But still, I go over every single word and problem that my students turn in so that I know exactly what they’re struggling with and what they’re excelling at. I won’t let the principal totally smother me. I can’t. Even under his watchful eye, I still have to keep some sort of dignity in my job.
Easing down onto the corner of the couch, I flick on the television just so that there’s some sort of noise in the apartment. Maybe if I don’t feel so lonely, I’ll be able to concentrate on my work.
I wish it was only loneliness which distracted me now, but it’s not entirely that.
It’s also that every time I blink, I see Jake’s beautiful brown eyes against the backs of my eyelids. I swear I can almost smell his cologne even though all I should be smelling is the tomato sauce from the pizza I’m devouring. Speaking of, I need some wine to wash this down.
When I stand up to head to the kitchen, the commercials end and the familiar name echoing from the speakers makes me spin curiously back around to face the television.
“We’re back with the story on NFL tight end, Jacob Eckhart,” a woman says from where she’s stiffly perched in a chair. She stares somberly at the camera as though she was reporting a death, and for a second my heart drops into my stomach like a lead weight. “As you can see from the pictures about to be shown, he has yet again returned to his wild partying ways despite the fact that his six-year-old nephew is now in his care. Even more disturbing is the multiple reports that say young Ryan Eckhart was in the apartment during tonight’s riotous event. This is a level of debauchery that, unfortunately, is not surprising of someone labeled, The Hartbreak Kid.”
Numb, I sink down onto the couch and watch the photos of a crazy party scroll across the screen. Unless Jake’s hair has grown two inches since I last saw him, the footage is old, but the reporter doesn’t mention that.
The footage changes to the outside of a fancy skyrise apartment Uptown. A string of athletes and model-types shield their faces as they stumble out of the building into waiting limos. The time and date stamps is just hours ago.
The woman continued speaking. “This party occurred mere hours after Eckhart had an altercation with his nephew in front of multiple people at a soccer field in Central Park in which the child was observed shouting that Eckhart was not a fit guardian.”
The woman continues but her words don’t register anymore, as a video of Jake and Ryan yelling at each other flood the screen. Desperate to get away from the sight, I grab the remote, shaking, and change the channel. However, channel after channel that I click through is playing the same story. They probably have been for hours.
Ryan and Jake had a fight?
It must’ve happened right after I left.
Their already fragile relationship was probably under an even worse amount of pressure now. I grab my phone off the table, but the screen is blank. He hasn't tried to contact me to let me know that something happened.
Maybe he was too busy hosting his huge wild party, I think bitterly.
I swallow hard, staring back at the television.
“There are reports that most of Eckhart’s NFL team was in attendance at his penthouse this evening and that there was lewd behavior and sexual acts during the party,” the woman is saying.
Lewd behavior? Sex?
Is Jake hooking up with other women?
I have no right to be suddenly jealous, but sick envy fills me so fast that I almost feel nauseous. Eric’s words ring in the back of my mind. The Hartbreak Kid . . . A player.
Eric tried to warn me, but I’d been so sure that I’d seen good in Jake’s eyes. I know he loves his nephew . . . but maybe he just loves being a partying philanderer more?
Eric was right, but I’d been so quick to dismiss his concerns because I'm usually good at reading peoples’ characters, but perhaps I’m wrong this time. Judging by the photos, I definitely am.
Was that why Jake was so insistent on me looking after Ryan? So he could plan wild parties like this one?
I'm disgusted that I allowed myself to be played in such a way. The way Jake spoke so genuinely about his sister and wanting to be a better man, and the way he looked into my eyes . . . It was as though he respected me and was trying to be sincere.
I know it’s ridiculous, but I really thought that he and I were building toward . . . something.
Something that could’ve been real.
When our hands brushed, my heart raced and my pulse quickened and my entire body felt warm and fuzzy, like a summer day. I’d never felt like that with anyone before. Of course it would happen with a man trying to take advantage of me.
I snap the television off, muttering angrily under my breath. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s being used.
Growing up, I had to look after myself. I learned the hard way that some people have bad intentions. That was a lesson I thought I’d learned, but clearly, I’ve forgotten it.
But if Jake Eckhart thinks he can treat me like another jersey-chasing fangirl, he has another thing coming.
Chapter 9
Jake
“Are you listening, Eckhart?” Coach asks, his arms folding over his chest. He stares at me intently, disappointment etched onto his face. “You could be in serious trouble right now. Your sponsors are spooked. I’ve even heard mention of cutting contracts after the latest media scandal.”
Coach paces behind the desk in his office, arms still folded. His cheeks are red. I silently watch him, knowing that my teammates are already on the field doing their last training exercises of the evening. I wish I was with them. I really need to blow off some of this steam, but I also know how important it is that I take this situation seriously.
I feel like a boiling tea kettle, a piercing whistling echoing between my ears that no one else can hear.
I’d explained last night’s situation to my coach, but that didn't change the way my fans and my sponsors were perceiving things. To them I look like a delinquent who throws raging parties while my little nephew is in the apartment with me.
The media has totally blown things out of proportion. The party wasn’t exactly raging. It was just a bunch of my teammates and some girls having a few drinks. But no matter which way I try to spin the situation, it looks bad. And there’s no one to blame but myself.
I still can’t believe how badly I’ve messed up. If the league or team owners decide to get involved, I could lose everything . . . including Ryan.
If only I’d followed my first instinct and called Stacy the moment Ryan and I got in that fight . . . It’s been a few days since I last saw Stacy. We didn’t have plans beyond Ryan’s soccer practices and they’re only twice a week. But waiting to see Stacy until Tuesday felt like an eternity.
I have to see her before then—if she’ll even talk to me once she catches wind of this media nightmare.
All I want is to hear her voice. I want her to take my hand, holding my calloused fingers in her soft ones, and say in that beautiful, soothing voice of hers that everything is going to be alright.
When she says it, I can almost believe her, but it’s getting harder and harder to imagine crawling out of the hole I’ve dug for myself, especially if I have to do it without her.
You’ll see her tomorrow, I tell myself, knowing she already agreed to take Ryan to his practices this week. Even if she’s mad at me, like the rest of the world, she won’t turn her back on Ryan.