Page 22 of The Comeback

I arrange the pillows on the bed against the headboard and lean back into them. “It started with working in Gabriella’s aunt and uncle’s restaurant in college. They did—still do—a lot of parties there because the food is amazing. Those were my favorite nights. After my begging all the time to help with them, Gabriella’s aunt let me start helping with organizing them. By the time I graduated from college, I was basically in charge of events at the restaurant. Gabriella’s aunt knows Kristen, the founder of my firm, and put in a good word. The rest is obviously history.” I stifle a yawn. I don’t want Jett to see that everything is catching up with me. This is nice, and there’s a dreamlike quality of our conversation that has me convinced that after tonight, this bubble where we’re almost friends again is going to pop.

He shifts, sitting up from his lounging position, but he doesn’t move to stand. Of course he caught the yawn. He’s been watching me closely all day. It warms me and unnerves me all at the same time.

“So you felt like you owed Gabriella? Is that why you’re planning her wedding? Colby said you had to be talked into it.” Confusion crinkles his eyes, and he leans forward. Talking about the wedding could easily derail the companionship we’ve shared today.

I tense. “Planning stuff for friends can get really tricky,” I say. “Weddings are important and emotions can run high. I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with Gabriella.” Specifically if something went wrong.

Not only did Chelsea stop answering my calls and texts after the fundraising fiasco, but she blamed me to anyone who would listen. She commented on and shared every negative post that mentioned me.

“Hmm” is Jett’s only answer. He moves forward. “I should let you get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

I am, and I can’t argue it. Despite that I don’t want our night to end, I won’t be able to keep my eyes open for much longer.

“Thanks, Jett. For everything today.” I want to get up and go to him, risk giving him a hug and having his arms around me for just a minute, but I don’t have the strength.

He stands, moving to the doorway. “Get some rest. ’Night.” He disappears into the main room of the house. A moment later the front door closes, and then I hear his truck backing out of the driveway. I watch the street through the window, seeing which way he drives away and almost hoping that it’s just a few houses down from mine. But the sound of his truck disappears, and all I have the will to do is flop back onto the bed and curl up to go to sleep.

CHAPTER 13

JETT

Monday starts early for me. Our easy win on Sunday means our morning weight-lifting session isn’t scheduled until eight a.m., but since I live an hour out, I head into Houston by 6:45. That combined with a late night at Ava’s and another restless night of sleep, thanks to my convoluted feelings about the whole thing, means I can barely keep my eyes open at the offense meeting that afternoon. I’m looking forward to getting home and taking a power nap to get me through the rest of the evening.

To my surprise, when I check my phone on the way out to my truck, I have a dozen text messages, from everyone from Claire, Jenna, and my mom to an old teammate, Brock Turner, who got traded a couple years ago and I keep in touch with as well as various other friends.

“What the—” I mutter. Jenna’s and Claire’s are both variations on Call me when you get out of training today. My mom’s says, Jett, what’s going on?! with a link to an Instagram post from an account I recognize as a gossip account. Brock’s just says Anything for a story, Combs, along with a laughing emoji. Brock was definitely the one stirring up stories back in the day. Still does. I swear under my breath and call Claire first, putting her on speakerphone while I click the link to see what I’m walking into.

“When I asked you to get more visible on social media, this wasn’t what I was talking about,” Claire says the same time the picture loads. It’s one of me and Ava going into her house, my arm around her, practically carrying her because she could barely walk at that point. I mean, I know that because I was there, but this picture looks a lot different than what happened. I’m looking down at her, and grainy as it is, there’s no mistaking the expression on my face. It looks like I’m in love with her.

Probably because I suspect I still might be, or might be again, whatever. Fruitless as knowing that is.

It’s dumb, because I know that’s just when she was telling me the code to unlock her door. I run a hand down my face. This is exactly what I hate about being a celebrity. One of Ava’s neighbors likely made a couple thousand dollars on a private moment in my life. In our lives. This affects her too. She’s identified in the post by name, and one quick scroll shows her private account being tagged over and over.

“Jett?” Claire says, reminding me I’m on the phone.

I growl and she sighs in response. “What’s the story?” I ask.

“It could be worse,” she says quickly. “No publicity is bad publicity and all that, but this one could spiral quickly if we don’t say something ourselves. People are saying you’re cheating on Hayden with an ex-fiancée—I know, Jett, I know.”

“Hayden and I haven’t even been on a date, and already we’re in a committed relationship that has people online angry with me over helping out an old friend?” This is why I shouldn’t have let Hayden post that selfie. This wouldn’t have even been an issue.

“This is why you should have someone handling your accounts,” Claire counters sternly. “If we already had our own storyline of your weekend, especially if you’d been out with Hayden, the story that Ava’s an old friend would be more believable.”

I grimace at the annoyance in her voice. She’s been pushing me to get that taken care of, but I have a lot of stuff going on. Finding someone I can trust to run my social media isn’t a simple task.

“She is an old friend.” I know I sound defensive, and I try to tone it down as I explain. “She had an allergic reaction at a get-together last night and had to be taken to the hospital. It made the most sense for me to drive her home since she’s staying in Kemah while she’s in town.”

“That’s the storyline I’m talking about. If we had pictures up of you with friends at a post-game celebration, we could post something of you with her and a sympathetic message. You’d have followers that were loyal to you and not just looking for any piece of gossip.”

I grunt. “I don’t think I need to pull Ava into this.”

“She’s already in it, and because she’s gotten bad press before, she looks worse because we have nothing to counter it with.”

Bad press? What’s Claire talking about? Maybe something to do with event planning? Ava did mention last night that emotions run high with weddings. “I don’t have time for dating right now, and this feels like a good reason I should just steer clear. I’m working on a more charming social media persona.”

Claire snorts with laughter. “You’ve posted four pictures in the last two weeks, and while that’s definitely an improvement, it’s not exactly what my goal is here. The big endorsements go to guys they know can sell product. You need a social media manager, like right now, especially given your time constraints.”

Only four? I swear it felt like so much more. I groan inwardly, but Claire goes on before I can mount any kind of argument.

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