“I think that’s safe to assume, yes.”
She pauses and looks at me searchingly. “Did you feel like you were guilty of trying to seduce Scott Philips?”
I flush at the word. I’m still ashamed for the way I acted with him, though it wasn’t as people made it sound. “You mean . . . did I wear tight jeans to class? Yes, I guess I did. Were my T-shirts fitted? Yeah, probably. Though I don’t honestly know how much that could have helped . . .” I look down at my A-cup chest as if to make a point.
Did I just draw attention to my underwhelming breasts on national television?
Heat crawls up the back of my neck as I giggle nervously. “Oh, God. Please edit that part out.”
“No, please keep that part in,” Brett counters with a chuckle, earning my gentle elbow against his ribs. But his playful sense of humor brings with it a sense of relief for me. I can get through this with him by my side.
“Did you ever talk to Scott Philips again?”
I hesitate. “I went to his house to see him, once. He told me to leave. So I left.” I sigh. “I was seventeen and in love and foolish. I made a lot of bad choices.”
“I don’t know any teenagers who don’t make a lot of bad choices, to be honest. Most of them just get away without it being the talk of the town. It sounds like a lot of people were less than impressed with you for the entire ordeal. What was life like for you in 2010?”
“Not easy. Not for me or my family.”
“Not everyone made it so hard for you though, did they?”
I smile. “My boss, Lou from Diamonds, didn’t. Her husband’s great, too. They’re like family to my daughter and me. And the man who rented this house to me, he’s been very nice. He’s only raised the rent once since we moved in, and barely.”
Her face softens. “You became pregnant with your daughter a few months after this incident, correct?”
“Seven months later.” I swallow. “That’s right.”
“And you had moved out of your family’s home by then.”
“I was . . . Things were hard for everyone at that point. I thought my life was ruined.”
“I’ll bet.” A knowing look flashes through her eyes. “Listen, I’ve driven past plenty of schools where the girls have their kilts rolled up to where they’re more like booty shorts. Should they do that? No. But that’s not a pass or an excuse for teachers to flirt with their students, or take it farther. What you wore to school or how you felt about Scott Philips, or even what you may have said to him, is irrelevant. We shouldn’t even be talking about it now.” She turns to the camera. “I know people at home are probably wondering what happened to Scott Philips. My sources confirmed that he has been teaching art class at a private high school in Memphis, Tennessee, for the last six years. The parents of students at that school were unaware of his past until now, thanks to Catherine Wright’s story breaking late last week.”
Kate’s smooth, melodic voice is so soothing despite the topic that, for a brief moment, I nearly forget that we’re being filmed. But then she turns to me, breaking the spell. “Cath, do you think Scott Philips should be allowed to continue teaching?”
I know she wants me to publicly condemn him, to punish him on this open stage.
“I guess it depends on the parents of the students he’s teaching.”
“Do you regret recanting your statement?”
Had I not . . . Scott and I would have been done either way. But how much worse would it have been, dealing with a trial and lawyers? I nearly shudder at the thought. “All I know is that no one can run from their mistakes forever. But I would really just like to move on from mine.”
Genuine sympathy shines in her eyes. “I agree that it’s time everyone focus on the incredible side of this story, that you risked your own life saving this man beside you. From my brief conversation with Brett’s mother, I know that the Madden-Price family can’t sing high enough praises for your bravery. Did you know whose life you were trying to save that night, Catherine?”
I shake my head.
“No idea at all?”
“None.”
“And when did you find out that the man you had saved was a superstar?”
“When Keith—I mean, Officer Singer—was driving me home and I saw all the news vans on the road. I thought it was a bit strange, that much attention for an accident.”
“And? Were you shocked?”
“Yeah. But, I mean . . .” I look to Brett, smile sheepishly. “I don’t watch hockey, so I still didn’t know who you were anyway.”
Brett’s eyes twinkle as he laughs along with Kate.
“I bet that’ll change as soon as Brett’s back on the ice, right?” She winks at me and then smiles at Brett.
I feel him stiffen, but he hides any evidence of discomfort from the camera with a charming grin. “I’ll have her passing me the puck in no time.”
He’s going to teach me how to play? As in, he’s going to be around once this all blows over? Or is that just a line, part of this act for the public?
“So what’s next for you, Catherine?”
“Uh . . .” I shrug, somewhat caught off guard by this question, still stuck on the idea of Brett being a part of my life. “I don’t really know. I plan on going back to work as soon as I can, and raising my daughter. You know, driving her to and from school without reporters camped outside my door. That’d be nice.”
Kate smiles. “You’ve been raising your daughter on your own this entire time, have you not?”
“Yes.”
“And what has her father had to say about your recent bravery?”
“Nothing, he’s . . . He’s not a part of our lives.” It’s a roundabout way of bringing up Brenna’s father and I didn’t expect it, making me stumble over my words.
“Has she ever met him?”
“No.”
“Does he know about her?”
This is off-limits and she knows it. It’s my own fault for answering in the first place. I seek out Simone from behind the center camera.
“No more about the child,” Simone states abruptly.
“You tried going into work a few days ago. How was that?” Kate asks, so smoothly changing topics, as if she were testing the waters to see how far she could get before I or Simone pulled the plug. Her sources must have fed her the local rumors about Matt.
It takes me more than a few heartbeats to regroup. Brett leans into my side ever so slightly, to remind me that he’s there. “A disaster,” I admit. “There were a lot of people, taking pictures of me. And reporters asking me terrible, inappropriate questions. I had to leave right away. I can’t work like that, and if I can’t work, then I can’t pay my bills. So I’d appreciate it if people would give me some room to breathe. That’s why I agreed to this interview. We figured that we’d give everyone the story once, and then I could go back to my regular, quiet life. It’s the only interview I’m willing to do.”
“Kind of hard for people not to want to meet you, what with your heroic efforts and all.”