“You need to do something to counteract this. If you don’t want people talking about you and Ava, help them talk about you and Hayden. Take Hayden out on a date. She’s an athlete, just like you. She played collegiate basketball. I think she’d surprise you. Give her a chance. And post something about your friendship with Ava. Right now.”
After years of training under a Texas mama, a respectful “Yes, ma’am” comes out automatically, and Claire hangs up before I can say anything else. She’s straightforward, yes, and this whole thing is irritating as all get-out, but she’s just doing her job. She’s trying to do what’s best for my career—making me indispensable to the Pumas franchise, a moneymaker on and off the field. She’s making sure that whatever happens next in my career, I’m set.
I text my mom about Ava going to the hospital last night and everything being a misunderstanding and ask if she has any old pictures of me and Ava. Then I get into my truck and dial Jenna as I head home. I don’t think I’m getting that power nap I wanted.
I spend the rest of Monday evening doing my best to fix the situation, including calling Hayden to explain about Ava. Even though we’re just friends, she was dragged into this and I feel like I owe her an explanation, especially so she can react appropriately on her social media accounts. I also ask her if she wants to get together this week, since Claire isn’t wrong that it would be a good idea. Hayden has to suspect that part of my motivation is to clean up the online mess, which I hate because I really do like her, and I’ve enjoyed the conversations we’ve had via text and phone the last week or so. If I set aside my reservations about living my life more publicly, I think there’s real potential for something working out for us. Claire’s information that she’s a collegiate athlete isn’t news to me. Hayden and I already talked about our days playing college sports and how demanding it is. We have a lot in common. Plus she’s a much safer bet, public image and all, than pursuing another doomed relationship with Ava.
Last night I came dangerously close to throwing all my caution to the wind with her. To forgetting how she ran away when things got hard. I have to protect myself from the way being with her made me forget how easily she left and crowded my brain with happy, easy memories of us. I need to move on and pursing the possibilities with Hayden is a good way to do that.
So Hayden and I set up dinner for Thursday night, and I even ask her to be my plus-one for Colby’s wedding. That will keep me accountable for cultivating a relationship with her and pushing past my annoyance with the increased social media presence it will mean. I want a championship ring, and I want a lot of good years playing for the Pumas. It’s stupid to expect I can live all of that outside the spotlight.
My mom sends me several photos of Ava and me from college, and I’m glad I didn’t have to go through old photos of us on my laptop. That’s not the mindset I need to be in to remember that we’re just old friends now, nothing more. I keep my post mostly humorous and then try to put the whole thing out of my mind and refocus.
CHAPTER 14
AVA
I spend most of Monday sleeping off my allergic-reaction hangover. I get up to get myself food a few times but don’t fully wake until late afternoon. When I check my email, my heart rate spikes to see a notification email from Instagram stating I have over a hundred new notifications. What’s going on?
Anxiety builds as I open the app on my phone and dial in to the reason for the sudden spike. A picture of me and Jett, taken from somewhere across the street, coming into my rental last night, has blown up overnight, and my hopes that there won’t be negative consequences to it slip quickly away when I come across comments saying that the only reason I was hired to plan Gabriella’s wedding is because I’m sleeping with the groom’s best friend.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter. There are hundreds of comments on the post from a Houston celebrity gossip account, so I have no hope that it hasn’t spread to a wider, national audience. Not with Jett in the mix of the story. Has Kristen seen it? Have the people at Rutledge? My chest hurts, and I think my heart even stops when I see a comment from Chelsea: Sleeping with someone is probably the only way she gets jobs these days.
I gasp. This is definitely not the image Rutledge wants connected with their wholesome annual fundraiser. I flop back onto my pillows, covering my eyes with my arm and wishing I could go back to sleep and wake up to this all being some weird nightmare thanks to the exhausting day before.
I call Gabriella. “Ignore them,” she says when I tell her about the comments. She already knows about the post. She sounds a little smug when she says, “The one with Jett’s arm around you? Claro.”
“That’s easy for you to say. No one’s accusing you of sleeping around,” I whine. The old feelings from the awful comments during the Hope Sanctuary Alliance fiasco are creeping up on me. I almost lost my job because of how bad it got. If this gets worse, I could lose a huge account for Kristen. I think I might throw up.
“Ava. They’re trolls.”
“Chelsea said something.”
“That little—” Gabriella mutters a string of words in Spanish that I’m pretty sure are bad words. “Ava, she’s bitter and vindictive. A troll,” she reiterates. “Besides, Jett took care of it. Didn’t you see his post?”
Jett posted on social media? He’s definitely more the type to ignore it than me. “No…” I put Gabriella on speaker and tap to his account. There’s a picture of us from his junior year of college, right after I moved to Reno. It’s after a football game, a selfie of us eating chips and guac, him with his salt-and-vinegar chips and me with a tortilla chip and a smile that says I think Jett’s crazy. My chest pinches now for a different reason. Please take a moment to keep my friend @Ava.Lemmon in your thoughts. In some tragic events Sunday night, she discovered she’s allergic to avocados. A couple of sobbing emojis have me breaking into laughter.
“It’s perfect, right?” Gabriella says, laughter in her voice as well.
“Hmm, yeah,” I say distractedly as I keep reading. In all seriousness, I’m so glad I could be there to help an old friend. He gives a shout-out to Dr. Reeves and the people at St. Joseph’s Medical Center. The comments on his post are much more positive, and I’ve even relaxed a little at his words.
I pull in a long breath, trying to believe what Gabriella said about it just being online trolls. “This still could be bad for Rutledge and Kristen.”
“No offense, Ava, but people said a lot worse after the Hope Sanctuary Alliance thing. Rutledge has seen that and they’re still looking at the firm. Worst-case scenario, you resign and work for me.”
A breathy laugh escapes. “Yeah, because the spin on that will be so much better.”
“The difference is I know you and what’s real.”
The affection in her voice makes me relax more. I’ll figure out my own response and hope Rutledge and Kristen are as discerning as Gabriella is trying to convince me they are. But even after I thank her and we hang up, the anxious pinch in my chest won’t go completely away. I text Kristen, letting her know about the post and the misunderstanding so it doesn’t surprise her. Waiting for her response doesn’t help me on the worrying front. I knew planning this wedding was a bad idea. I just didn’t realize how big of a part Jett McCombs would play in that.
And yet, I don’t think I could stay away, even if it’s for the best.
Kristen texts back later that evening saying that she’ll keep an eye on things. I should have called because I’m not sure how to interpret the tone. She does add, People are awful after that. So maybe it’s going to be fine? It’s hard to convince myself.
Gabriella sends me a post suggestion that Dalton came up with—funny and echoing Jett’s language about our just-friends relationship—and makes me promise to stay off social media for a while. She insists that her social media manager will keep an eye on things and let me know if things get really bad. Still, I sleep restlessly that night, likely a combo of sleeping all day Monday and the Instagram mess.
The next day I take it easy, working mostly on my laptop, stalking various people involved with the wedding while ignoring my own notifications on any of the apps I check out. That’s the best I can do to keep my promise to Gabriella. If there’s one thing I won’t let happen again, it’s being surprised by a situation like I was with Mrs. Page outing her husband at a charity fundraiser. We’re upping the game on Gabriella’s wedding by making it a big event, and I’m worried that means someone will try to use it for their own platform. If her wedding turns into The Hope Sanctuary Alliance 2.0, how will I forgive myself for hurting or humiliating Gabriella? She certainly won’t want me to have anything to do with her future campaign if anything happens.