Page 83 of Your Secret to Keep

call me

Why wouldn’t I be alright? What photos? It’s like I’m playing a board game and everyone else knows the rules while I’m flying blind. I see the red bubble next to a social media app, letting me know something is blowing up because that’s a lot of notifications.

When I open my account, the one I use for the Jags, I see it. Or some of it. A picture of Brooks and I kissing in the pool. A video of me pulling into his driveway, only for him to meet me at the door. A picture of us at Willow’s concert.

Oh my god.

And then I see the headlines.

Foul Play? NBA Star Brooks Caught in Secret Romance with Jags Employee.

Caught on Camera: Brooks and Lia’s Heated Pool Night.

Insider Scandal: Did Brooks’ Relationship with Lia Influence Team Decisions?

No. No. No. I throw the blankets off and run down the stairs. I immediately call Shelbie, who answers after the first ring.

“Lia, finally! I’ve been calling!” Shelbie shouts as a greeting.

“My phone was dead. What the fuck is going on?”

Shelbie lets out a slow breath. “Secret’s out. One of those gossip accounts released a bunch of videos and pictures. A few anonymous tips.” Her voice trails off and I’m a statue.

I can’t say anything. My muscles are frozen. My brain stalls.

“Lia? Are you there?”

“No.” It’s the only thing I can bring myself to say.

“No? You are.”

“What?”

“Lia, it’s going to be fine,” Shelbie insists, trying to console me. “This will blow over. Is Brooks with you?”

“No. Practice. His phone is off. Film day.” The voice that comes out of my mouth doesn’t sound like me. It’s more like a robot than myself.

“Listen, maybe you should call your boss?”

I groan. “Fuck.”

“You guys probably need to disable the Jags social media account. I’m telling you right now, it’s ugly.”

I can’t breathe. Megan. What will Megan say? They’re for sure going to fire me.

“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

Shelbie tries to say something, but I hang up anyway. I need to get out of here.

I run upstairs, put on a crewneck and leggings and grab my purse. When I open the front door, it’s like I’ve stepped into hell. The flashesof cameras go off, like I’m in the middle of a thunderstorm. They’re not in the gated area but they’re right outside the fence.

There’s nothing I can do. Everyone’s already gotten pictures of me.

I don’t put my hand in front of my face or do anything to avoid them. What’s the point? I’ve already lost.

I get in my car, slamming the door harder than necessary, and put in the code to the gate. I’m careful while pulling out, as people yell my name while some shout questions. Luckily, I can’t decipher one question from the other since they’re all on top of each other. I watch the gate close behind me and pull onto the road.

Every one of my movements is being cataloged. Photographed.

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