Chapter 32 Pike
Pike
Brandon?” Mom sounds worried as Ollie whines in the background. “The article’s awful. We should talk about how to approach this.”
My knuckles turn white against the spinner knob. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“What?”
“I expected better from you.”
She pauses. “You think I did this?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I would never,” she stammers. “This is bad for your image.”
I struggle to keep my voice calm. “You’ve pushed me to do publicity stunts since my accident. Even when you first met Skylar, the only time I’ve ever brought a girl home, you couldn’t let it go.”
“I don’t want you to miss out on opportunities.”
“How much money did you get?”
“Brandon, it wasn’t me.”
But no one else makes sense. “The rest of us in the group actually have chronic pain. We wouldn’t do that to each other.” I snap my fingers. “You had my tablet. Do you have my support group password?”
“Why would I?”
“Skylar removed you from the group. Did you log in with my tablet to get the screenshots? Did you only pretend to like Skylar, thinking I’d tire of her, but when things got serious, you did this so I wouldn’t date another disabled person?”
“I like Skylar,” she whispers. “I didn’t leak the information.”
I can’t with her. Not anymore. “It’s really time for you to get a life. You were so preoccupied with my career that you never did anything for yourself. I knew it. Dad knew it.”
I feel like shit the moment I say it.
“This isn’t like you.” She can’t restrain her sob.
I fight down my instinct to comfort her, to change my words so she’ll feel better. This level of betrayal is too great. “No, this is exactly like me. You just don’t have any idea who I am anymore.”
I hang up, then give my lawyers hell. I don’t tell them I think it was Mom. I can’t sue my own mother.
My phone rings.
“Lennox passed me your latest article,” Kal says. “You okay, Pike?”
“I’m fine.”
“Saw your poem. Good stuff.”
“I’m not talking to you about poetry.”
“Well, just a heads-up, the girls are pretty upset. Emy’s out for blood.”
“This isn’t my fault,” I growl.
“Pike. Do you think Skylar’s posts would’ve leaked if you weren’t famous? You brought her into the spotlight with you.”
I hang up on him too. It’s not my fault.
I’m 99.9 percent sure it’s Mom’s fault, even if that 0.
1 percent uncertainty makes me sick with nausea.
Even if she didn’t leak the information, I had to fake a relationship because of her.
She tried to call the cops on me. Who the hell does that to their grown child?
When I get to work, I can’t bring myself to leave the car. I sit in the parking lot for over an hour, my legs refusing to move, and not because of pain. If I feel this shitty, I can’t even imagine how Skylar feels.
Called the lawyers, I text. How are you doing?
My phone vibrates, but it’s not Skylar.
Maria Hammond has sent you a message.
Maria? I click the notification hesitantly.
Hi, Pike. It’s been a pleasure having you contribute to our group.
Unfortunately, following this morning’s exposé, several members feel unsafe sharing.
Whoever did this may continue to take screenshots related to you and Skylar.
The admins have spoken, and the four of us agree we must remove you both from the group so members feel safe again.
Please know we don’t blame you. I wish you all the best.
I stare at my phone in horror. We’re removed from the group? Skylar only agreed to help me in the first place because she thought I’d mess things up with her group. And now I have.
My anger flares again. Mom ruined everything.
But Kal’s voice echoes in my head. Do you think Skylar’s posts would’ve leaked if you weren’t famous?
And then Skylar’s. I’m the one who’ll suffer from all of this.
They blasted all her personal health details online—things she told me in confidence, things I didn’t even know. I video call, but she doesn’t answer. I try again.
Pick up, Skylar. Please, please pick up.
Each unanswered call further hollows out my chest. It is my fault. Her most vulnerable thoughts blasted on the internet because of her association with me. And now she’s lost her group.
I yank out my journal as my eyes prick, unable to stop the bad thoughts.
The first time we met Mom, we got into an accident while I was driving.
Skylar had a horrible flare because I couldn’t get her home safely.
I couldn’t help her with Dr. Wharton. I forced her into the spotlight.
I took her to Whistler and her pressure got worse.
I told her the news would stop caring about us.
I’m the worst boyfriend ever. It’s all I can write. Skylar deserves the world, and I’ve just shattered hers.
I tear out the wet page and crumple it. It’s a good thing Skylar didn’t answer. She doesn’t need to see me like this.
She’s right; I got off easy with speculation about my mental health. I hate it, but it’s still just speculation. Meanwhile, Skylar’s entire health history is all over the internet.
I’m so sorry I had to leave, I text. I’ll be back after work. Everything’s going to be okay. I add a bunch of hugging emojis.
I’m already taking care of things with the lawyers. Now, I just need to be strong for her. To hold it together.
I need to be steady. Stable.
That’s the only way we’re going to get through this without both of us spiraling.