Somehow, I find the ability to talk. It’s a miracle that I can form a sentence. “Why do people think she’s pregnant?”
Maybe Shannon finally notices that I’m about to lose my shit because she clamps up.
“Why!” My shout rings out in the night.
Shannon visibly swallows, her eyes growing round. “Well, you, ah… apparently yelled at her about your relationship being just a hook up, and, well, she walked away all hunched over, clutching her stomach, so…”
So, no proof of Anna being pregnant. Just fools jumping to the wrong conclusion and sticking their noses in places they have no business being. Even though relief swamps me, the ringing in my ears grows to a clamor. “So, you all think that I would get a girl pregnant, then publicly dump her when she tells me?”
In the relative darkness, I can see the flush stealing over her cheeks. “Ah… well…”
Prickles break out over my skin. “And believing this, you still wanted to go out with me?” Okay, I might be yelling. Shit, it’s a miracle that I’m not shouting to the clouds at this point. That’s what people think of me?
Shannon backs away a step. “I didn’t blame you.” As if this supposed pregnancy was all Anna’s doing.
“Well you should,” I snap. “If it were true. You should stay far away from any asshole who would do something like that.”
She just stares at me like I’ve gone insane, and the rage within me surges. What the hell is wrong with this girl?
I take a breath, not wanting to scare her any further. I’m much bigger than her, and even if I can’t wait to get away, it isn’t cool to make her afraid.
“Look,” I say with false calm, “whatever you’ve heard, it’s wrong. Yes, that was the girl, and yes we broke up. But it was a mutual decision.” I wince a bit with that one, but it isn’t really a lie. Anna didn’t want a relationship, and I couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t the only thing I wanted. “She’s a nice girl. And it makes me sick that people would think otherwise.”
Wide-eyed Shannon nods as if her life depended on it. She’s clutching her arms over her chest. I put that fear in her, and guilt clenches my stomach.
“I’ve got to go. Sorry.” I’m not sure what else I can say. I just need to get out of here.
By the time I get home and manage to turn on my laptop, my hands are shaking. Nausea rolls around in my stomach as a Twitter search for my name pulls up hundreds of tweets. And there they are in 140 character groupings of pure evil. Speculation on why I was arguing with a curvaceous redhead. Hate-filled comments about Anna that make my heart ache and my blood boil, and then I find the pictures.
My teeth grind. There I am, looming over Anna, who looks so tiny in comparison. I’m a monster with muscles bulging and a vein sticking out on my temple. I’ve never felt so ashamed. Anna’s pale, her chin lifting in defiance. That I remember. But I never saw the aftermath. There’s a pic of me walking away, humiliating because it captures my own pain. My face is twisted with it. And then one of Anna.
She’s leaning against the tree, clutching her arms around her middle, her gorgeous eyes looking up toward the sky as if it holds some answer. Pain etches her features. With shaking fingers, I nearly touch the screen. Pain that mirrors my own.
Have I done the wrong thing by ending it with Anna? Does it matter? She’s currently on a date with Mr. Yuck. And I can’t overlook the fact that one public argument with me has brought the ugliness of public opinion down upon her head. I never wanted that for her. After reading through the hateful tweets, how can I blame her reluctance to be seen with me?
For the first time in my life, I dread going out on the field and playing again. Because they’re all watching for the wrong reasons.