“Are there already videos online?” I ask as we speed walk down the path. “I should probably call Phillip. He might worry.”
“He’s on his way to Brody’s,” Chase calls over his shoulder.
“How does he know to go there?”
“I had Brody call him.” Cammie squeezes my hand. “He called while we were in the bathroom.”
“Oh my God.” It starts to come together. “He called while I was having a panic attack.” What if he thinks I can’t handle this? What if he breaks up with me?
“He wanted to come get you, but we thought this would be better. He’s worried about you. We all are. The fucking media need a new hobby.”
Seven minutes later, Brody lets us into his backyard through a gate I didn’t even know existed. His brow is furrowed as he closes it and secures the latch. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just rattled. Thanks for letting us hide out here.”
“It’s no problem.” We follow him through the slush, a few patches of grass showing now.
Gage and Mac are chilling on the back deck.
“The media are really frothing at the mouth over you and Madden, eh?” Gage sets his phone face down on the side table beside his half-finished beer.
“Unfortunately,” I agree.
“You all want something to drink?” Brody asks. “We have a cooler of fun stuff and soda, juice, and water in the house.”
“And milk,” Mac adds.
“No one wants milk unless it’s going on cereal or in coffee,” Gage mumbles.
“I like chocolate milk.” Chase jumps to Mac’s defense.
“Water would be great for me, please.” My mouth is dry from all the anxiety and the adrenaline.
Chase accepts a beer and Cammie a soda.
We form a circle of Muskoka chairs. I wish I could relax, but I’m paranoid that a horde of reporters are going to ambush me again.
“Where’s Fee?” Mac asks.
“She was at the café with Enid,” Cammie says.
“We were supposed to meet them until we got mobbed,” I croak.
“I’ll just invite them here,” Mac says with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever.
Brody and Chase return a minute later with drinks.
“Dating a Terror player is a lot when you’re still in university, huh?” Mac muses.
“Today it is.” I’m emotionally exhausted from this ordeal and the level of attention we’ve gotten over the past week and a half.
“The prying questions are too much.” Mac’s voice is full of empathy.
“They’re really digging up his past.” Gage frowns at his phone. “Some of the pictures floating around are four years old.”
“What pictures?” My voice pitches up.
I glance between Brody and Gage, who are communicating through flared eyeballs.
