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Tripp is a basketball fan. Diehard Celtics guy. But he never played sports himself. He focused on school, the opposite of me.
“Everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, pretty good. School’s busy. Final year, you know.”
I don’t know. I barely made it through college, let alone graduate school. If not for the university’s more lax grading policy when it came to student athletes, I never would have graduated. I was there to play, not for a degree.
I clear my throat. “How’s Mom?”
“She’s good. She switched to a new yoga studio near campus, so we’ve gotten brunch a couple of times.”
It’s a scene—a world—I can’t picture. I’ve never had the relationship with our mom that Tripp has, even before that fateful afternoon I found her unconscious.
As soon as I turned eighteen, I left Boston and never really looked back. My trips back home since have been brief at best. Obligatory. I love my brother and my mom; I’m just not great about showing it.
“That’s good.”
My phone buzzes with another incoming call. It’s Shawn.
I sigh. “Can I give you a call back later? My agent is calling.”
“Yeah, of course. Talk soon. Bye.”
“Bye,” I echo, then answer Shawn’s call with, “I haven’t done anything.”
My only questionable behavior as of late has been fantasizing about Sophia Beck.
But I haven’t touched her again. Or gotten wasted in a club or had sex with a random woman, which is what Shawn is most concerned about, I’m sure.
“That’s not why I’m calling.” There’s a somber note to his voice that immediately has me on high alert.
“What is it?”
“Cassandra Owens did a magazine interview. It’s coming out next week.”
“So?” I ask with a bravado I don’t feel. Foreboding creeps across my skin, cooling the coat of sweat.
“I got an early copy through a friend of a friend of a friend. And…it’s bad, Will. She’s claiming you had an affair lasting a few months.”
“She’s what? Why the fuck would she say that?”
Shawn sighs. “Mark Owens is rumored to be filing for divorce.”
Great. I can add homewrecker to my resume.
“So, she’s using me as a fuck you to her asshole husband?”
Another heavy sigh. “Most likely.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can I sue her? Isn’t this defamation? She’s lying.”
“I already sent the article to the legal team. They’re reviewing it now. But my guess is, we can’t sue for defamation without proof she’s lying. Which we don’t have. It’s her word against yours at this point.”
“What about the interview? Does she mention dates? Places?”
“Good idea, and I already looked. She’s very careful not to mention any details. Lots of flowery descriptions about your secret meetings, no mention of when or where they took place. Probably for the exact reason you want them. But…” He sighs. “It’s compelling stuff. I doubt anyone, except us, will be asking those questions.”
He believes me, I realize. Something I wasn’t sure of before.
