Rumor Has It I'm Dating the Football Captain

Chapter 86: Chapter 86: The Cage Is Broken

The campus coffee shop was packed with the usual Friday afternoon crowd.

Audrey sat at a small table near the back window. Her laptop was open, displaying the final draft of the sports bulletin. She rubbed her tired eyes. She had stared at the screen for so long that the words were starting to float.

Suddenly, a cold, condensation-covered can was placed directly on top of her notes.

Audrey blinked. She looked down. It was a pale pink peach-lychee sparkling soda.

She looked up.

Rowan was standing next to her table. He wore a faded denim jacket over his knit sweater. His canvas messenger bag was slung loosely over his shoulder. His bright green eyes were warm and completely relaxed.

"I found another rare artifact," Rowan smiled. "I thought you might need it for the layout war."

Audrey let out a genuine, surprised laugh. She reached out and touched the cold can. "You didn’t have to do that. How did you even know I was here?"

"I come here every Friday to read," Rowan said. He pointed to a worn paperback book sticking out of his bag. "I saw you aggressively glaring at your screen through the window. You looked like you were ready to fight the computer."

"I am," Audrey admitted. She closed her laptop with a soft click. "The computer is winning."

Rowan did not immediately sit down. He kept a polite, respectful distance. He did not assume he was invited into her space.

"Do you want to sit?" Audrey asked.

Rowan’s smile widened. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. He didn’t take up too much room. He was the complete physical opposite of a massive, broad-shouldered football defender.

"Did you finish your art history paper?" Audrey asked, popping the tab on the pink soda.

"I did," Rowan nodded. "Submitted it this morning. Which means I am officially a free man for the entire weekend. What about you? Does the sports bulletin demand your soul on Saturdays?"

"Usually," Audrey said. She took a sip of the sweet drink. "But the team is playing an away match this weekend. Daisy—our junior photographer—is traveling with them to get the pictures. I actually have the weekend off."

Rowan tilted his head slightly. "A completely free weekend. That is dangerous."

"It feels strange," Audrey confessed. "I usually spend my Saturdays standing on the edge of a pitch."

Rowan watched her for a quiet second. He did not push. He did not ask invasive questions about why she looked so tired, or why a girl who didn’t play sports spent all her time on a football pitch.

"There is a small gallery downtown," Rowan said smoothly. "They are doing an exhibition on modern street photography. It is very quiet. No layout margins. No sports drama. Just a lot of quiet pictures on white walls."

Audrey froze holding her soda.

It was a casual invitation. It was entirely low-stakes.

Her mind instinctively flashed to Mason. She thought about his dark eyes. She thought about the heavy, suffocating feeling in her chest every time she remembered those photos of him and Elena Hayes in Miami.

I have the right to move on, Audrey reminded herself fiercely.

She looked across the table at Rowan. He was nice. He was safe. He wasn’t going to drag her into a high-profile WFA transfer scandal.

"I like photography," Audrey said softly.

"Then you should come," Rowan smiled. "Tomorrow afternoon. We can grab a coffee afterward. If you want to, of course."

Audrey took a deep breath. She pushed the ghost of Mason Calloway out of her head.

"I would really like that, Rowan," Audrey said.

Rowan’s green eyes lit up. "Great. I’ll meet you at the campus gates at two."

He stood up, gave her a polite wave, and walked toward the counter to order his drink.

Audrey watched him walk away. She let out a long, shaky exhale. She had just accepted a date. A real, normal date.

She looked out the coffee shop window. She saw Daisy walking across the courtyard. Daisy caught Audrey’s eye through the glass and gave her two massive, enthusiastic thumbs up.

Audrey smiled. She was actually doing it. She was moving on.

Miami was suffocating.

The grand ballroom of the luxury hotel was packed with wealthy investors, elite coaches, and scouts from the WFA. Camera flashes lit up the room like a violent lightning storm.

Mason stood near the champagne tower. He was wearing his tailored black suit. His posture was completely rigid.

Elena Hayes stood right next to him. Her arm was looped tightly through his. She was wearing a stunning silver dress, smiling radiantly for every single camera that pointed in their direction.

"Smile, Mason," Elena whispered through her teeth. "You look like you are attending a funeral."

"I am," Mason muttered coldly. "I am attending the funeral of my patience."

Elena’s grip tightened painfully on his arm. "Do not push me. You know exactly what is sitting in my email drafts."

Mason forced the corners of his mouth to twitch upward. He stared blankly at the flashing cameras. He felt entirely dead inside. He had spent the last three days playing the perfect, obedient boyfriend. He had walked the red carpets. He had attended the dinners.

He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see Audrey. He wanted to hear her laugh about Ben’s formatting meltdowns.

"Calloway."

Mason turned his head.

Marcus, his sports agent, was walking through the crowd. He wore a sharp gray suit and carried a small glass of sparkling water. He looked completely relaxed.

