Page 37 of The Southern Thirst Trap

“What’s up?” I ask, heart jumping into my throat, wondering what the issue is.

“I thought you might want to talk about the press stuff that’s going around. It’s hard having your life speculated about so publicly. If you need me, I’m here.” His low voice sends shivers along my spine, lifting my spirits just a tiny bit.

“Knox, listen, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about any of this—”

He cuts me off. “No need to be sorry. This is your life, and you get to decide who knows your history. Well, unless you’re a celebrity and gossip columns get ahold of information to tear into. That ain’t right, but it’s the world we live in. I know there’s a lot of my life I don’t want people freely talking about, so I can only imagine how bad this feels.”

I slide down the wall of the entryway until my feet are stretched out in front of me on the floor and sigh. “There are some skeletons I never wanted to let out of the closet.”

He chuckles. “You and me both.”

I tilt my head to the side and my mind starts up a conjecture of ideas. “What would you have buried that people could have a field day with in the media? You are squeaky clean and so perfect. Did you hit someone too hard at football camp?”

He stops chuckling, “Let’s just say there’s plenty and nobody’s perfect.”

“Let me list your good qualities and refute that statement,” I say, smiling as I get a chance to focus on someone else. “You do charity work on the regular. I mean, how many foundations and programs have you worked with this year alone? Seven? You spend just as much time volunteering your time as you do at practice, and they all love you. You are a shining example of promoting teamwork, and have received awards from every team you’ve played on for being the moral support and glue that holds the team together. You are a role model for tons of people, you are super straightforward and honest, and you’ve been really kind to me and Hendricks,” I say, ticking off the statements on my fingers.

He laughs, but it’s not the deep, full-body sound I’m used to. “Thank you for seeing the good in me, Harley.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, attuned to his change in mood. “Did I say something?”

“It’s just…” he begins, but stops himself, clears his throat, and takes a moment.

“Why don't you come over tonight after Hendricks goes to bed and we can catch up? You’re right. I owe you an explanation.”

“I have to go. I’ll call you later. Keep your head up and don’t let the gossip get to you.”

Before I can stop him, he’s ended the call and I’m left holding the phone in confusion. Was it something I said?

“My grandson said he can have ice cream and cookies. Should I be the good nana and give him the junk food, or would that spoil his appetite if you have something planned for dinner?” Mom asks, finding me still sitting on the floor in the garage entry. “Oh, Lolo. Why are you on the floor?”

I look up at her and grimace. She sits next to me, stretching out her legs with a groan that belies her age, but not her health. She’s spry and exercises more than I do.

“The guy I’m friendly with just ended a weird conversation abruptly. Something I said about skeletons in the closet spooked him, I think. It just feels like a shitty way to end an already bad day.”

“Are you talking about the argument you had with that sharply dressed man in your driveway earlier?”

I slowly roll my head against the wall to look at her. “Were you eavesdropping on me, Mom?”

She avoids my stare and smiles crookedly. “No need to eavesdrop. I think the neighbors heard you shouting at each other. I was just watching to see if you needed backup, but you had him covered just fine, my little tiger. Want to talk about it?”

“How much did you hear, exactly?” I swear to God, if the neighbors start ratting me out to the gossip rags, I’m going to burn down their houses. Try being nosy without your lace curtains to peel back, Mrs. Brady!

“Most of it. Is he—?” She waves her hand toward the living room, where I hear the strains of a Marvel movie beginning.

I hang my head in defeat. If she could put that much together, it’s no stretch to think everyone else will, too. “Yes,” I admit quietly. “That was Zander Olsen. Have you heard of him?”

“Of course I have. I’m not living under a rock. I live in the same city and I follow your career and what’s written about you, good and bad.”

“You do?” The shocked tone in my voice makes her scowl, the little lines by her eyes deepening.

“I started a long time ago, so I’d know where you were modeling. Then it just became a habit to keep tabs on what was said about you in case I needed to burn someone’s house down.”Ahh, so that’s where I get it from.

“He would never have known about Hendricks if that dumb gossip site, The Atlanta Haute List, hadn’t linked us,” I gripe, tossing my keys from hand to hand with a jingle.

“You wouldn’t have told him, eventually?”

“Not if I could help it. He didn’t want anything to do with me after our trip. Why would he want to know about his child?” I say, pulling my legs under me to stand and holding out a hand for Mom.

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