to clear her head."

"Is she coming home soon? Is she okay?" Those are the only two things that matter, honestly.

"Yeah, she's okay, really. She just went to the bathroom, and then I'm driving her home. We should be there in half an hour or so."

"Okay..."

"Hayden?" Jasmine sounds concerned when she addresses me, and that immediately worries me too.

"Yeah?"

"Don't push her tonight, please. She's been alone for a big part of her life. She's used to dealing with things on her own terms. As much as she loves you...she has to adjust sometimes, you know?"

Her words scare me; I wonder what on earth happened today. "I know, yeah. I'll give her some space."

"Okay, good. Here she comes. See you later!"

"See you. Oh, and Jas?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. I mean it." I really do. I don't know what I would've done today without her.

"Anytime, Cross."

And with that, she hangs up, leaving me confused and a little scared as I sit back down on the couch, waiting for Mila to come home.

As promised, it's only about half an hour later when I hear the keys turn in our lock, and soon Mila steps inside, avoiding my gaze when she takes off her jacket and throws it on the coat rack. She quickly slips into the bedroom, not even once looking at me, which I find extremely weird and unsettling. She almost acts like we had a fight, only the last time we spoke, things were fine.

I join her in the bedroom a few minutes later, not surprised to see she already settled in our bed.

"Mila..." I whisper, but she doesn't say a word when I slip beneath the covers with her, not really knowing if she wants me to be close to her or not.

It's weird. We've never been this way. I always knew what she wanted, or she always just took it, asked for it. This feels so...strange and foreign.

"Can you...can you just hold me?" she asks.

And as much as it hurts to hear the strain in her voice, I can't deny I'm fucking glad she at least asks for what she needs from me. "Of course." I wrap my arms around her from behind, her hands intertwining with mine as she squeezes me tightly and scoots back, almost like she's trying to feel as much as possible of me.

"I'm sorry if I worried you today." She whispers the words, but I hear them loud and clear.

"It's okay. You're here now—that's all that matters. Get some rest, love."

She takes another deep breath, her lips meeting our intertwined hands. "I love you so much, Hayden. I hope you know that." Her brittle voice makes me want to look at her properly, and I try to move so I can prop myself up on top of her, but she pulls me even closer, almost like she's afraid to let go.

"Of course I do, baby." I stop my movement to embrace her, trying to make her feel my words. "You're the love of my life. I have no doubt about that."

Just as I'm about to press a kiss on her temple, she turns her head, and as always, our lips connect in a split second. She deepens the kiss, her entire body softening under my touch as we share this slow but passionate kiss, a kiss that's about more than just attraction. It's a kiss that reminds me of how lucky I am to have her in my arms, and if I have to let her do her own thing for a while to ensure she ultimately stays right by my side, I'll do just that.

Because I'd do anything for her, and more. I'm completely at her mercy, more than she probably realizes.

We slowly break the kiss, and she looks at me with those large eyes, almost like she's trying to find the answer to a question she dare not ask.

I kiss her again, the sudden panic that she's slipping out of my grasp clouding my senses. It's a chaste but intense kiss, and I hold her even more tightly when we break apart before she finally closes her eyes, her heart still beating heavily against our intertwined hands.

I don't know what happened today, and I don't know what's going on in that beautiful brain of hers, but I hope she trusts me enough to talk to me, open up to me.

Because the only thing I'm scared of in this life is losing her.

***

The next day Mila and I are having breakfast together, for once without Sam. He's at Mike's office, finalizing his preparation for the trial in a few days.

"What are your plans for today?" I ask, and I don't fail to notice how she instantly tenses up.

She stuffs another pancake in her mouth, having trouble chewing from the size of it. I smirk at the sight; I love that she's not afraid to eat her own weight in sweets.

"I, uh..." She swallows before she says, "I want to go to the doctor."

I raise an eyebrow. "Okay...what kind of doctor?"

She stirs the coffee in front of her, twirling the spoon in the cup as she says, "Dr. Jones."

That name rings a bell. I'm pretty sure it's her GP who helped her out when Sam went to prison. "He's the nice one, right?" I ask for confirmation.

She smiles, stuffing another pancake in her mouth when she mumbles, "Yeah."

It's obvious there's something she's not telling me. And as much as I'm patient and understanding, it's also frustrating as hell. "Any particular reason?"

I really don't like this version of us. Long breaks in conversation, obvious secrets and insecurity about what to say and how to act... It's not something I ever thought would happen to us.

"No, no. Just a general checkup and, like...I thought I might talk to him about what happened."

"That's good! I'm sure that'll help you."

She doesn't say much more to the matter, and I really don't want to keep asking questions and push her, which is why we spend the rest of breakfast in silence.

After a while, we clean up, and as I walk back into the kitchen, I find Mila nervously munching on another peanut butter cup, looking deep in thought.

"Do you want me to come with you?" The urge to feel her close to me overwhelms me, and I wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her against my chest.

"No, that's okay. I think it's better if I do this on my own."

I have to suppress a sigh, although I know it's her decision what to share about her health and what not. It's her body, after all. "Okay, you know I'm here though, right?"

"I know," she whispers before tilting her head to press a kiss on my cheek.

We take turns showering, which is also something that doesn't happen often, but the locked bathroom door seems like a clear sign she wants to be alone in there.

I guess that's why I'm not surprised when I see her dressed and ready by the time I step out of the bathroom, only a towel wrapped around my waist. "Leaving already?"

She spins around, and damn—that fucking blush on her face when her eyes travel down my chest makes it all half as bad. It just does something to me to see her react that way.

