CHAPTER TWENTY
Whitney
I never asked for this. Never wanted any of it.
The attention. My life story spilling out into the press and the pages of social media. The fact that everyone knows I was poor and unwanted. That now they look at me with pity and compassion when all I want is for them to see the kick-ass woman I try to be daily.
Pretend to be is more like it.
They say words like admire and incredible, but words are empty, and they don’t take away the years of wanting to belong to someone that still taints every relationship or interaction I have.
I’ve never been to therapy, but I’m smart enough to know that the stain of being unlovable isn’t easily erased. It has seeped into me so that a part of everything I do and feel is tinged with it.
But my life is not the story here.
Yet it feels like somehow it has become that. The narrative has changed without my consent. I’m the orphan who stayed at the only place she ever belonged to give back to kids like her.
I’m the charity case who the philanthropist, Alexander Hardy, has blessed with his presence and is trying to make whole.
It’s total bullshit. It’s disingenuous. And there is nothing I can say or do because every day that passes means more money coming in for the academy.
It’s like a double-edged sword with my own dignity versus the good for the whole at stake.
My cell phone rings—yet again. No doubt more reporters wanting some special scoop that I don’t have to give.
I press my fingers to my eyes, wishing I’d never written that letter and never answered that call.
It rings again and I’m of the mind to turn it off for the rest of the day when I see Suri’s number on the screen.
“Hey,” I say.
“You okay?”
“I’m awesome. Never been better. Why would you ask?”
“Well because you’re being chauffeured to who knows where by the MLS while no doubt seething over your life story becoming public fodder.”
“You got my texts, I take it.”
“All fifty of them, yes.” She laughs and for a second, the pressure eases in my chest.
“They know everything about me and it’s all over the place like I’m the story when I’m not.”
“They don’t know everything. Not how we used to sneak in the movies through the back door or how you really, really can’t hold your cheap liquor well. They don’t know about how you like sappy romcoms even though you’d never admit it or how you’ve given everything to those you love simply because your heart is bigger than the ocean. So no, I disagree with you. The media can print all that stuff about your past—about you being an orphan, about you blowing your knee out, about you being Patrick’s protégé—but they don’t know the real you.”
I glance out the tinted windows of the town car and blink away the tears her words just caused. “Thank you,” I whisper.
The jolt of seeing my past blasted all over the internet is one thing. The sudden vulnerability that came as a result was a whole other shock to my system.
“No need. Pep talks are free just like they always have been.”
“Is it bad if I just say I want this whole thing to be over? It’s like the man has come here and done a world of good for the facility while upending my life in the process.”
“Upending your life? I think you’re being a bit dramatic. You wrote all those letters and look what came of it? Donations are coming in. Media attention is helping bring new students in. And then there’s Hardy.”
“What about him?”
“Are you still in the nothing to see here phase?”
“Yes. Because there is nothing to see here.”
“ Yet .”
“Yet? I think you fell and hit your head.” What I won’t admit to her is that I feel like I did just that—fell and hit my head—every time I talk to Hardy. There’s so much about him that I like. And there are about equal parts that I don’t. “You do know that this call is supposed to be moral support for the fact that my story has been blasted all over the freaking internet when I don’t want it to be, right?”
“I’m sorry. You’re one hundred percent right. Forgive me for wondering how you’re resisting that fuck-hot piece of a man every second of every day.”
“It’s not easy,” I mutter. “But nothing is happening. He doesn’t look at me like that.” Yes, he does. “Nor does anything flutter or tingle or ache when the man is around, so no, nothing is happening.”
Lies. All lies.
And I appreciate the fact that she knows me well enough to know I’m lying, but she doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, I get a noncommittal sound from her that could mean a myriad of things.
“ Yet ,” she repeats.
“Oh, whatever. It’s nothing. There’s nothing. He’s simply here because he has to be.”
“Fine. Sure. Whatever you say.” Her voice is the tone of innocence. “It’s going to be okay, Whitney.”
“What is?”
“The stories will fade from the internet. The ones that linger will only net more sincerity to your plight for the academy. And who knows what might come of it? I know that’s not what you want to hear, that your story is being used to sell the academy, but aren’t you the perfect representative of it?”
“It still makes me feel ... exposed,” I say as the driver takes a right down a street I don’t know.
“Understandably, but that’s who you were . This is who you are . Be proud of it.”
