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After a few moments of deliberation, he shows me the way to the boardroom, and I’m finally granted access to the people deciding Tanner’s fate.

I nervously look around at all the unfamiliar faces seated before me. “I’m sorry to have made such a big scene today, but it was very important that I speak with you before you made any rash decisions regarding Mr. Garrison,” I say earnestly.

“And who might you be, miss?” an older gentlemen sitting at the large conference table asks.

“I am Ashley Mitchell, Mr. Garrison’s girlfriend,” I say proudly. It might not be the truth at that moment, but it will be by the end of the day if I have anything to say about it.

“We weren’t aware that Mr. Garrison had a girlfriend,” some snooty redheaded woman comments.

“Well he does,” I say. “I need to set the record straight before you make a huge mistake based on outlandish gossip and uncorroborated lies. These allegations against Mr. Garrison are false. He did not abandon me or our child. It was unfortunate that on the night of Super Bowl I happened to be hit by a drunk driver. The crash, not Mr. Garrison, resulted in the loss of our baby. He was by my side for as much of the pregnancy as he was able to be with his crazy football schedule. He did not cause the death of our child, although he will claim responsibility because he wasn’t with us that night. This rumor was started by a vicious ex-girlfriend of his who couldn’t handle the fact that their relationship is over.” I tell the story with such conviction that I think I might choke on it.

“What’s your point, Ms. Mitchell?” another gentlemen asks.

“My point, sir, is that I don’t find it fair that Mr. Garrison’s facing losing something he loves because of one disgruntled ex-girlfriend,” I say. Over my dead body will that bitch succeed in taking Tanner’s reputation and the foundation away from him.

“It’s more than that, Ms. Mitchell. It’s now a matter of the public opinion,” yet another older gentleman says—or maybe he’s the same man who spoke first. All of them look the same now—old, fat, balding, and judgmental.

“Well, sir, I can clear that matter up with something as simple as press release. I’ll be giving an interview in just a short while to clear up this misunderstanding. By this evening’s newscast, this ordeal will be just another story of some scorned woman trying to get her fifteen minutes.” I know I need to take care of this situation by myself and quickly. I don’t want people thinking Tanner made me recite some stupid scripted speech to cover his ass.

“Just how do you plan on pulling something like together so fast?” yet another judgmental asshole asks.

“I’m a journalist, sir. I work for
The City Press.
I have many contacts and many friends in high places.”

Okay so that last part is a lie. I don’t know anyone in high places other than Tanner, but thankfully James, the sports reporter I covered Tanner’s first interview for, does. When this whole crazy scheme came to life in my head, I’d called him right away to see if he could hook me up with someone who could get my side of the story out fast. Lucky for me, he has a friend at ESPN that owes him a favor. Even luckier is that said friend is the anchor for the evening edition of SportsCenter.

“May I ask with whom you are doing this interview?” one of them asks.

“The evening anchor for SportsCenter. It will be a special segment. They’ve assured me it will be viral by the time its finished airing,” I say proudly.

“I’m assuming it will be done via video chat,” the same gentleman says.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Would you mind conducting the interview here so we can see the footage before it airs? It will give us a jump on the story, and we may be able to come to some conclusions before it airs. Of course, no decision can be concrete until we see how the public reacts.”

Before I know it, I find myself in an empty conference room at the headquarters for The Tony Mathis Foundation
doing a video interview with ESPN
.
I make sure to recount everything exactly as I did in the conference room and do my best to drag Melissa’s name through the mud. Afterward, the board assures me they’ll hold off on making any permanent decisions for the next few days to see what trickles back to them after the press release airs—just an hour from now.

Before the hour’s up, I’m in the driveway of Tanner’s house, sitting in my beautiful BMW he bought for me months ago. I have no game plan for this part. I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants since I set up the interview, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I just told the entire nation about losing Daniel with my head held high. That was the first time I’ve been able to talk about him honestly and openly, and I didn’t even break down into a sobbing mess. 

I suddenly hear Dr. Patterson’s voice in my head.
Progress…
 I wish her voice would tell me how to fix this mess with Tanner. I don’t know how to make things right between the two of us, but I guess this is exactly how he felt trying to wade through the mess we created for ourselves. I find myself wanting to follow the same path he did: start with a simple apology. I don’t expect him to be very receptive. I sure as hell wasn’t.

I sit in the driveway for a good twenty minutes more before forcing myself to put on my big girl panties and face the music. Then I climb out of my car and walk to the front door, each step more unsteady than the last. I raise my hand to knock on the door but pull it back. After a moment, I raise my fist again, this time managing to knock.

A few minutes pass before Tanner answers the door. I can tell from his appearance how much this whole media shit-storm is affecting him. It looks as though he hasn’t showered or slept since the story broke. I haven’t seen him look this broken since I first woke up after the accident—not while I was blaming him for everything wrong in my life, not while I was blaming him repeatedly for the death of our son, not when I told him I could never forgive him. It thaws another layer of the ice around my heart.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, visibly shocked and confused by my presence.

“I needed to see you,” I say hesitantly, suddenly nervous. What if he gets mad with my meddling in his life? What if he’s finally realized I’m more trouble than I’m worth? Lord knows I wind up disappointing everyone in my life, and I’ve already given him enough reasons to be disappointed in me for the next two lifetimes.

“You aren’t supposed to be driving, Ashley,” he says, sounding angry. “Your knee hasn’t healed enough for a quick reaction time, and you know it.”

“This is more important,” I say, finding my backbone. If he can still find a way to care about my safety in the face everything he stands to lose, I’ve definitely made the right choice in him.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his face scrunching into a look of worry.