"Elena," Marcus greeted smoothly. "You look lovely tonight. Do you mind if I borrow your boyfriend for two minutes? I need to discuss some training schedules with him."

Elena narrowed her eyes. She did not like Marcus. She knew he was a shark. But she could not cause a scene in front of the London scouts.

"Make it quick," Elena said. She unlooped her arm from Mason’s. "We have to greet the regional director."

Mason followed Marcus away from the crowd. They walked out of the loud ballroom and into a quiet, carpeted hallway near the elevators.

As soon as the heavy doors closed, Marcus dropped the polite smile.

"The ink is dry," Marcus announced instantly.

Mason stopped walking. "What?"

"The London club processed the paperwork," Marcus said. His voice was low and fast. "Your signature is officially registered with the WFA. Director Hayes cannot block it. He cannot touch your transfer. You are entirely locked in, Mason."

A massive wave of relief washed over Mason. Half the cage was finally broken.

"That is great," Mason said. His voice was grim. "But it doesn’t solve my problem. Elena still has the email. If I leave her, she sends the fraud accusation to Audrey’s university. She ruins Audrey’s career."

Marcus let out a dark, amused chuckle. He took a sip of his sparkling water.

"Calloway," Marcus said, looking highly entertained. "I am a high-level sports agent. I deal with blackmail before I even drink my morning espresso. Did you honestly think I would let a twenty-year-old girl hold my top client hostage?"

Mason frowned. "What did you do?"

"I did my job," Marcus smirked. "I hired a private investigator to dig into the academy’s finances. Director Hayes is powerful, but he is incredibly sloppy."

Marcus reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Mason.

"Director Hayes has been quietly skimming training funds from the academy’s charity budget to pay for Elena’s luxury lifestyle," Marcus explained smoothly. "Those designer dresses? The Miami hotel suites? Funded by stolen charity money."

Mason unfolded the paper. It was a printed bank statement. The proof was right there in black and white.

"If Elena hits send on that email," Marcus warned quietly, "I send this financial report directly to the federal investigators. Her father goes to prison, and her entire life is completely destroyed."

Mason stared at the paper. A slow, dangerous smile finally broke across his face.

The cage was not just broken. It was entirely obliterated.

"You are a terrifying man, Marcus," Mason said.

"I am an expensive man," Marcus corrected. "Now. Go dump the boss’s daughter. You have a flight to catch."

The campus library was quiet on Friday evening.

Zoya walked out of the heavy glass doors. She carried her thick legal textbook against her chest. She was perfectly dressed in a crisp blazer. She had spent the last four hours completely avoiding her own thoughts.

Ever since the disastrous moment Leo and Chloe had caught them in the dorm room, Zoya had been incredibly on edge. The logic was failing. The contract was failing.

She walked down the concrete steps.

"You study too much."

Zoya jumped. She spun around.

Jackson was leaning against the brick wall of the library. He wore his dark team sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He was holding a small paper bag from the campus bakery.

"Jackson," Zoya said, quickly adjusting her glasses. "What are you doing here? It is not Tuesday or Friday at nine o’clock."

"I know how a calendar works, encyclopedia," Jackson smirked. He pushed off the wall and walked toward her.

"Then you know this violates Section One of our agreement," Zoya stated. Her voice was strict, but her heart was already racing. "And standing near me in public violates Section Two."

"We are standing in a completely empty courtyard," Jackson pointed out. He stopped right in front of her. "Nobody is watching us."

Zoya clutched her book tighter. "You are breaking the rules."

"Call my lawyer," Jackson teased.

He reached out and handed her the paper bag.

Zoya frowned. She slowly took the bag. It was warm. The sweet smell of cinnamon and baked apples drifted up to her nose.

"What is this?" Zoya asked.

"An apple muffin," Jackson said casually. "You skipped dinner to study. I asked Chloe what you liked. She said you only eat pastries when you are stressed about midterms."

Zoya stared at the paper bag. Her chest felt incredibly tight.

He didn’t bring her flowers. He didn’t make a loud, obnoxious scene. He just noticed she was working too hard, and he brought her exactly what she needed.

It was thoughtful. It was sweet. It was entirely dangerous.

"This is not part of the physical arrangement," Zoya whispered. She refused to look him in the eyes.

Jackson stepped closer. He gently reached out and pushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. His touch sent a violent spark straight down her spine.

"I told you," Jackson murmured, his deep voice incredibly soft. "I am playing to win."

He didn’t try to kiss her. He didn’t try to push the boundary any further. He just gave her a completely devastating, confident smile.

"Eat your muffin, Zoya," Jackson said. "I will see you on Tuesday."

He turned around and walked away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Zoya stood completely frozen on the library steps. She held the warm pastry bag against her chest. Her perfect, icy walls were melting at an absolutely terrifying speed, and she had no mathematical equation left to stop it.