“I take it you told him about what happened with…Mason?” Saying his name is just as painful as it was yesterday.
Fuck! Post-breakup day one sucks as much as the day it happened.
Don’t they say time heals all wounds? Well time better hurry its ass up. I know, I know—I’m being unreasonable. Forgive me, though. I’m brokenhearted and undercaffeinated. At least I’m mature enough to not say it’s the worst thing to ever happen to me, so there’s that.
“No.” JT sends another call to voicemail. “In light of everything else that’s been happening, I didn’t think he needed that particular piece of information. I remember what he was like after him”—he spits out the word, knowing not to say my ex’s name in my presence—“and I didn’t want to be the one to send him off the deep end.”
E’s not the most reasonable person when it comes to me, that’s for sure. Logically, I know he can’t do anything to Mason, but he didn’t let a little thing like logic get in the way when he tried to get his scholarship pulled.
I’m petty enough to be disappointed by the NCAA’s strict regulations that led to E’s failure four years ago.
I jolt, the rest of what JT said registering. Cautiously, I lift my gaze, and the way he looks like he sucked on a lemon is almost enough for me to chicken out on asking, “What do you mean ‘everything else that’s been happening’?”
He glances down at the darkened screen of his phone then back to me. “You’ve been outed.”
The way he chooses to phrase it has the first hint of a chuckle breaking free. It also gives me hope. Yesterday was a bad, bad day for me, but at least now I know I have grown—even if only marginally—from the girl I was in high school, because if I hadn’t, I would still be an incoherent mess hiding under JT’s covers.
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t keep the Kayla Dennings who is related to Eric Dennings hidden in a cabinet under the stairs?”
“You’re such a Potterhead.” I rub at the sleep coating my eyes, wincing at the sting of pain when I do.
“So are you. I don’t drive all the way to Espresso Patronum by myself, sis. You are always riding shotgun.”
Oh, how I love Lyle’s coffee shop. It’s such a happy place. Except thinking about it—or anything else I had in common with Mason—only makes me think of him, again.
“Come on.” JT holds a hand out for me to take. “Get up. Drink that and let’s do what we can to prevent E from coming up here and throwing you over his shoulder to take back to Maryland with him.”
E has done many things since Dad died in an effort to “take care of me”, but calling in Jordan Donovan might take the cake. Talk about an overreaction.
Opening the door of the Taylor home to see the hockey-royalty PR dynamo, you can tell by the height of her spike-heeled stilettos, the sharp cut of her black and white checked cigarette pants, her white silk shirt, and black moto leather jacket she is a force you don’t want to reckon with.
To say I feel underdressed in a pair of black leggings, socks, and one of JT’s NJA hoodies is an understatement.
I haven’t had many interactions with Jordan throughout the years she’s handled E’s publicity, but the smile she gives me as she steps inside is filled with matronly affection, despite her not even being thirty years old.
Knowing there’s no way to avoid the conversation—no matter how much I wish I could—I lead us into the kitchen.
JT leans against the counter, thumbs flying across the screen of his phone. He’s most likely texting E, saving me from having to fake my way through my own conversation with my brother.
He looks up when we enter, fingers pausing as he gives a quick glance to confirm I’m alright before he resumes typing. JT may have pushed me to be the one to handle this meeting with Jordan, but he’s hanging around in case I need him.
“Listen.” Jordan pulls out one of the wooden chairs, draping her jacket over the back and settling in while flipping open the cover on an iPad I didn’t even see her take out of her bag. “I’m going to tell you right off the bat that your brother has a lot of…” She pauses as if to think of the best way to put what I’m sure were demands from E. “Opinions on how we should handle your recent uptick in social media presence.”
“I’m sure he does.” I shake my head as I take the seat perpendicular to her. “And that is one PC way to talk about trolls on the internet.”
“I am a professional.” She smirks and gives me a wink. Again, her calm, self-assured demeanor keeps me at ease instead of feeling like crawling out of my skin at the mere mention of social media.
It feels juvenile to worry about what people post about me on the internet, but I know firsthand the damage it can inflict on a person. Mason might have tried to trivialize what I went through…
“Were you even bullied? Or is that just some lie you used to get me to stop pushing the issue of posting about us on my social media?”
But no amount of doubting me and throwing being bullied back in my face will negate it.
Do I think E is overreacting by calling in Jordan? Yes, I already said so. But in the same breath, if I wasn’t worried about others knowing I’m his sister, I wouldn’t have kept parts of my life a secret.
A comforting hand curls around
