Chapter 6 #6

{Melanie’s P.O.V}

I closed the guest-room door behind me and leaned against it for a second, eyes shut.

My feet ached from the heels. My head still buzzed from the flash of cameras and the weight of Ace’s hand around mine. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

I kicked the white shoes off, let the leather jacket slide to the floor, and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under me like it was already tired of my drama.

I needed the relief.

My phone sat on the nightstand. I reached for it out of habit, thumb already scrolling toward my cousin’s name. I needed to hear a familiar voice that wasn’t screaming at me through a screen.

Lois, My cousin was living few street away from here. She was the perfect theraoy I needed after a stressful day, long practice or failed match.

She stayed with her boyfriend, Cole who works in finance alongside her.

Instead, Instagram opened first.

The first post hit me like a slap.

'Ace Waters Threatening Fans Over Melanie Sanders. Is their relationship real… or just another PR stunt?'

Two photos sat under the caption.

The first was crystal clear: Ace outside the athletic complex, body half-turned, eyes locked on the girl who had called me a fuckgirl.

The second was from the press conference—Ace leaning into the microphones, jaw set, the exact moment he said anyone who kept slandering me would deal with him.

The comments were already in the thousands.

He’s whipped.

Fake relationship alert.

She’s using him to clean her image.

Ace, drop the liability before she ruins your career too.

Protect Ace at all costs.

My stomach turned.

I had dragged him into this. He had stood there in front of every camera in the state and claimed me like it was nothing, and now the same toxic fans who had been trying to bury me were turning their knives on him.

Guilt sat heavy on my chest.

I tossed the phone face-down on the bed and stood up before I could spiral. If he hadn’t seen the post yet, maybe I could keep it that way for a few more hours. Maybe the noise would die down. Maybe—

I needed a distraction. For both of us.

I left the room without changing out of the white dress. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. Ace was in the living room, still in the black suit pants and the dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing in particular.

He looked up the second my bare feet touched the hardwood.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

I stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands. “Are you busy?”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction. Suspicious. The same look he gave opposing point guards when he knew they were about to try something stupid.

“Why?”

I forced a small shrug, trying to keep my voice light. “I want to play.”

“Play?”

“One-on-one. Just us. Court out back if you have one, or we can go to the gym. I don’t care. I just… need to move.”

He studied me for a long second. The silence stretched until I almost cracked and told him the real reason I was standing there in a wrinkled dress begging for a game.

Then he nodded once.

“Alright.”

Relief flooded through me so fast my knees felt weak.

He reached for his phone on the coffee table.

“Wait—”

The word came out sharper than I meant it to. Ace’s hand froze mid-air. His gaze snapped back to mine, sharper now.

“Drop the phone,” I said quickly, trying to sound casual and failing. “Just… leave it. Let’s go now. Before I change my mind.”

He didn’t move. The suspicion in his eyes deepened.

“Mel.”

“Please.” My voice softened. “I don’t want to wait. I need this. Right now.”

For a second I thought he was going to push. To ask why I was so desperate to keep him away from that screen. Instead he slowly set the phone back down on the table, screen still dark, and stood up.

“Get changed,” he said. “Five minutes. If you’re not outside by then I’m coming up to drag you.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I turned and almost ran back up the stairs, heart hammering against my ribs.

Inside the guest room I yanked the white dress over my head, pulled on a pair of practice shorts and an old tank top, and laced up my sneakers with shaking fingers. Every second I spent in here was another second he might walk over to that phone and open Instagram.

I prayed harder than I had in years.

Please let the comments slow down. Please let someone else post something bigger. Please don’t let him see how they’re coming for him because of me.

When I came back down he was already waiting by the front door, changed into black joggers and a cut-off shirt that did nothing to hide the ink running down his arms. His phone was nowhere in sight.

He opened the door without a word and stepped outside into the cool evening air.

I followed, the guilt still sitting like a stone in my stomach, but for the first time since the photo of me leaving Ken’s apartment had gone viral, I felt something close to hope.

Maybe if I kept him busy long enough, the worst of it would pass.

Maybe I could protect him the same way he kept trying to protect me.

We walked toward the small outdoor court behind the house in silence. The only sound was the soft scuff of our sneakers on the concrete path.

I didn’t look back at the house.

I didn’t dare.