“Rich, how did the reporters know where I live?”
He hesitates for a moment. “You’ve had fans camped out for weeks. You thought the word wouldn’t get out?”
“Yeah, but the timing, and they were hiding. It seems set up.”
“You think I did that?” He breathes out a condescending laugh. “I want the opposite of this. I want the old EZ back. I want the guy who would be an easy sell to Chicago. This is the last thing I wanted.”
“I need you to pull the pictures offline.”
“Too late.”
“Fuck that, Rich! The comments about her are fucking brutal. Do it. Now.” The desperation in my tone doesn’t go unnoticed.
“It’s too far circulated. There’s no way. And I’d be less concerned about the comments regarding your little girlfriend and more worried about the ones addressing you. The best advice I can give you right now is to get back to the guy people love to hate.”
Looking up to the ceiling, I throw my head back in defeat. “I don’t want to be hated anymore.”
“At least they’re talking about you. At least we finally have their attention. That’s what we want. That’s what we need for a new contract. Honestly, at this point, Chicago might be off the table. I’m starting to look where else we can move you.”
“That can’t be true.” My words are rushed, frantic. “I’ve been playing my best hockey. We’re one series away from the finals.”
“Then why haven’t I heard from them? I told you all season the kind of guy they wanted. They already have Maddison as their golden boy. They want the duo that’s been selling tickets for the last five years. If you’re not going to do it, they’ll find someone else. Someone a lot cheaper too, I’m sure.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money. I just want to stay here.”
“If you want to stay in Chicago so badly, you know what you need to do. And you only have a couple of weeks left to do it.”
If it weren’t against regulation for me to reach out to the Raptors’ upper management myself, instead of going through my agent, I’d call them right now and ask what the fuck is going on. But unfortunately, for legality reasons, I can’t.
“I need to go so I can deal with this mess.” Rich hangs up the phone with that.
The anxiety buzzes through my body as I take a seat on the couch next to my dog. Rosie buries her head under my arm, dropping on my lap, but my knees won’t stop bouncing, so she immediately gets off and instead lays on the couch next to me.
The websites I spent hours on last night are the same ones that pop up first again today.
The notorious photo, the one that’s plastered online, is the back of Stevie and me, racing up the stairs of my building. My face is turned over my shoulder, looking like a child who just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Stevie’s chestnut curls are bouncing the way they typically are, and her long coat covers her button-down shirt and uniform skirt. But the jacket still outlines her shape.
The comments won’t stop flooding in. It’s endless. It’s cruel.
The words they use to describe her are ones you wouldn’t want your worst enemy to read, let alone the person you care about the most.
It’s all out of jealousy and hate. I know this, but I don’t know if Stevie does. She couldn’t even see that her own mother was jealous of Stevie’s life. How the hell is she going to decipher that from strangers online? And there aren’t just a few comments. There are thousands on thousands shaming her, calling her names, ridiculing her.
All because she’s with me. People have always talked shit about me, and now that she’s associated, it’s as if people think they have the right to do it to her as well.
This photo is just the back of her. It’s just a figure in a coat. They can’t see her blue-green eyes that make me weak in the knees every time the corners of them crinkle from her laughter. They can’t see the freckles that decorate her cheeks, the same ones that create patterns and shapes I’ve memorized. They can’t see her smile that melts me every time it beams.
On top of that, no photo will ever show her wit. Her sense of humor. Her wild charm or her overwhelmingly open and kind heart. No picture will ever show how sweet she is.
But it doesn’t matter because the endless hate thrown her way is because she’s with me. I watched her light dim this morning because she’s with me.
She shouldn’t have to experience this.