Chapter 187 : My Savior.

Chapter 187 : My Savior.


STEPHEN’S POV:

The office smelled like lavender and expensive leather.

It was a huge difference to the familiar scents of sweat, grass, and locker room liniment that usually filled my days.

I sat on a plush gray sofa, staring at a small, neat plant on the coffee table. My fingers nervously traced the hem of my soccer shorts.

After the courthouse brawl and the media explosion, the soccer camp authority hadn't just released a press statement. They had issued an ultimatum.

If I wanted to stay in the running for the upcoming draft, I had to attend mandatory therapy sessions. They needed to see that we were actively fixing the ‘emotional fallout of the tape scandal.

"You can start whenever you are ready, Stephen," Dr. Evans said gently. She was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a clipboard resting on her lap.

She didn't look at me like the reporters did. She didn't look at me like I was a scandalous headline.

I swallowed hard, the back of my throat feeling completely dry. "I don't even know what to say."

"Why don't we start with how you are feeling after yesterday?" she suggested.

I let out a short, hollow laugh. How was I feeling? I felt like a ghost walking around in my own body. But speaking openly about it was so much harder than I expected.

As an athlete, I was trained to hide pain. If you hurt your ankle, you taped it up and kept running. You never showed weakness to your opponents.

But this wasn't a physical injury.

"It's the humiliation," I whispered, the words tasting like copper in my mouth. "Every time I walk into a room, I feel like people aren't seeing my talent anymore. They are seeing... that sex tape. They are seeing the most private, intimate parts of my life, exposed for anyone with an internet connection to watch and judge."

Dr. Evans nodded slowly, writing something down. "Public exposure of that nature is a massive violation of safety. It is completely natural to feel exposed."

"And the betrayal," I continued, the dam inside me finally cracking open. The anger and sadness rushed out so fast it made my chest ache. "Ryan was my teammate. We shared locker rooms. We celebrated wins together. He knew how hard I worked for this draft. And he threw my entire life into the dirt for fifteen grand. He sold me out like I was nothing."

Once I started talking, I couldn't stop.

The sessions became a weekly routine, and each one felt like ripping open a half-healed wound. I had total breakdowns in that office. I cried until my ribs hurt, letting out months of suffocating pressure, anxiety, and shame.

And through every single breakdown, Hayden was there.

He didn't come into the therapist's office—that was my private space—but he never left the building. Every single week, when I walked out of Dr. Evans's office with red eyes and trembling hands, Hayden would be sitting in the waiting room.

He didn't complain about the wait. He didn't text on his phone or look annoyed. He just sat there, looking like a protective guard dog. The moment he saw me, he would stand up, throw a heavy, comforting arm around my shoulders, and pull me close.

He would squeeze me tight, guiding me out the back exit away from the cameras, anchoring me to the earth when I felt like I was floating away in panic.

Seeing him try so hard to control his own massive temper just to be my rock made something shift inside me

One evening, after an especially brutal session where I had spent an hour talking about the fear of losing my soccer career, Hayden and I were sitting in his car.

The engine was idling, the headlights cutting through the dark parking lot.

I looked at his face….the sharp jawline, the faded bruises on his knuckles from the fight with Ryan.

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know," I said softly.

"Waiting for me every time."

Hayden turned his head, his dark eyes looking straight into mine. "Where else would I be, Steph? I'm not leaving you to deal with this shit alone. Ever."

A strange sense of calm washed over me. For the first time since the scandal broke, I realized something important.

For weeks, I had been fueled by a bitter desire for revenge. I had wanted to see Ryan suffer, wanted to see him destroyed the way he tried to destroy us.

But looking at Hayden and thinking about the progress I was making in therapy, I realized that healing mattered so much more than revenge.

Ryan was already gone.

He was broke, facing criminal charges, and his name was toxic.

Fighting him, hating him, or wishing for his downfall wasn't going to fix the ache in my chest. Revenge wouldn't erase the tape from the internet. It wouldn't rewrite history.

Only healing could give me my life back.

I knew the scars would remain permanently. Beneath the soccer jerseys, beneath the professional contracts we were going to sign, and beneath the happy memories we would build, the scar of this betrayal would always be there.

I would probably always be a little more guarded, a little less trusting of the people around me.

But a scar meant the wound had closed. It meant you survived.

"Thank you," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

Hayden reached across the center console, wrapping his large, warm hand around mine. His grip was firm and steady.

"We're going to make it, Steph. Both of us. I love you."

I squeezed his hand back, looking out the window at the city lights.

“I love you too.”

The future was still uncertain, and the media storm was still howling outside our door.

But for the first time in a long time, the black and white world felt like it was gaining a little bit of color again.

I was ready to face the draft, not as a victim, but as a survivor.