Maya
The heavy soundproof door of the stadium press room swings shut behind us, muting the roar of journalists into a dull thunder beyond the walls. Only then do I realize Ethan is still holding my hand.
Heat lingers where his fingers wrap around mine, sending my pulse racing. "Ethan..." I whisper, trying to pull free. "Let go." His head turns sharply toward me. For a split second, surprise flashes across his face, as though he'd forgotten he was still holding on.
He releases my hand immediately. "I'm sorry." The warmth disappears, leaving my fingers strangely cold. Before I can ask what possessed him to say those things in front of the entire country, the backstage door slams open.
Chairman Alistair Vance storms into the corridor, his polished shoes striking the concrete like gunfire.
