Chapter 2
Molly called.
She had already called Jude once that night.
He wondered why they kept calling, and what they thought switching phones was going to accomplish.
He had no intention of taking any of their calls.
Molly's profile picture showed herself at Dean and Mike's second birthday, wearing a party hat and laughing authentically at the camera.
Travis had taken the photo, Jude was pretty sure.
Her call slid away, showing the fuzzy gray screen that meant she was leaving a voicemail.
Jude waited for the picture of his cottage to return, the dock, the trees, the peaceful water, and then waited for his screen to go dark.
Another text came in before he could, and it was just a string of numbers without a contact name.
"We're more like a square peg and a round hole.
Ew." She put her face in her hands, shaking her head.
The heavy breathing of whoever was filming them was distractingly loud.
I'm sorry, forget I said that.
Um." A sigh.
"We're just... we're not meant to fit.
And it's really, really fine.
I just don't think that we can keep trying."
He didn't respond right away.
He nodded, slightly, eyes dull as they roamed listlessly over the wall behind her.
His voice came out strained and teary.
"I get it.
I—I just, uh...
I think, um." He was fighting tears.
In the atmospheric yellow glow of the restaurant, it was clear that his eyes were damp.
"I think, uh."
"Hey, you don't owe me any explanation."
"I feel like I kinda do."
"You really don't."
And maybe if it had ended there, Jude thought, it would be okay.
Okayish.
Still incriminating.
Still a fucking disaster.
Still embarrassing, to have his breakup with this beautiful actress filmed and disseminated on Chorus of all fucking places, with the disclaimer "I did not film this and this is not my video," as if it fucking mattered—but not a nail in his coffin, burying him alive.
But the video didn't end there.
"Can I ask if you've ever been with another guy?" she had to ask.
And he, tears so visible and bright in his eyes, had to nod.
Just once.
Just a single nod.
Why did he have to nod?
"Have you ever told anyone that before?" He shook his head.
"Was it different?
With a guy?"
"Of course."
Of course.
"Was it better?"
"Yeah, it was, uh...
Um.
It was better." Wiping away tears.
"The thing is, I-"
The video cut abruptly.
Jude wondered if the rest of their conversation was out there, if it was already online, maybe even on the same Chorus page.
Maybe someone was texting him about it right now, and he just didn't know it yet.
He doubted that whoever had filmed them had actually decided to stop right there and go about their day.
It wasn't like he or Ivy had caught them, or had any idea that they were being filmed at all.
Unless Ivy set him up, of course.
But Jude knew she hadn't.
Hana called.
Frank called.
Travis called.
His coach called.
Texts, emails, news alerts from trashy websites he didn't recognize.
How long did stuff like this take to make it onto the important channels?
He still hadn't seen it on his television.
They were still discussing the Bayport player scripted for the previous Showcase game, because he had just announced his fifth child with a fourth woman.
That guy would probably be pretty grateful to Jude, actually, in the morning, when he realized people weren't talking about him anymore.
But it also didn't matter if people talked about him, not really.
It mattered to Jude, though.
He glanced at his phone as it buzzed.
WAG Clara Lundqvist (Anders Lundqvist)
Hi Jude, just wanted to reach out and offer our unwavering support.
People are pretty concerned and I don't think anyone has been able to get in touch with you?
It doesn't have to be us, but please let some...
The preview ended.
Jude stared at his screen as two more almost identical texts popped up from other WAGs.
He thought, yet again, about hitting the power button until his phone shut down.
Or picking it up and throwing it out the window.
He was in Fairhaven, in his apartment.
The phone would never survive a fall from his floor, not even in its sturdy, practical case.
He could shove it down his garbage disposal and turn it on until his sink spat fragments of glass and plastic across his counter.
He imagined the noise it would make.
Jude wondered where the WAGs were getting their news.
Probably Wave.
That was where Jude had seen it.
Well, first he had gotten an email from his management company.
Hi Jude,
We would like to get in touch regarding the recent rumors circulating online, preferably in a face-to-face meeting, and see how you would like us to handle this situation.
All Jude had needed to do was open Wave and check his mentions.
There had been... a lot of them.
Jude was a celebrity, and he was used to people talking about him online, and he was, in fact, pretty accustomed to his fans and detractors alike screaming into the void of the internet, never really believing he would see the sometimes deranged things they wrote.
But there had been way more mentions than usual, so it hadn't taken him long to find the video.
One of the videos.
It had already been re-uploaded dozens of times when Jude found it, halfway through making a post-workout smoothie in his kitchen.
The yogurt and milk were still sitting out on his counter.
He would probably have to throw them away.
Jude wasn't sure how long he had been sitting here, staring at his phone.
The video he had watched had been uploaded twenty minutes before he found it, and had two hundred thousand views.
"From reddit r/ivyprescott, someone posted this video of her boyfriend Jude Callahan, PHL player, coming out?
With captions."
So he watched the video, with captions, leaning against his counter in workout clothes slowly cooling against his skin, damp with sweat, milk spoiling next to his elbow.
He had watched it at least four times, then closed Wave, stumbled to his couch, and sat down.
They had a game tomorrow, didn't they?
He should probably respond to his coach.
His phone buzzed.
Incoming call from:
Ivy Prescott
Jude reached down and hit accept.
"Oh my god,Jude," she cried, and he hung up.
His hands trembled so badly that he could barely raise them to his face as he sucked in a heaving breath.
She called him back immediately, and he hung up, twice, and then she didn't call again.
Jude shook.
His legs, feet planted firmly on the ground for an hour or more, curled up instinctually to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his calves and pulled himself in tighter, trying to make himself as small as possible as he pressed his face against his knees hard enough to hurt.
He wanted it to bruise.
He dug his nails into his skin, and his fingers felt like ice cubes.
He should shower.
Jude hated not showering after exercising, and usually, he wouldn't have even thought about sitting on his couch until he had thoroughly rinsed off.
He smelled bad, and he was probably ruining the cushions.
He should replace them.
The sofa would need to be reupholstered.
He should also claw out his eyes.
He should take a shower.
He should call his coach back, delete Wave, and check his emails for anything urgent.
They had a game tomorrow.
He had to get ready.
Someone knocked on his door.
He flinched.
He tried to bury himself in the corner of his couch.
Jude, buddy?
I need you to open up.
I'm fucking so—I'm so sorry, but I need you to open up."
It's Molly and Travis, okay?
Just us.
We need to check on you, make sure you're alright?"