It was on, but he didn’t see the document. The only thing open on the screen was a file folder. He moved the mouse to the bar at the bottom and clicked to maximize it. He tried to focus on finding Edgar’s last name, but the one jumping out at him was his own. He paused, trying to think of another athlete whose last name was Matthews. It wasn’t that uncommon, but the September after it meant it must be someone from the New York area since Taran had told him that she wouldn’t be traveling this month. No one was coming to mind, and curiosity got the better of him as he clicked open the file.
“I’m feeling pizza. Do you care?” Taran popped her head back into the room.
“I’m fine with anything but mushrooms. I hate mushrooms.”
She nodded and went back into the kitchen.
He turned back to the computer. Inside the file labeled Matthews were three documents: one labeled contract, one labeled notes, and one labeled draft. He clicked into the draft, but it was blank. That was weird. He went to the contract next, figuring the name had to be on that one. But within seconds of opening it, he regretted the choice—so many words. Why did contracts have to be so wordy?
“Hey, Taran,” Corey called, realizing although he didn’t care if he had pizza, the team would. “Did you order yet?”
“Putting it in now. Did you want something else?” she called, but she didn’t pop her head in this time.
“Yeah, can you add a cobb or antipasto salad? Something protein-heavy so I don’t have to lie to the team nutritionist about what I ate today?” He scrolled down to the end of the document.
“They have both, or a chicken Caesar with double chicken?”
The words danced around his head, but his focus was on the signature.
His signature.
No, that couldn’t be right. Taran wasn’t writing a story on him. Even as the thought flipped through his mind, a heavy lead ball settled deep in his gut. The date said he’d signed it at the end of April, but that couldn’t be right.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. This was not happening. They trusted each other, and he refused to jump to conclusions. His mind was playing tricks on him, forming words that weren’t there. He reopened his eyes and focused on the document. But nothing changed. His signature; same date. The same contract that confirmed Taran was writing an article on him.
His hands shook, the dread growing inside him; no way had she tricked him into this. No way. He moved the mouse back to the folder to open the notes. His mind worked overtime trying to find any justification, a reason for what he was seeing. Taran never talked about it, but the explanation became harder to find as he scanned the notes. Everything he’d ever told her.
The words on the page swam as a white-hot fist squeezed his heart. He took a breath and looked up.
Taran paused and waited after asking a second time which salad he wanted. Why wasn’t he answering? She huffed out a breath through her nose, frustrated she couldn’t order anything because he wouldn’t tell her what he wanted. Her phone buzzed with another text—Edgar was still working to sell her on the job. She fought the knot in her chest, knowing she couldn’t take it. Her head swam; too many things were hitting her and she couldn’t process them all.
Becoming someone else hadn’t been an overnight thing. She hadn’t come home from Syria a completely different person. She’d worked to put her old life, the life that had disappeared in a roadside blast, behind her. With every step forward, she pushed the pain away and became a woman that couldn’t feel the hurt. Corey had already tested the tight hold on the knot of anguish she kept firmly locked away, and recently, it felt ready to burst free. She didn’t want that or anything else pushing her. Really, she just wanted this all over because she couldn’t handle one more thing.
She sighed, trying to not be irritated that Corey still hadn’t answered. Maybe he couldn’t hear her since he’d planned to have Word read the article to him. She moved through the doorway to the family room.
“Cor, which salad?”
His gaze slowly shifted from the computer, and the air sucked out of the room. His face said one word—betrayed. The undisguised pain in his eyes fed the knot in her chest, causing it to rise, clawing at her throat, almost choking her.
No. He doesn’t know. She sucked in a hard breath. How would he know about the article? Her mind whirled. Her file. The random thoughts she’d jotted down.
“You went through my computer?” Her voice had a sharpness she didn’t intend, but instead of throwing it back at her, he shook his head, looking lost and alone. She saw the echoes of the child he’d been sitting in her living room, and frustration surged in her system. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him. Why did everything have to get so screwed up? Why did life always go wrong?
His eyes dropped to her hands fisted at her sides before his gaze slowly dragged back to her face.
“Please.” His voice died at the end of the word, and he cleared his throat. “Please tell me it’s not what it looks like. Tell me you’re not writing about me next month.”
“I can’t,” she croaked. She didn’t cry anymore; she hadn’t in over two years, but her eyes burned. “But Corey—”
“Sean.” Corey’s jaw tightened. In the blink of an eye, all the pain and insecurity disappeared. He became the Corey Matthews who spoke to the press. The one who could laugh off a bad game or smile like nothing mattered. “He came to my house; we were playing Diablo. That was the first day you got me talking.” One harsh laugh cracked out from between his lips. “You’re good.”
“It wasn’t like that.” She reached out, but he stood up so fast the chair knocked to the floor. “Corey, trust me.”
“Off the record? Or are we on it?” His words cracked like a whip against her skin.
“I would never—”
“Never what?” His voice was eerily calm. “Never trick me to get information? Never use me as a means to an end? Never worm your way into my life for a story?”