I’m trying super hard not to freak out right now. I’m trying, but I don’t think it’s working. I think I need a paper bag to breathe into. Can I use a grocery bag? That seems too big, right? On TV they always show someone grabbing like a paper lunch bag from way back when kids used paper lunch bags for school. But seriously, who the fuck has those anymore!? How am I supposed to stop this panic attack when now I’m also worried that I should own paper lunch bags!
I need some female help.
“Hey, Katelyn!”
“Oh, thank god.” I reply, so relieved Meghan answered on the first ring.
“Uh, okay, what’s going on?” Her tone turns hesitant.
“I need you to talk me off a ledge.”
“You have a bad meeting at work or something?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “No. I, um, I almost told Jackson that I love him.”
“Wow, really? Wait, like right now? It’s like two in the afternoon.”
“What? No. Last night. Not that the time of day matters. Wait, does it?”
“Well, it kind of matters. Things said in the dark, or in the heat of the moment, can be forgiven. But saying something big like that, in broad daylight, in the middle of the week, that’s a little harder to take back.”
“Strangely, that makes sense,” I agree.
“Of course it does. I’m brilliant. Now explain.”
I take a slow breath. “We were talking on the phone last night. It was after you guys all left. It was a while after actually. Anyways, it was a nice conversation, a little flirty—”
Meghan interrupts. “You had phone sex and then you told him you love him?” She sounds thrilled.
“Uh, no, wrong on both accounts.”
“Oh, boring.”
“Anyways.” I roll my eyes. “He wanted to put me to sleep. I mean, talk to me as I fell asleep. Crap, why does that sound so weird?”
“He just wanted to be able to picture you lying in your bed.”
“Ohmygod, not the point! I need your help!” I feel my panic creeping back. “When we were hanging up, I started to say it. And not just the L sound. Nope. I said ‘I love’ before I realized what I was doing. So then I said ‘I love talking to you.’ ”
“Hmm.” Meghan hums. “Like you paused a little after saying love?”
“Well, yeah, I paused. But then I started the sentence over.”
“Say it for me, exactly like you did for him.”
“Okay, I said”—I pause for strength—“I love. Um. I love talking to you.” I pause again. “There’s no way he didn’t catch that.”
“We can work with this. It was late, right?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. It was late. You were obviously tired. We’d had a decent amount of wine last night. Did he know you were tipsy?”
“Yes. Freaking Steph…” I grumble.
“Freaking Steph indeed. So, it was late, you were tired, you were a little drunk, and he was flirting with you. It’s completely reasonable to have a slip of the tongue like that. It’s no big deal. Did you hang up right afterwards?”
“Of course I did! And, shit, right before that I’d told him that I missed him.”
“So?”
“So, I told him I missed him and he didn’t say it back. In fact, it was immediately after that when he said he should let me go. Then that’s when I said goodnight and the love thing. Shit shit shit. I fucked up twice.”
“It’s not that bad.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “What was his mood like when he texted you today?”
“He hasn’t texted me today! I sent him a good morning, good luck tonight text and he never replied!” I’m back to nearly hyperventilating.
“Damn. Okay. You need to breathe, girl. Do you have a paper bag or something?”
“NO, I DO NOT HAVE A PAPER BAG!” I somehow find enough air to shout.
“Yikes, okay, I was just asking. In through the nose.” She takes a noisy inhale as though she’s my breathing coach. “Out through the mouth. Good, okay, do that again.”
I follow her directions and even though I feel like an idiot, I can feel myself calming a little.
“Honest moment?” Meghan says. “It could be one of two things. He could be acting like a typical man, where he’s a little freaked out about the whole commitment/love thing.”
“Or?”
“Or he’s just been busy, because he’s a busy guy. They have that press thing going on today and another game tonight. And they probably got in late last night. I know it’s easier said than done, but try to put it out of your mind. Either way, he’ll be back tomorrow. You can talk then. But if he is being a little standoffish, you don’t want to smother him. Men are delicate creatures.”
“Okay, you’re right.” I sigh.
She is right. We both follow the Sleet social media pages now, mostly just for fun. One of the sites mentioned there were a few press events today before the game. I don’t honestly don’t pay too much attention to those; I prefer the entertainment geared sites. I like the snippets of behind the scenes videos and pictures of the players off the ice. And of course, they all have clips from the games. There are also a few unofficial pages that I’m following, since they have the more silly content. Including the “Candyman” video. Which I’ve watched at least once a day.
“All right, I’ve got to get to a meeting with my caterer. I wish I wasn’t hosting this event tonight, so I could come watch the game with you.”
I press my fingers against my temple. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. Maybe seeing him play will be a good reminder that he’s busy with life and stuff. It’s not like he’s just sitting in a cubicle somewhere ignoring me.”
“Exactly. You got this! I’ll call you tomorrow.”
–
I managed to get a few hours of work done. But I was only able to do this by turning my phone all the way off. That way I wouldn’t be tempted to check it every few minutes. Luckily the manuscript I’m working on came to me pretty clean, so hopefully my distracted mind didn’t miss too much.
Calling it good, I turn my phone back on and I see that I’ve missed nothing. Crud.
