Chapter Twenty
VICTORIA
I spend the night in a daze, crying on and off as I sip an ungodly amount of Diet Coke.
My emotions spiral back and forth from utter devastation to seething anger. One second, I’m bawling my eyes out, and the next, I’m planning a gruesome murder. I’ve seen enough documentaries that I think I could do it without being caught.
My extreme reactions aren’t just focused toward Mason. Oh no, I’m also plotting all these things for Jess.
Jess the Destroyer of Happy Relationships.
Jess the Complete Psycho.
Jess the Motherfucking Mess.
I’d been around and worked with women who had a chip on their shoulder and believed that to win, they had to play dirty. I like to think women supporting women is the way to go, so I never paid them much mind.
This woman, though, is going to live on my shit list for the rest of my life. Once I’m of sound mind—watch out. Jess had walked her last catwalk and posed for her last brand deal.
She had backdoor connections to ruin my reputation. Well, honey, I have legit connections that will get her blackballed from the modelling industry. I go to bed with puffy, red eyes but conviction in my soul.
In the light of morning, however, my anger turns from Jess back to Mason.
How dare he pull this white-knight bullshit and leave me to save my reputation. Shouldn’t I have a say in the matter?
The idiot had told me that he loved me and then walked out the door, without giving me a second to process that life-changing announcement or tell him how I felt.
I love him too.
I’d also love to strangle him.
He was trying to protect me, I know this. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him.
If Mason thinks I’m fragile, that I can’t stand on my own two feet beside him as shit hits the fan, he is dead wrong.
Am I a damsel? Sure.
Was I in distress? Absolutely.
But I’m a damsel in distress. I can handle my shit.
If the fake-dating pact Mason and I had made had done anything, it had taught me that I’m strong—I just needed someone to show me just how strong I was.
Mason had done just that.
And now, this damsel is going on the defense. There’s no way I’m letting Mason go out into the world unprotected as he tries to take the blame for everything. That’s not how we play. Mason and I are a team.
He may have walked away to save me, but I am going to find a way for us to come out on top together.
Having spent most of the night eating my feelings and lounging like a beached whale, all my energy is bubbling up.
After making a green tea—let’s face it, caffeine is the last thing I need—I start pacing the room.
The bruises on my face and left side ache less today, but the ache inside my chest is growing.
I need to convince him that walking away isn’t the answer. That we can’t let fear dictate our life.
Then, out of nowhere, an idea sparks.
I need to take back control.
The press had been spinning lies, twisting my pain and making it into something else, painting me as a reckless celebrity.
But they don’t know the truth. They don’t know that the photo they so eagerly plastered across tabloids was taken days after losing the woman who raised me.
They don’t know about my struggles with anxiety.
They don’t know anything—it was all speculation.
So it’s time to set the record straight.
I grab my phone and dial Cece.
“Vic! Thank God you called. I was going mental. Are you okay?” Her voice is quick but gentle.
“I’m good,” I say, trying not to start crying again at the sound of her voice. “But I need your help. Without going into too much detail right now about why, I need you to set up an interview with Sabrina Sutton. She’s a—”
“I know who she is. But why am I setting up an interview with a sports reporter?”
“I’m ready to tell my side of the story. Right from the beginning. She’s the only reporter I trust—or, correction, that I know Mason would trust. I’m done with hiding. If the press wants to throw out accusations about my life, then they are going to get the whole picture so they can get it right.”
A pause. Then, “You want to go public? About everything? Even the crazy ex?”
“Yes. Everything up to the accident. Even the crazy ex. She tried to steal my play, so now I’m—I don’t know—calling a Hail Mary.”
Cece snorts. “That’s football.”
“Okay, then I’m doing a…hat flick?”
“It’s a hat trick. Trick.”
“Fine! I’m pulling a hat trick!”
“Still not right, but at least now we’re in the right sport. I hate, by the way, that you’re into athletes now. Am I going to have to suffer through sports metaphors and analogies for the rest of my life now?”
“Yes,” I huff, getting annoyed.
“You do know this isn’t an actual game, right?”
“Metaphorically, Cece. I’m getting in the metaphorical game. Urg, you know what I meant. I can’t let Mason take the heat of this alone.”
Cece is silent for a beat.
“Shit, babe. That’s a bold move, but I think it’s exactly what we need. Sabrina’s a cool chick, very professional. She’ll handle this with care and respect, and she’ll find an audience that will listen.”
I smile, a genuine smile that feels like the first real one in days. “Set it up. I want it done within the week. Oh!” Another idea comes to me. “Could you also arrange for recording equipment to be set up at the apartment? There’s something else I really need to do.”
“You got it. I’ll text you when I have the details for both.”
“Thanks, Cece. Love you.”
“Love you too, girlie.”
I end the call and looked around the quiet condo, knowing that this is the calm before the storm.
And I am so fucking ready.