“I am. It’s just . . .”
“It’s just go and enjoy whatever surprise the Mayhem have in store for you tonight.”
“I was told a movie. Not that I understand why they want me to go to one, but—”
“But you’re going to go and enjoy your night out regardless, without questioning why.”
“Yes. True.” A free night out of the house for an extravagance such as a movie in the theater with a small splurge of hot buttered popcorn or nachos? What broke girl is going to say no to that? Not this one.
“We’re almost there, Miss Barnes,” the driver says. Why have we pulled in behind a row of what seems to be airplane hangars?
“Um ... I think we’re in the wrong—Suri, I have to go.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. Good. Just a little mix-up. I’ll call you later.”
“Take pictures. Lots of pictures.”
“Sir?” I ask my driver when I end the call. “I think we’re in the wrong place. I was supposed to be going to—”
“Here we are,” he says, pulling up to a carpet and set of stairs that lead to a sleek navy-blue private jet.
“No. This is—”
“Exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror and I can see his eyes crinkle from his smile. “Here’s Ari now.”
I open the door of the car to find Ari standing at the top of the staircase in the doorway of the jet.
“Surprise!” she says with her hands out and a huge smile on her face.
I stand at the bottom of the steps tentatively and look up at her. “I don’t understand. You said I was going to a movie, a screening, and this is ... not that .”
“True. This isn’t exactly that. Yet . Come on.” She motions for me to climb the stairs with a chuckle, but I stand where I am.
Curiosity has me taking the steps one at a time while something niggles in the back of my mind. As I step into the plane, I feel like Alice in Wonderland entering a different dimension. The interior is sleek and polished and more luxurious than anything I’ve ever seen. I want to run my fingers over the wood panels and feel the leather seats, but I stand frozen in the doorway.
“Ari, what’s going on?” Is the movie here on the plane? Is this some kind of photo op? Like ...
Her smile widens. “You are going to a movie as promised. It’s more a movie premiere ... that just happens to be in New York City.”
“Wait. What?” I feel like my head just did a total three-hundred-sixty-degree spin.
“Good surprise, right?” Her face is a picture of willed excitement that she hopes carries over to me.
“New York? I can’t go there. I have the academy. I don’t have clothes. I ... I can’t go.”
“You don’t need to worry about anything,” she says, tapping away at her phone as she speaks. “I have a rack of dresses for you to choose from when you get there. Hair and makeup as well. You’ll go to the premiere, stay for the night, and we’ll have you back here first thing. If there are any delays, I’ve already arranged with Martin to handle the camp for you.”
“Martin?” What the fuck is this voodoo magic she is talking about? “How?”
“He’s a very nice gentleman. I called the academy. He answered. I explained the situation, and he has it completely handled.”
“So he knows about this?” No wonder he gave me that look when I left earlier.
“He does. Yes.”
“I’m ... this is all too much.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
I stare at her and her trusting smile but don’t feel very trusting. And then it hits me. That ghost of a thought I’ve had since I hung up with Suri.
My history being plastered all over the internet. Miami Mayhem or the MLS or both using the academy to promote their superstar and soccer in the US.
And me walking willingly into it out of my own desperation to save what I love.
“Did you feed the media information about me?” I ask.
Ari snaps her head up to look at me. “Excuse me?” she asks politely.
“I agreed to go to this movie thing before I found out that the media had dug into my past and plastered it all over the internet. As you can imagine, it’s somewhat unnerving and makes me want to hide from the world. I’m a woman of my word or I would have backed out, but truth be told Ari, I’m here and feeling rather trapped and somewhat used by you and your team.”
She has her head angled to the side as she studies me. “I’ve heard you. I’m still hearing you, and I’m so sorry you feel that way. Please know that the press wasn’t tipped off in any way about who you are or about your past. It’s just the nature of the beast that they dig into people’s histories, and I’m sorry they did that to yours.”
“I’m not a pawn for you to use to improve Hardy’s reputation and the public’s perception of him,” I say.
“Agreed,” she states with a decisive nod. “But I will tell you that I’ve been doing this job long enough that I assumed this might happen. I apologize. I should have warned you. And maybe a part of me thought that including you in this premiere tonight was a way to make amends for it.”
“I’m supposed to buy that?” I totally do .
She smiles. “Now I can see why Hardy likes you.” She steps back. “So are we going to New York or not?”