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Rory wasn’t quite as nice. She refused to believe Stevie gave up all that information, and we got into an argument.
“You had one lousy breakfast with her, and suddenly you know her entire moral compass?” I groused.
“I’m a good judge of character,” she said.
“She admitted to me that she met with the reporter. Wake up, Rory,” I snapped.
Her eyes flashed with the fires of hell, and she pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you talk to me like that, Hendrix Bateman. I get you’re upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to invalidate my opinion.”
Duly chastised, I apologized, but I refused to engage in further discussion.
It’s been an absolute shit show since I got that first text from Bain yesterday morning when he sent me the article. The rest of the team started texting and then Coen called me. As team captain, he wanted to figure out what was going on and keep us united. I didn’t tell him anything that first call as I was busy packing my shit to get the hell away from Stevie, but I called him back in the car.
I told him the truth, that Stevie was the source, and Coen was stunned. “You’re kidding?”
That’s been the response from a lot of the players. Well, at least the ones who have met her. Like Rory, they’re having a hard time believing it.
Bain, in particular, told me via text, Not Stevie. No way.
I got a lot of that too.
My standard response: She admitted talking to the reporter.
I threw her further under the bus because I didn’t tell anyone that she also denied giving up that information. I think I want everyone to be as mad at her as I am so I can ignore my guilt over not letting her explain.
It’s silent as my mom brews coffee and slides a cup before me. “You going to head back?”
“Yeah… got a lot of stuff to do.”
She takes the seat next to me, her coffee sitting before her. “Will you see Stevie when you return?”
My eyebrows draw in so fast, I’m surprised they don’t fuse. “Why would I do that?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe to hear what she has to say. You’re not interested at all?”
“Nope,” I reply.
Well, maybe I’m a little interested.
Interested to know how I had so badly misjudged her. How I let her capture my heart and then destroy it just as quickly.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I’m sorry this happened to you, honey,” she says, reaching over to rub my shoulder. “I never wanted you to have a broken heart, but I’m not sorry you fell in love.”
“Don’t worry about not being sorry,” I tell her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m carrying enough regret for both of us.”
In fact, I’m swearing off women.
Well, not all women. Maybe I’ll just stick to the ones who offer threesomes with no strings attached.
?
I’m almost back to Pittsburgh when Stone calls. He texted yesterday wanting to know how I was. My reply was short. Dealing.
He called last night, and I ignored it. I was absolutely avoiding him since Harlow is such close friends with Stevie, and I didn’t want to hear him defend her.
But I can’t hide from him forever, so now I need to suck it up and answer. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Just checking in, buddy. Harlow and I are worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
There’s dead silence.
“I swear, I’m fine,” I repeat.
Stone sighs. “Then I’m going to have to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you because no one should be fine after finding out the girl he was dating blabbed to a reporter about intimate details.”
We were more than just dating, but I don’t share that with him. I don’t want to intensify his worry.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask in a brittle voice. “That I’m pissed? Hurt?”
“All of the above.”
“Okay, fine… yes. All of the above. She fucking betrayed me, and I didn’t see it coming.”
Stone utters a low curse. “I’m really sorry, man. Harlow has been trying to talk to Stevie, but she won’t return her calls.”
“Don’t,” I say harshly. “Don’t get involved. I just… I want to move on and forget this. The Titans’ organization and all the players are united in saying ‘no comment,’ and our media department says it will die down when no one engages.”
That’s right… I spent part of my Christmas talking to our media attorney on how best to handle the allegations in the article.
Some of it was true.
Some of it had a hint of truth.
Some of it was twisted and looked nothing like the truth.
The one that bothered me the most wasn’t that there was information about Rachel and how I felt about her death—because I’m not ashamed that I grieved—but rather the misrepresentation of my relationship with Tracy and Stevie.
