I lean back against the plush seat and rest my head against the cool glass window. The cold seeps through my entire body, leaving me numb.

I stare blankly ahead into the driver’s side mirror and watch as the campus grows smaller and smaller until Lincoln University fades from view entirely. Suffocating despair smothers me.

Four months too late, I realize why I truly wanted to leave Marcedenia for this glimpse of normalcy. So I would stop yearning for it. So I could experience it and move on. I never expected to encounter something—someone—I craved even more.

It’s not normalcy that just disappeared behind me.

It’s Jace.

And now I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing I’ll never see him again.

PART 2

TWO DECISIONS, ONE DUTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

JACE

She’s engaged.

At least according to the half dozen tabloids tossed carelessly across my new front porch. Ever since I moved in a month ago, they’ve been delivered to the front door each morning without fail. Either the rookie the Sharks put up here last had some strange obsession with gossip magazines, or it’s retribution from the teams’ publicist for my unremitting disregard of the nightclub openings and other events she’s constantly trying to force me to attend to “elevate my profile.”

The first time Vivienne was featured on one of the covers, I called the magazine directly, asking to be removed from their list. The glossy pages still appear daily.

I’ve never bothered to read any of the articles, but today’s cover is impossible to ignore. The photo is mostly Viv, her supposed fiancé is just a shadowed blur to her right. She’s glancing over her shoulder, her stunning features on clear display through the swirl of strawberry blonde hair that still looks foreign to me.

I stare at the obnoxious black words printed across the glossy cover. SHE’S ENGAGED! Soon to be Queen of Marcedenia set to marry son of Duke Vanderbilt, long-time royal insider, it reads.

Ever since Viv’s true identity was revealed, interest in Marcedenia’s royal family has skyrocketed. It figures the entire country would become obsessed with the girl I’m trying to forget.

The thought of Vivienne marrying anyone, much less the over-privileged, stuffy son of a duke, makes me want to punch something. Since I’ve just signed a multi-million-dollar contract that depends upon my ability to throw a football, that’s not an option.

So, I do the next best thing.

I tear the shiny pages to shreds and then walk out the front door, slamming it behind me.

I have practice later, so I force myself to keep a slower pace as I jog past the rows of mansions that fill the gated community the team has put me up in. Angry thoughts swirl through my head, and I embrace the vitriol, knowing the pain that lurks beneath is infinitely more dangerous.

It’s been almost seven months since I last saw her, yet any reminder of her existence still sears just as painfully as it did the Monday morning I realized I would never see her again.