Well, the game will start in about an hour, so I’ll waste some time clicking around on the Sleet sites. Maybe if I catch an interview with Jackson I’ll feel better about this whole situation.
The more I think about it, the more I believe Meghan’s right. Jackson is a busy guy. He’s got more going on than any other person I know. His schedule is demanding, and when he’s on the road he doesn’t have much down time. I know he likes me. We’ve always had a great time when we’re together. I’ll let it grow naturally and stop overthinking it.
Opening the browser on my laptop, I go to my favorites. Deciding I need something fun, I visit the unofficial site first. It doesn’t take much scrolling to find a short clip of Jackson’s interview today. The title of the video is Jackson’s Girls. Girls? As in plural? Wondering if it’s a clip about his mom and sister, I click on it.
Jackson is sitting at a table with a cluster of microphones in front of him. He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks pissed.
A reporter calls out a question. “Jackson, will you tell us if you and Lacy are back together?”
What the fuck?
Seriously. What. The. Fuck!
Jackson’s firm expression doesn’t change. “No comment.”
Another reporter shouts, “Jackson, what about the Kiss Cam girl?”
Jackson keeps his angry gaze locked on the man without answering.
The reporter clears his throat. “Was that all just a publicity stunt? Did you plan it?”
“No comment.” Jackson turns his attention away and the video stops.
Umm, excuse me? What the fuck was that about?
Thinking there’s got to be something I’m missing, I look further down the page. It doesn’t take me long to find the catalyst. I click on the post. And I come face-to-face with a handful of still shots. Photographs of Jackson. With Lacy. They’re sitting close together, in what looks to be a bar. Her giant perfect boobs are propped on the table, and her hand is on his arm. In one image he’s clearly staring right at her overinflated tits.
I don’t know how long I sit staring. They look real. The photos, not her boobs. There’s a timestamp in the corner showing that these were taken last night, right after we got off the phone.
So it’s true. She was there. She was in Philly, with Jackson, last night.
How? Are they really back together? Oh right, no comment. Just like I’m a “no comment,” too. Was she there when we were talking on the phone? No, no way. He wouldn’t have asked me about my panties if she was sitting there. Right? And that video of us kissing has been all over the internet, she has to have seen it… Either way, I know she knows about me. I mean we met that day in the mall.
When Steph told me about her she just said that Lacy was Jackson’s ex and that they all hated her. I’d been assuming that included Jackson, but that was an assumption. He’s never once brought her up. Not ever. I guess I didn’t talk about any of my ex-boyfriends during our dates, either, but he heard about Bradley that very first night we met. And he was the only boyfriend I’ve had in a long time.
I remind myself that I don’t have any little paper bags, so I need to try to be reasonable about this. It’s just a few pictures. It doesn’t tell the whole story. Sure, she’s touching him and he’s looking at her chest, but maybe… I don’t know, maybe she spilled some of her venom down her cleavage. And maybe right after those shots were taken he told her to go fuck a porcupine before storming away.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I’ve kept my promise of not Googling Jackson. But was it really a promise? It was really just a decision I’d made.
Fuck it.
I type Jackson Wilder and Lacy into the search bar. I don’t want to read any articles about them, so I click the option for image results. This is what the phrase careful what you ask you for refers to.
My entire screen is filled with photos of Jackson and Lacy together. I don’t see any candid shots. They’re all red carpet type images from a variety of events.
I want to deny it, but they look beautiful together. The perfectly sleek model and the rough, sexy hockey player. They look like a power couple. They look like they belong together.
Glancing down, I see my hands are trembling. Without looking at more, I slam my laptop shut and squeeze my hands together in my lap. I feel sick.
This is the reason I didn’t look up personal information on Jackson after we first met. It’s hard to know what’s real. I mean I believe those photos are real, but it doesn’t tell me what really happened. And I already knew she was his ex, so seeing old photos of them doesn’t prove anything either. I need to give him the benefit of the doubt, or at least the opportunity to explain himself to me.
And if he is with her? the Devil on my shoulder asks.
Technically we didn’t have any discussions about our relationship status. There were no promises of commitment made on either side. He could be seeing multiple other women and I couldn’t really hold it against him. Except just the thought of it makes me want to puke.
Shutting my eyes, I take a deep steadying breath. I will not cry. I will not freak out. I will watch this game, and I’ll talk to him later.
–
It’s later, the game is done, and the Sleet managed to keep their winning streak going.
I haven’t heard from Jackson, and I haven’t tried to reach out again. He has my text from this morning. I’m not going to bother him for attention.
I did get a text from Meghan. And a call. But I ignored both. I know she saw the photos. Her text said as much. But I can’t deal with it right now. I need more information before I react.
I’m climbing into bed when my phone chirps with a text.
Jackson: Hi Kitten. Sorry, it’s been a long day. We’re about to get on the plane home. Come over tomorrow night? I’d like to talk to you.
None of what he said tells me what’s going on. But it still feels like a pair of strong hands are pressing down on my chest.
Me: Okay
Jackson: I hope you had a nice day. Goodnight, beautiful.
Not responding, I set my phone face down and wait for sleep.
