“Do you feel remorseful?”
The wordremorsefulhits me like a bitter laugh. Nate bumps my knee under the table, signaling,don’t open your mouth.
But I open it anyway.
“I’m human,” I say quietly. “Sometimes humans make mistakes.”
A murmur.
“And what was the mistake, Mr. Becker?”
“Letting someone photograph me while I was doing nothing that everyone else doesn’t do.”
Nate nearly falls off his chair.
The coach glares at me.
The cameras go wild.
“Excuse me, what did you mean by—”
“I meant,” I cut him off, “that I won’t be speaking further. The rest is my business.”
The Director scrambles to close the conference. Fake applause. Overlapping questions. An orchestrated hell.
Just backstage, Nate grabs my arm.
“I told you no sarcasm!”
“It wasn’t sarcasm.”
“It was career suicide.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. I know what they wanted from me. Well, they won't get it.
I'm not a complete idiot and I don't want to throw my career away... but I can't look at the cameras and call that girl a mistake.
Sure, I don’t know who she is.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again… most likely not, considering she vanished without a trace, but I’m notthatkind of jerk.
She gave me the best night of my life, and I’m not going to trash her in front of the whole world.
I shrug off my jacket and walk into the corridor, the spotlights still in my eyes.
Outside the room, I can hear the buzz of journalists already posting, tagging, commenting.
Every word I said is already everywhere.
I slip into the restroom down the hall, close the door, and let the hum of the neon light cover my breathing.
I look at myself in the mirror.
Perfect hair, trimmed beard, look of… despair.
A caricature.
I splash water on my face.
