Chapter 28 #2
The time I’d opened his refrigerator to find it stocked with sweet tea, even though I knew he never touched the stuff.
Or the time he tried to pay off the mariachi band to give us some privacy during dinner.
Mason cared about me. Not the polished, perfect Lila I presented to the world, but the real me.
And how had I repaid that? By pushing him away. By hiding. By assuming the worst instead of trusting what we were building together.
I grabbed my phone, suddenly desperate to text him, to apologize. My fingers hovered over the screen, then froze. What would I even say? Sorry I’ve been avoiding you, I’m just terrified you’ll discover I’m famous for being a failure in banana spanx.
For a horrifying moment, I imagined Mason watching the video. Those intense eyes taking in every mortifying second. Watching me slip in dog pee, fall flat on my back with my legs in the air, exposing those ridiculous banana-printed spanx while confetti rained down on me.
Nausea rolled through me.
What would he think when he saw me at my worst? My most ridiculous? I could already picture the wince on his face, the pity in his eyes, and how it would shift something in him. How it would change the way he looked at me.
He might say it didn’t matter. That he didn’t care about some old viral video. But how could he not? He was Mason Callahan, star defenseman, respected athlete. I would always be the punchline in his perfect world.
No. I couldn’t bear it.
The fear of him seeing the video wasn’t just embarrassment.
It was deeper than that, something sharp and primitive.
I didn’t want him to see the most vulnerable version of me, the one I’d worked so hard to bury.
I didn’t want him to know that I had been, and still was, capable of such public, spectacular failure.
That would be the real nightmare. Worse than anything happening now.
I could weather the “sex dungeon” scandal. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe this would blow over in a few days once the hockey fans moved on to the next big drama.
Or maybe that was naive. If the public connected the dots between Mason’s interior decorator and Epic Fail Girl, my humiliation would be complete. Maybe it was only a matter of time before my life blew up again.
This was such a mess. I was such a mess.
I flopped back on my pillows, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in years, there was no escape route mapped out. I didn’t know what to do. Stay and fight, or run and hide?
When things got overwhelming, when vulnerability felt too dangerous, I ran. I put up walls. I protected myself at all costs. Hesitation risked exposure.
My usual instinct to disappear was at war with the desperate need I felt for Mason. The thought of losing him made my chest ache, and it was getting harder to deny what I already knew. I was in love with him.
A sharp, insistent knock at my door yanked me out of my spiral. I froze, instantly on edge. No one was supposed to know I was home. Had reporters found my address?
The knocking intensified.
“I know you’re in there, Lila. Your car is in the parking lot.” Gideon’s unmistakable voice carried through the door with a stubborn determination that said he’d camp in the hallway all night if he had to.
I dragged myself off the bed, smoothing down my yoga pants and oversized University of Miami sweatshirt, a far cry from my usual polished armor. I headed down the hall and cracked the door open just enough to peer out.
Gideon stood in the hallway with his arms crossed, his normally playful expression replaced by something hard. His brown eyes narrowed behind his stylish glasses, taking in my disheveled state with obvious disapproval.
“You look like shit,” he announced without preamble.
“Gideon.” I aimed for casual, but my voice came out thin. “This isn’t a good time.”
He pushed past me into my apartment, doing a quick scan like he was assessing damages. “Mason is losing his damn mind. What the hell are you doing?”
I closed the door slowly, buying myself a second to breathe. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been busy with work.”
“Bullshit.” Gideon’s eyes narrowed behind his frames. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. Mason barely slept last night. He’s devastated. What’s going on?”
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling too exposed. “It’s complicated.”
“Then un-complicate it for me.” His voice softened, but his posture remained rigid. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty simple. You’re ghosting him. Why?”
The bluntness of it landed like a hit. I turned away and walked into the kitchen, needing to put some distance between us. “I’m not ghosting him. I just need time to figure things out.”
“Figure what out, exactly?” Gideon followed me, not letting me retreat. “That it’s easier to run than to stand by him when things get tough?”
“That’s not fair,” I protested, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. “You have no idea what I’m going through. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this public spectacle.”
“No one’s dragging you anywhere.” Gideon planted his hands on the countertop, facing off with me.