“It will be.” I step toward him, closing the gap between us. I reach up with my good arm and wrap it around his neck.

There’s confusion in his eyes as I lean in closer to kiss him, which gives me the time I need to make my move before he can step away. I mold my mouth to his as quickly as I can, and that familiar spark of electricity hits me as soon as our lips touch. Thank God! At least I now know our connection hasn’t dissipated. With everything that has happened between us, I’ll admit I’d been worried. Tanner’s body stays stiff as a board, as if he’s waiting for an anvil to be dropped on his head. I deepen the kiss, hoping to coax him into it, but he holds back.

I’m not sure what I’d expected him to do. I’ve made it very clear over the last few months that I want nothing to do with him, and now here I am, throwing myself at him—kind of like our night in the back of his town car.

Tanner wraps his fingers around my upper arms, careful not to squeeze my left arm, and pushes me away. “What are you doing?” His face is tired and lined in sadness.

I see now how awful I’ve been to this man. I‘ve taken this incredible, confident, vibrant man and reduced him to a depressed, disenchanted mess.

“I need to talk you, please,” I say. It’s probably not the best way to start this whole conversation, but I suddenly feel lost and so confused.

He could tell me he’s finally had it with me, and I don’t think I’d blame him.

“What the fuck is going on? What are you playing at, coming here and pulling this shit? My life hasn’t fallen apart enough? You need to pour salt on the wound by playing games? You hate me that much? I’ve got a lot of shit going on, and I don’t have time for whatever it is you’re up to. If you want to talk, then talk, but I’m not hanging around for you to yell and bitch at me some more,” he grumbles, the irritation apparent in his voice.

“I’m not here to yell or scream at you. I thought the kiss might’ve made that clear.”

“Nothing is clear when it comes to you except that you want nothing to do with me. You haven’t been able to stand the sight of me for months, so please excuse me if you kissing me doesn’t make much of anything more
clear
.”

Damn, he’s definitely not playing.

“I’m sorry.” I’m sorry?
After everything I’ve put this man though, that’s the best I can come up with? How pathetic… I wish I would’ve thought up a speech or something on the way here because I’m sinking fast. This is my only shot, and I’m fucking it up—first by kissing the man as though I still have a right to his body and then a lame
I’m sorry
. I wouldn’t blame him for slamming the door in my face.

“It’s fine,” he says dejectedly as he runs his hands through hair in frustration. “Just, please, no games. Tell me whatever it is you need to tell me and let me get back to what I was doing.” The look in his eyes doesn’t hold any of the reverence I used to see when he looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat again.

“I said its fine, Ash.” He voice is hard, and I know he’s trying to tell me I’m not welcome without saying the words.

“No, ‘I’m sorry’ is what I need to tell you.” My voice wavers as I feel the emotion welling in my throat. I think I’ve lost my chance to fix this, and I just want to run—well, gimp—away as quickly as possible, get back in my car, and go home. That’s not an option though. He deserves a proper apology, even if it won’t fix things between us.

“Sorry for what?” he asks, still seeming confused.

“Everything! I’ve completely ruined your life. Look at what I’ve done to you, done to us,” I cry. I’m tired of being such an emotional mess. I feel as though all I do nowadays is cry and feel sorry for myself.

“Ashley,” he says. His phone rings in his pocket, momentarily distracting him.

The fact that he even looks toward his phone right now proves just how far we have fallen. A wave of sorrow washes over me as he pulls it out and answers with a brisk hello.

My body can’t hold itself up under the weight crushing down on it, the weight of knowledge that what we had is gone. I crumple to the ground, and pain radiates through my knee, but I relish it. I deserve it. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have given a shit about being an afterthought to Tanner, but now that I realize what I’ve so rashly thrown away, it kills me.

I hold my head in my hands and let go of all the emotion inside me. I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed right now. The only thing I hear clearly in my mind are the thoughts of regret screaming at me. I don’t hear my sobs. I don’t hear Tanner whispering in my ear. I don’t even feel it when he scoops me up into his arms and carries me into the house. I don’t feel the warmth from his hand smoothing over my hair or hear his comforting words. All I’m aware of are the thoughts of what I could’ve done to fix all of this sooner, to be grateful for everything I’d had while it was staring me in the face.

I don’t know how long I’ve been huddled in Tanner’s lap, but I do know that if this is the last time I’ll be welcome here, I’m not leaving until he makes me.

“You did this,” he says, no anger lingering in his voice even though he has every right to be angry.

I did do this. I did destroy us.

“I know, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” I say truthfully as I attempt to rise from his lap. “I know that you didn’t deserve anything I put you through, and I’m sorry, even if it’s too late for your forgiveness.”

His arms squeeze me tighter. “Sweetheart, it’s been a long couple of days, so my brain is pretty fried. What exactly are you apologizing for?”

Sweetheart? Did he just call me sweetheart?

“Everything! I just tried to tell you.” We’re going in circles again, and I’m fucking lost. “I’ve been nothing but awful to you for months, months where you’ve done nothing but stand by me and help me get better, all while suffering in silence as I blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault.”

He rubs circles on my back, trying to comfort me even though I don’t deserve it. “You have every right to blame me, Ashley. It’s my fault that this happened. You don’t need to try to make me feel as though it’s okay. I know it’s not, and I’ll have to live with the fact my choices led to the death of our son,” he says, shame marring his beautiful face.

I feel my heart breaking. I’ve truly convinced him it’s his fault Daniel died.

“STOP!” I demand, rising from his lap. “This isn’t your fault. I’m so angry you’ve let me convince you otherwise. It’s not anyone’s fault but that asshole who’s now sitting in jail where he belongs.”