Chapter 13: Andi
After what seems likethe longest day known to man, I’m finally back in my apartment. The minute I landed in Denver, I practically sprinted off the plane and to the counter to get put on the next flight back to Boston.
Since my finances haven’t changed since yesterday, I couldn’t afford to upgrade myself to first class. I wasn’t fortunate enough to get upgraded thanks to a cranky toddler either. Flying coach sucks.
I wish I could have enjoyed the full experience of flying in the lap of luxury. Instead, I cranked up the volume on my earbuds and tried to bury myself in work. I’d planned on reviewing at least four files. I didn’t even get one completed. My attention was on Brandon.
Every move he made distracted me. Hell, his breathing distracted me. His snoring definitely did. Seriously, how could he fall asleep so quickly and completely?
Not gonna lie, it’s kind of impressive.
And maybe a tad envy producing.
That’s neither here nor there. What matters is thatyet againBrandon Nix got in my way. As long as Nathan doesn’t pull me to cover any more Buzzards games this year, our paths won’t cross, and my life will be better.
I trudge through my apartment door close to midnight. I can’t believe that I left here at 4 a.m. today. That this all happened in the same one box on the calendar. This exhaustion has hit an all-new level. I don’t bother digging my phone charger out of my bag before passing out on top of my duvet, still fully dressed.
The next thing I know, I jolt awake, not sure of what time it is, where I am, or even who I am. My eyes burn and feel like they’re full of sawdust. My teeth are definitely fuzzy. It takes me a few minutes to orient.
I’m home. I look for my phone on the nightstand only to find it totally dead. Through a fog, I vaguely remember not wanting to put forth the effort to find my charger last night. Well, that was a poor decision.
I finally dig it out, plugging my phone in before sprinting to the bathroom. I am off my game, that’s for sure. Yesterday seems like a bad dream. After finishing up in the bathroom, I wander around my apartment in a daze.
Did yesterday even happen? I’m not sure what the most unbelievable part of it was: the holy-terror child on the plane, getting moved next to Brandon Nix of all people, almost crashing, or finding out my brother has a whole secret life that I knew nothing about. Not to mention my parents are enjoying a tropical beach vacation.
I reach for my phone to re-read the text messages with Benj, if only to verify that this wasn’t some sort of fever dream. But there are way too many notifications on my phone to deal with to ever even get to my brother’s name.
What the holy hell?
I look at the clock. It’s almost noon. I was only out for twelve hours. How could I have this many notifications? This cannot be good.
After verifying that none are from my family, I start to wade through. Something big must have happened.
I have over 100 ClikClak notifications, which is the most it will tell you at a time. It’s been a few weeks since the video of the game went viral, so activity had died down on that platform. There must be a resurrection of that clip. You know, the one where Bad-Breath Brandon is screaming in my face?
Except ... that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
Oh, it still involves Brandon Nix. But this is worse. So much worse. Infinitely worse.
There’s footage of us at the airport together. Of us posing with that kid. Of him putting my luggage in the overhead bins. And commentary on all of it.
Lots of commentary.
If people weren’t speculating from that original video, they sure are now.
There arehundredsof videos of us. I mean, there are only two or three, but hundreds—maybe even thousands—of people have reposted or made their own content featuring it. There’s no way this isn’t going to get back to Nathan, if it hasn’t already.
My career is over.
My hands shake as I flip over to my messages and my emails. Nothing from Nathan or the USSLRA. Yet. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
If I’d eaten anything in the last 18 hours, there’s no doubt I’d be vomiting it up. All because the spawn of Satan sitting next to me doused me in milk. I’m never drinking milk again.
I pace my apartment, running my hands through my hair as if that will solve the problem. Every time my phone dings, I jump, convinced that it will be the shoe dropping from Nathan. I’m in a cold sweat.
