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DAD: Who have you told?
DAD: If reporters come calling, say nothing.
DAD: I highly suggest you call me as soon as possible.
I drop my phone onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down my face. I feel the weight of his anger even from this far away. I don’t know what it is about the man that reduces me to a child again, begging for his approval, but it’s enough to have my stomach twisting into knots. Like suddenly I’m ten again and he’s berating my form, telling me all the ways I could do better, be better—not that anything has really changed there.
And my mom. What the fuck am I going to say to my mother? I called her immediately after I saw the first article, and I’ve tried twice more since—but she isn’t answering. Which only makes me feel worse. Is she disappointed in me? Does she hate me now? Do I deserve it?
I’ve spent so many years living my life trying to avoid this very thing to protect the people around me, and now it’s out there, and it feels like every decision I’ve made in the wake of my nearly ruined reputation has all been for naught. What was the point of losing six years away from my best friend, my team, only to have it all come out, anyway? Now I’m here, at the end of my career, and everything feels as if it’s all been for nothing.
Well, not everything.
The thought of Lila is my one bright spot in the dreariness of my own head, marred only by the niggling worry that this will somehow be a wake-up call for her. That she will see the shit show that is my life and decide it’s not worth it, that I’m not worth it. Knowing the depths of my feelings for her, the thought is a terrifying one. It would have always hurt to lose Lila entirely, even in the years we grew apart, but now…Now it would be devastating.
I feel my heart pound in my chest—faster and faster until its racing rattles the cage of my ribs and thrums in my throat and my ears as panic starts to grip me, because what if she does leave? What will I do now that I know what it is to touch her, to hold her against me, to know her in ways that only come from love, just to lose her? I press my hand to my heart as if this will somehow soothe the thudding, my breaths coming out shorter and shorter as everything comes crashing down on me all at once as echoes of my father’s words over the years ring in my ears.
Straighten up, Ian.
Honestly, you can do better than that.
Don’t embarrass me, Ian.
Clearly, I was wrong to expect more from you.
You just love disappointing me, don’t you?
It would be better for everyone if you just left.
I double over, letting my head drop between my knees as I try to suck in lungfuls of air that feel like they won’t come, my vision blurring as an iron vise squeezes my chest until there’s no room left, until the bones feel like they’re breaking. There’s a roaring in my ears, and beyond that there are other sounds I can’t make out, a pounding that I can’t discern whether it comes from the room or my own head—but then there is the distinct jingle of keys in the door, and quick steps across the carpet, and then hands on my shoulders, my chest, soothing me, pulling me in close as a soft, warm voice surrounds me.
“Hey,” Lila says—because it’s her, she’s here. “I’ve got you. Shh. It’s okay.”
I throw my arms out and wrap her up in them, fisting her shirt to prove to myself that she’s really here. It still feels a little like I can’t breathe, but her distinct sweet scent and her soft embrace make the world feel a bit steadier, make me feel steadier.
“You’re having a panic attack,” she coos gently. “Just breathe, Ian. Breathe with me.”
I close my eyes and bury my face against her throat, matching the rhythm of my breaths with hers and trying to focus on the steady in and out of air filling her lungs and mine. I don’t know how long she holds me like that, or what all it is that she murmurs directly into my ear as she strokes my back, but at some point, sounds bleed back in, and things feel less like they’re crashing down on me, and suddenly I can breathe again, can see again—and all I see is her.
“Lila?”
She cups my face in her hands, worry etched in her features. “I’m here. Are you okay?”
“I—” I swallow, my tongue feeling like sandpaper. “I think so.”
“Oh, baby,” she says in a broken voice, like she’s on the verge of tears. For me. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. Do you know how this happened?”
“No, Lila,” I choke out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” Her brow furrows. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Have you seen what they’re saying?”
“I’ve seen enough,” she says with disdain.
“Then you know what they’re saying about you. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I would have never—”
“Ian.”
