Page 23 of Bae

His shirt dipped off one shoulder, exposing a lot of my skin, but I didn’t bother adjusting it. Instead, I wrapped both hands around my mug and smiled.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the article?” he asked after taking a sip.

“If I told you about every headline or article written about us, that’s all we’d ever talk about,” I retorted mildly.

“It hurt you.” The words ripped out like they’d cost a lot to utter.

“I know it shouldn’t.” I lowered the mug away from my face, toward my lap. It battered my already overburdened heart that something as trivial as gossip had the power to harm me.

His voice was gentler this time. “Who says?”

I faltered.No one says. It’s how I feel.“There have been far worse stories written about us.”

“I really thought they’d have moved the fuck on by now,” he growled.

The first few weeks after Evie, the press was relentless. They camped outside the gates, at my job… at the hospital right after I lost her. Every headline that could be construed was. Gossip and rumors flew.

Some of the things they said cut deep, so deep I’d never even talked about it.

At first, it was hard not to look. Our phones were going off day and night; they were calling the house and our family. Romeo and I couldn’t go anywhere together without practically tripping over anxious people vying for a shot that would make them a lot of money.

They called Romeo’s parents, and one time they followed me into a grocery store. The flashing bulbs, unflattering pictures online, insensitive questions, and lingering stares became too much. How were we supposed to grieve when we were smooshed so tightly beneath a microscope?

A family meeting was called.

Romeo loved his family meetings.

Pretty much all sources of press were banned from this house (exceptGearSharkof course). We all got new phone numbers, which no one gave out. All the volunteers and employees of the shelter were asked not to bring the stuff to work. I hadn’t been to one pregame or practice for the Knights this season. I missed sitting in the stands and cheering.

Foolishly, I thought the press were backing off. I started to think it actually might be okay for me to go to some season games.

Then last night happened. It made me rethink sitting in the stands anytime soon.

I wasn’t a football darling anymore.

Well, maybe I was. I was the darling they wanted to destroy.

And Romeo? He was my victim.

“I can’t hide forever,” I said, uncomfortable. “It’s just making it worse.”

Romeo paused, set his cup on the bedside table, then did the same with mine. His body turned so he was directly in front of me. “Who said you’re hiding?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Me.”

“Rim, is that how you feel?” he asked.

I shrugged again. I did that a lot these days. It seemed easier to shrug off a question, the way I really felt, than to say the words out loud.

He waited, not accepting my signal, but not asking again.

I sighed. “I don’t really feel like I’mhiding. You know I’ve never been one for the spotlight anyway. But it’s sort of what I’m doing. The media is going to keep inventing stories about us the more secluded I stay. Maybe we should just do an interview, shut everyone up.”

“No,” Romeo said, flat, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“Why?”

“The press has no right to our lives, Rim. They have no right toyou. What we’ve been through is no one else’s business. Making you relive that…” He stopped, and I noted the way his hand flexed in his lap.

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