And what am I suing for? Assumptions? Conjecture? Plausible deniability? Most of what he said weren’t technically lies. Would I even win? Logan’s credible as hell. He has screenshots and receipts of who knows what, not to mention heartfelt statements – he even brought uphis grandma. I’d forgotten all about that. I’d been dating her grandson for threeweeks, it would’ve been inappropriate for me to go. But it doesn’t matter because footballers are like gods.
And I made him into one of the most powerful.
‘These are horrible,’ Ash says, frowning at our dulce de leche crisps.
I’m just a silly little influencer, who would listen to me? I could stand up for myself, but what would be the point? Soundbites would be taken out of context, and invalidating feelings is a losing game. The only concrete evidence I have is that initial message, but is the damage done? Drawing this out would make everything worse.
I think Ash is wrong. I think I’m out of options, and nothing’s in my control. Let’s face it: I’m royally fucked.
Chapter 41
TIAGO
MIAMI
I’m flicking through article after article on that tool Logan Rogers. How ‘hurt’ he is. How ‘brave’ he is. How men’s mental health charities want him to represent them.
The fuck?
His ‘screenshots’ are bogus – only four of them vaguely back up what he’s saying. His ‘receipts’ could be for anything, for anyone. His insinuation that Jules sponges off men is hilarious – she won’t let me pay foranything. And she doesn’t have a downer on grandmothers – my abuela loves her. I’ve never seen her force feed someone so musically.
I calculate the time in London and call Jules for the millionth time. I’m so sure she won’t pick up that I’m startled by her face appearing on my phone.
‘How are you doing?’ I rush to ask.
She looks… surprisingly great for someone whose whole life is their brand, and said brand is being torpedoed by some dude who’s built like a refrigerator and has a mental capacity to match. Of course it took him eleven months to pull together an argument; he probably takes an hour tying his laces.
‘Fine,’ she says. It’s neutral. Difficult to interpret.
Her hair’s tighter than I’ve seen it in months, a slick bun that makes her look young and fragile. My fingers itch to pull it out and comb through the long strands. The light catches her eyes and there’s a strange look to them. Too wide, bright with the kind of fear that makes her look unfamiliar. Fuck, I wish I was in London right now. There’s so little I can do four thousand miles away.
‘I hate him so much,’ I admit.
She snorts half-heartedly. ‘Join the club.’
‘It’s a bump in the road, Jules. You’ll get over this.’
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter. That’s even more concerning.
‘No one will buy it. He comes across as a bitter asshole. Being loud doesn’t make you right.’ She refuses to soften. ‘Listen to me, Jules. Your followers know you can care deeply and protect yourself at the same time. It doesn’t make your content any less authentic.’
She looks away from the camera. ‘I have to go.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘Bye, Tiago.’
I throw my phone on the bed and clench my fists. Why’s she locking me out? All I want to do is be there for her. The thought of her being alone through all this is eating me alive. She needs total control over her life – what happens when it goes wrong? This would be a lot for anyone to deal with, let alone someone with a condition like hers. I read testimonies of OCD attacks – when anxiety hits the roof and patients fall victim trying to tame it – and I can’t… Jules…
Fuck it, I’m going to London. If she hasn’t learned intrusion is Colombia’s love language by now, she never will.
I throw together a bag and go out to the yard to say goodbye to everyone. I start with the pool house.
‘I’m going to London for a couple days,’ I announce to no one in particular, but I notice JC sitting up. ‘I’ll be in Mexico City in time for race weekend media. Probably Wednesday, or early Thursday.’
I turn on my heel.
‘Ahí.’JC’s voice stops me short.
