The Trouble With Quarterbacks

I look at my phone again, but there’s still nothing from her, no text or call.

I head back into the living room and flip on the TV. I never watch gossip shows, ever, but I had the news on earlier so I catch a glimpse of Entertainment Tonight. Candace is on the screen, laughing with Kat out on the sidewalk. The news story is about Candace—not about us and our relationship, but about her and her life and how a “regular” girl like her could have caught my attention.

They mention her job at The Day School and at District. Jesus fuck. They show a picture of her parents they must have pulled from her social media, and there’s more: speculation about how we met, a tip from an anonymous source saying I’m not that into her and just wanted a distraction after my breakup with Melody.

I guess Rosie was right. I haven’t confirmed anything, so they’re saying whatever they want.

I turn off the TV and grab my phone to call Candace.

When she answers, she’s out of breath. “Hey Lo.”

The tension in my head eases a bit at the sound of her voice. “Hey, you said you’d call after you finished cleaning that house.”

“I know—we haven’t finished yet.” Then she laughs. “It’s been a wild day. There were photographers outside The Day School when I went in and they wouldn’t leave, so my boss had to call the police to corral them all. I mean the kids couldn’t even get in—can you imagine? Then, as I was leaving, I expected them to be cleared out, but they weren’t. I had to hide out for a bit until Kat showed up with these ridiculous disguises, black wigs and huge sunglasses. Surprisingly, they worked, but we were late getting started at the house so we’re still here.”

“Crap. I’m sorry.”

“What? No worries. I mean, it’s different, yeah? Being in the spotlight like that.”

“Yeah. It is. I just saw you on the TV, actually.”

“Are you serious?” She sounds like it’s too wild to believe.

“They were talking about your jobs and your parents. You need to make sure all your social media accounts are set to private. They somehow got a photo of your mom and dad.”

“Oh bugger. I didn’t even think of that. I’m a total novice with all this.”

“It’s not your fault. This isn’t exactly normal.”

I feel horrible for dragging her into the fray like this, but it’s inevitable. To bring her in closer, I’ll only be exposing her more. There’s no way around it.

“Right. Yeah. Logan, I’ve got to go. I need to finish up here and phone my mum. She’ll probably have heard about everything on the news, and I still haven’t really told her about us. I feel bad. I hope they’re not worried or anything.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Right, phone you later.”

And then there’s a pregnant pause because neither of us hangs up. This is the part where if you loved someone, you’d say it. It’s like we’re both thinking it, and she even laughs, breaking the tension.

“Okay, well, bye then!”

She ends the call, and I sit on my couch staring down at my phone, wondering how on earth I can fix this.Chapter Twenty-TwoCandaceI’m still getting used to the fact that I can’t leave my flat on a whim. I can’t go out on the sidewalk without someone shouting my name. I can’t just pop into a café for a tea or coffee without people recognizing me. To have gone from total anonymity to veritable fame in a matter of a few weeks is doing a number on my head.

Mum and Dad can’t stop phoning. They think it’s all wonderful. The press is knocking on their door with questions, and my mum is inviting them into the house and showing them photos of me from my baby book. There she is slinging around one of her dirty nappies. Poo went everywhere! When my dad goes out to get the post, he waves and chats with the photographers, asking them if they need a cup of tea or to pop in to use the loo.

I’ve told them to cut it out, but that’s nearly impossible. Telling two parents to stop gloating about their only daughter? Good luck with that.

Logan and I are still trying to learn how to navigate it. He’s come up with a brilliant plan:

I should quit working at District, let him hire me a bodyguard, and oh yes, MOVE IN WITH HIM.

He told me all about it when I phoned him Wednesday night.

“I worry about you in that apartment. That building isn’t secure at all.”

“Isn’t secure?! I’ve got at least four hardened Russian grannies between me and the first floor. They’re as scary as they come. They shout at me if I bang up the stairs too loudly or if they think I’ve gotten too thin. One of them threatened a takeout man with an umbrella last week when he tried to bring Yaz and me some noodles. Believe me, no one is getting past them.”