We haven't been intimate much since that shit-show went down, partly because of all the stress, but mostly because of Sam's presence at the other end of the apartment.

"Yeah, I should..." She clears her throat, and I can't help but grin when her eyes travel back up to meet mine. "I should go."

But I'm already by her side as she grabs her jacket from the hanger on the wall, her back to my chest as she braces herself with her flat palm on the door.

"Are you sure?" I ask, hearing her breathing grow heavy when I wrap my arms around her belly.

"Hayden..." she whispers a warning, her sweet breath tingling my neck when she lays her head on my shoulder.

"Yes, love?" I trace kisses down her jawline and she bites her lip in response, obviously knowing what I'm trying to do here. "You'd better stop biting your lip or you won't be going anywhere today," I almost growl, my hand on her belly pressing her closer against my groin, letting her feel what she does to me when she looks like that.

"Cash..."

And it almost feels like we're back to our normal selves, the couple we were before all of this went down. She's so close to giving in—I can see it on the goosebumps on her skin, the way her chest rises and falls in an almost violent rhythm.

But then something seems to snap inside her, because she suddenly slips out of my grasp and ducks between my arms before she throws the door open. "I...I have to go."

And just like that, she closes the door on me.

***

"How old are you?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at the young man in front of me.

Sheila set me up with a new managing firm in her office building, she said they're perfect for me for several reasons, but now that I'm looking at the guy in front of me, I'm not too sure.

"I'm twenty-six," the man who introduced himself as Gustavo Montuso answers. "You're probably thinking, shit, that guy is too young! But let me tell you something. I'm exactly what you need. And you know why? I've been a quarterback myself."

"You have?"

He taps his shoulder in response. "Got tackled by a beast and blew my shoulder when I was twenty-one. My career was over before I could even blink."

I can only guess what it must feel like to have this happen to you. That's the thing about athletes—one wrong move, and you're done. Your career is over.

"I decided to use my knowledge for other people's benefits, so I worked hard to build this. The money I made beforehand helped me establish a company, but I'm still struggling to get my name out there."

Not the way a manager should present himself, that's for sure.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I ask, a little surprised by his honesty.

"Because you've been fucked over already. And I want you to know I'm not doing this for money or fame. I'm doing this because I fucking love football, and working with someone like you... I mean, damn, that'd just be fucking cool."

I can't help but laugh at that; his enthusiasm is contagious as hell, and it somewhat eases my mood.

"And also, I'm good at what I do. I got the connections. Connections my manager didn't have back then, connections that can help you. Hell, Sheila already set me up with the newspapers so I could control what's happening on that front," he explains, and I can't deny that I'm utterly impressed by the slim Latino man in front of me.

"That sounds promising," I admit.

He nods. "I may not be as famous as you, Mr. Cross. But when I busted my shoulder back then, the news spread before I could even come to terms with it myself. And I know how much that sucks."

Damn. This guy is good. "You know I pulled back for the rest of the season, right?"

"Yeah, and look at what your team can do without you. You're missing one match, and they already throw the Super Bowl out the window."

He's right about that, unfortunately. Hass jumped in for my spot, and that led to them losing the last game 47-9. I had to listen to Kill complain about that fucker all night long after that.

"Do you miss it?" he suddenly asks, his question catching me off guard for a second.

"Every day."

"Good. If you decide to let me work for you, I have an idea." He eyes me mischievously, and I have to admit he definitely knows what he's doing. It's hard not to like the guy.

"What idea?"

"Ha, nope! I need you to say you're with me. Reap what you sow, brother." He grins, and I have to grin right back at him. This guy will get me in trouble, I already know that.

"Well, I guess I'm in, then. But only if you stop calling me Mr. Cross. I'm Hayden."

"Perfect, Hayden. I'm Gustavo, but everyone calls me Gus. Now, let's start getting you back on track, shall we?"

With that, he tells me all about his plans, about the charity game that's taking place in a few months, about his plan for me to change teams, about all the little things I never actually knew or cared about. He's careful in explaining it all to me, saying I want to avoid any surprises and therefore should know about everything he's doing.

It's comforting, really. And to my surprise, his age doesn't make him any less professional. If more so, it makes him perfect for me. He knows what I need and what I'm looking for, simply because he's been there already.

"Alright, I guess that's settled, then. I'll contact the guys for the charity event, if you still want to do that?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Good. I—" But he can't even finish his sentence; an urgent knock on the door makes both of us spin our heads, seeing Sheila standing at the door with a large envelope in her hands.

Gus waves her in, furrowing her brows when she enters the room. "Sheila, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, Hayden, I was hoping I'd catch you here. I need to show you something." She turns to me and hands me the envelope. I just look at it for a second when she starts to explain, "I have no idea what's going on. But remember you can't always believe what you see. I just wanted to show you, just in case."

I pull out a bunch of photos from the envelope, studying them with curiosity.

Gus leans over and studies them, throwing his hand on his lips before he stutters, "Oh...fuck."

"Maybe you should call her, Hayden. Just let her explain."

But I don't hear anything anymore. I only look at these pictures, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. I've learned early on that you can't believe anything you see. There's always a story behind a picture, but this time it's just... Shit. "Where did you find these?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest from the sight in front of me.

"My contact at The Sun slipped them to me. He said this is not the kind of news he wants to share."

I nod and look back at the picture, furrowing my brows when I say, "Give him my thanks, please."

Another sigh escapes my throat when I look at the pictures of my girlfriend, and I ask myself...what exactly is she hiding from me?