Elena shrugs. "You know how these things work. An 'anonymous source close to the family' suddenly has all these concerns about the new girlfriend? Come on."
I hadn't considered that angle, but it makes a sick sort of sense. But why would she do this? It makes her world more chaotic and it won’t be good for Tyler.
"I just..." I trail off, searching for words. "I never wanted to be in the spotlight like this. I'm a simple girl, Elena. I read books out loud, supervise recess, and tie shoelaces for five-year-olds. And now I'm being shit on by people who don't even know me."
"I know." Her energy becomes more gentle. "It's not fair. But you're stronger than this, Reese. And Logan loves you."
"That’s true." I pick at a loose thread on my sweatpants. "But is all of this worth it? The custody battle, the public scrutiny, the lawyers?"
Even as I ask the question, Tyler's face flashes in my mind—his gap-toothed grin when he sees me, the serious way he asks me questions, how his small hand feels in mine when we cross the street. The answer is obvious, has been from the moment I first saw Logan with his son.
"Of course it is," I say before Elena can answer. "They're absolutely worth it."
"There's my girl." Elena smiles, relief evident in her eyes. "Have you talked to Logan today?"
I shake my head. "No. Have you heard from Nate? Have they gotten to Tampa yet? I don't want to distract him."
"He needs to know what's happening."
"He'll just get angry and upset, and there's nothing he can do." I pick up my phone, adjusting the angle. "I'll talk to him later."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
After we hang up, I force myself to put my phone on Do Not Disturb and turn it face-down again. The progress reports stare up at me, waiting for my attention, but I can't focus while these horrible people are gleefully pouring gasoline on the dumpster fire my reputation is becoming.
Instead, I close my eyes and picture Logan and Tyler building a giant tower of blocks on the living room floor, their identical expressions of concentration, the casual way Logan ruffled Tyler's hair when their creation was complete. The memory feels so sweet, so precious. I wish those cruel strangers with their cruel comments knew the truth.
My phone buzzes again, muffled against the coffee table. I ignore it this time and head to bed. I can’t take any more of it today.
I toss and turn until after midnight. I can’t sleep. I pick up my phone and see that Logan has texted multiple times. He’s seen what’s happening and he’s pissed.
Please call me when you get this.
I turn on my bedside lamp, sit back against my headboard, and FaceTime him. He’s on the bus headed to the airport to come home.
His eyes are flashing that dangerous darkness that only shows up when he's furious. I’ve only seen it during games.
"Have you seen all of this shit?"
"I've seen it." I pull my comforter up around my knees.
"I’m so fucking mad about all of it. Are you OK? Why didn't you call me?"
"You were on the road. I didn't want to distract you."
"Fuck the road. Fuck the game.They're attacking you because of me."
"It's not your fault." I tell him.
"Itismy fault. My past. My reputation." He’s so mad it looks like he might cry. "Do you know what they're saying about you on those fan sites? The comments?"
"I've seen enough," I admit, watching him shift in his seat. There's a controlled violence in the way I see him right now—not directed at me, but radiating outward at an unseen enemy.
"They can say whatever they want about me," he says, voice dropping to a low growl. "I've earned that reputation. But going after you crosses every fucking line."
“Yeah, it’s not fair. It’s gross. I hate it.”
