Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“That’s… wonderful,” she says finally, but I can already hear the wheels turning. “Think of the exposure. We can work it into the show, maybe even film some behind-the-scenes—”
“I don’t think you understand, Mom. I’m staying in Chicago.”
“Cheyenne—”
“I’m doing the production here,” I continue calmly. “And I won’t be coming back to LA. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”
Her tone sharpens. “You don’t make decisions like this without talking to me.”
For the first time in my life, those words don’t make me feel sick or guilty. They just make me tired.
I release a slow breath. “I just did.”
Fury vibrates through her next question. “This is about him, isn’t it?”
I look at the man I’ve fallen in love with.
His gaze is locked on mine as I admit, “Knox is definitely part of it.”
“You barely know him,” she snaps. “You’re caught up in some love affair. Trust me, it happens to the best of us, but that doesn’t mean you throw away everything you’ve built.”
“I’m not throwing anything away.”
“You’re risking your career. Your livelihood. You need to understand that as soon as you step out of the spotlight, it fades.”
“No,” I say quietly. “For the first time ever, I’m following my heart and doing what I want.”
The words hang between us. They’re true in a way that makes my throat burn.
“You’ll regret this, Cheyenne. I know you will.”
Maybe she really believes that. And maybe the old me would have too. But as I stand in Knox’s kitchen with a life stretched out in front of me that finally feels like mine, I don’t.
“Maybe,” I admit. “But it’s my mistake to make.”
She exhales sharply. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“No,” I say evenly. “We won’t.”
There’s something about finally ending a dysfunctional pattern instead of feeding into it that makes me feel a hundred pounds lighter.
“I love you, Mom,” I add, softer now. “But I’m staying.”
Instead of waiting for a response, I end the call. My hand shakes as I lower the phone to the counter. For just a second, I stand frozen, my heart pounding against my ribs as the adrenaline works its way through my system.
Knox slips his arms around me before dropping a kiss against the top of my head. “How do you feel?”
“Surprisingly good. That went better than I expected.”
His mouth twitches. “Are you telling me that could’ve gone worse?”
“Are you kidding me?” I release a shaky breath. “She could have had a stroke when I told her I wasn’t coming back.”
A quiet laugh rumbles through him as his arms tighten around me. “I’m proud of you, baby. Proud of you for standing up for yourself and following your heart.”
Emotion rises within me. “Thanks.”
I fist his shirt and tug him down until his mouth meets mine. His hands slide to my waist, anchoring me in place as he pulls me in, like he doesn’t want even an inch of space coming between us.
After we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. “I love you, Hollywood.”
I smile through the sting in my eyes. “I love you too.”
His thumb sweeps over my cheek. “Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it together. Promise.”
For the first time in my life, my future feels wide open. And if I’m lucky, Knox McNichols will be standing right beside me for every part of it.
44
Evelyn
There’s something about the arena at night. Especially when the team is on the road. The usual rush of voices, footsteps, and ringing phones has long since faded, leaving behind a hush that settles into the bones of the building. It’s the kind of silence that makes every small sound louder than it actually is. The hum of the overhead lights. The distant groan of old pipes. The faint scratch of my pen across the paper, even though I’ve been reading the same paragraph for the last ten minutes without absorbing a single word.
I should have gone home hours ago. Instead, I’m sitting behind my desk, jacket draped over the back of my chair, heels abandoned beneath it, a half-finished glass of sparkling water on a coaster beside my laptop.
The city glows outside the tall windows, Chicago spread out in glittering ribbons of light. For once, it does nothing to soothe me.
My gaze drifts to the line of framed photographs on the credenza against the wall. Team events. Charity galas. Opening-night fundraisers. Smiling faces frozen mid-laugh, perfectly posed, every image curated to suggest a life that has unfolded exactly as intended.
It’s a lie, of course.
What I’ve learned is that most polished things are.
A muscle tightens low in my stomach. I know exactly why my thoughts refuse to settle.
Hugh.
It’s absurd how easily that man can disrupt my equilibrium even after all these years. A glance from across a room. A murmur pitched low enough for only me to hear. The weight of his stare lingering far too long at dinners, games, and meetings when he should be nothing more than another familiar face in the crowd.