“Mason has been dealing with all the fallout, team management, his coaches, his teammates, his agent, the press. All while trying to shield you. He’s turned down every interview, refused to comment, all to keep your name out of it.
He’s putting it all out there for you while you hide out and leave him twisting in the wind. ”
I turned away, blinking back unexpected tears. “I just need some space.”
“Space.” Gideon repeated it like it tasted bad. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you bolted at the first sign of trouble. It looks like you care more about what strangers on the internet think than how you’re hurting him.”
The guilt I’d been shoving down rose like bile. “I’m not trying to hurt him. I’m trying to protect him.”
Gideon let out a sharp laugh. “Protect him? By disappearing on him? By making him think he’s not worth sticking around for? That’s not protection, Lila. That’s running.”
It stung because it was true. “You don’t understand,” I said, hating how weak my voice sounded.
“Then help me understand,” he pressed. “Because the Mason I know, the guy who never lets anyone in, who’s focused on hockey to the exclusion of everything else, that guy is sitting in his apartment staring at his phone instead of preparing for the first home game of the season.
All because you won’t even tell him what he did wrong. ”
The image of Mason, alone and confused, sent a sharp pang through my chest. I closed my eyes against the burn of tears.
“And you know what the worst part is?” Gideon’s voice was maddeningly calm. “You’re proving every asshole online right.”
I flinched. “What do you mean?”
“The trolls. The ones calling you a gold digger who’s just using Mason for his fame. That you don’t actually give a shit about him.” Gideon ticked off each accusation on his fingers. “Every nasty comment you’ve read, you’re proving them right by bailing at the first sign of trouble.”
His words sliced clean. “That’s not true. I do care about him.”
“Do you?” Gideon challenged. “Because Mason believed you cared about him and not just his career. If you don’t show up for him now, you’re telling him he was wrong.”
Guilt tightened hard in my stomach. “I never meant to hurt him.”
“But you are.” Gideon’s voice was gentle now, but no less direct. “You keep calling it protection, but it’s self-preservation. And that’s your right. Just don’t dress it up as something noble.”
The truth of his words stripped away my last defenses. I sank onto a kitchen stool, exhausted.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, the words barely audible.
“Of course you are.” Gideon sat across from me.
“Being in the public eye, even peripherally, is scary. But you know what’s not okay?
Leaving Mason hanging because you’re too afraid to face your own fears.
Here’s the thing about fear, Lila. It only has the power you give it.
” He cleared his throat. “According to my highly unlicensed life coach.”
I looked up at him, finding real understanding in his eyes.
“Mason has an important game tonight,” he continued. “A lot is on the line for him.”
I knew where this was going, and every alarm bell in me went off. “Gideon, I can’t.”
“You can,” he cut in. “The question is whether you will.” He leaned forward, gaze unwavering. “If you don’t go to that game, you’re not saving him. You’re proving to him that he never really mattered to you.” He paused, letting it land. “And if that’s actually true, then fine. Run.”
The statement hung between us, a gauntlet thrown down. The idea of Mason believing I’d never cared sent pain shooting through my chest so sharp I almost gasped. Because the truth was terrifying. I cared too much. So much that it scared me.
“Game’s at seven. I’ll be sitting right next to you.” Gideon stood, straightening his shirt. “If you really care about him, be there.”
I stared at the floor, paralyzed by indecision. Every instinct screamed at me to stay hidden. The thought of walking into that arena, of facing recognition and whispers, filled me with a dread Gideon could never understand.
But going to the game wasn’t just about supporting Mason, though that mattered. It was about facing my fears. About refusing to let my past dictate my future. And for the first time in years, something was stronger than that fear. Love.
“Okay,” I said quietly, then firmer. “I’ll be there.”
Gideon headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Good. Wear something cute.” He looked me up and down. “Cuter than that.”
After he left, I sat in the quiet of my apartment, my phone heavy in my hand. I typed a simple text to Mason.
Me: I’m sorry. I’ll be at the game tonight. Can’t wait to see you play.
My finger hovered over the send button for a long moment before I finally pressed it. The message delivered with a soft whoosh that sounded like a step forward.
I had been running for so long. Maybe it was finally time to stop.