Layla: Tell me it isn’t true.
Gabe: It’s not. It was just one picture with a fan. I swear. I didn’t cheat on you and never will. You’re it for me.
Layla doesn’t answer, her silence saying it all. I’m completely over my head. “Fuuuuuck!!!” I shout, slamming my fist into the bed. I have to get this mess cleaned up and make it right as soon as possible. I start with Jenn Stephenson, the Vipers PR Director.
Gabe:
Jenn: Hello to you, too, Gabe.
Gabe: Hi. Check the web. I’m in deep shit.
Jenn: I see that. Any truth to that?
Gabe: None at all.
Jenn: I assumed so.
Gabe: Can you get this cleaned up ASAP?
Jenn: Of course. It might take a few days, but the dust will eventually settle down.
Gabe: I sure hope so. Thank you.
Jenn: Anytime, Gabe. Keep your head down.
Gabe: Always.
Next, I call Layla. And she doesn’t pick up.
Gabe: Layla, baby. Please call me. We need to talk.
She doesn’t reply. I imagine she’s hurting and angry, just like me. Furious, I throw a pillow at the wall. Next, I text Steph. I need to warn her and the kids.
Gabe: If you see something about me in the tabloids, ignore it. It’s not true.
Steph: I saw. I didn’t figure it was. Good luck with that!
Gabe: Thanks. Make sure to chat with the kids about it and explain.
Steph: I will. Take care of yourself, Gabe.
Gabe: Will do.
Needing to burn off excess energy, I head to the hotel workout facility. If I’m going to sleep at all, I need to wear myself out. Completely. And so that’s what I do.
The next morning, my alarm blares and I open my gritty eyes, swatting at my phone to turn it off. Fuck, I feel like trash. My head, my heart, and my gut all hurt. Pulling my ass out of bed, I drag myself to the shower and get dressed for the day. I need to head to the ballpark, as we have another day game. When I get out of the shower, my phone alerts me to a call. Hoping it’s Layla, I pick it up and I’m instantly disappointed. It’s Jenn, the team’s PR director.
“Hello, Gabe. I was able to get the photos taken down. But it will take more time to address the damage that’s already been done. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll need a statement from you.”
“I can do that. A little help?” I say, my throat tight.
She laughs softly. “There are plenty of canned responses. Let me write a press release and I’ll send it to you for approval. How does that sound?”
“I appreciate it. Thanks, again.”
