Page 5 of Gap Control

Now, it was a headline.

I had to fix it, right after I figured out how to breathe.

I tossed the phone aside, stumbled into the kitchen, and hit the coffee maker button like I was defibrillating it. It sputtered in protest. Of course, I'd forgotten to clean it again. I didn't even check the pot before pouring—just chugged half a cup of lukewarm bitterness and stood there, eyes wide, willing myself to be fine.

It would blow over.

It had to.

Right?

My phone buzzed again.

I didn't look.

Instead, I stared out my kitchen window at the gray-blue afternoon sky and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell I was doing.

My phone buzzed again.

Then again.

And again.

Then it rang, loud and sudden.

I looked at the screen. Brady.

That one could go to voicemail.

Immediately, it rang again.

Same name.

I picked up on the fourth buzz.

"Hey." I raked the fingers of my free hand through my disheveled hair, doing my best to appear nonchalant… for no one.

"Do you haveanyidea what's happening right now?" Brady forgot to say hi. "TJ. Tell me you didn't actually tell Jennifer Walsh you and Mason are dating."

I rubbed a hand over my face. "I mean… not technically."

"Technically?"

"It was a joke."

"What the hell?"

"Like a harmless one. Off the cuff. You know, funny."

"You told a reporter that your teammate will make an honest man out of you. That's not off the cuff. That's halfway to wedding vows."

"I didn't know she was recording."

"She didn't have to be. You said it in public. She wrote it down. Then, she published it. Then, it got picked up by three fan accounts, an LGBTQ+ sports blog, and thePortland Sentinel. Do you want me to keep going?"

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Not really."

There was a pause, long enough that I could hear Brady clicking on something. Probably scanning the latest Instagram numbers like they were stock prices.

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