It’s been a grueling month, but I think I’ve made my way through it intact. I’m still ignoring social media and television. I’ve refused to read through the many death threats and hate speech that has been directed toward me. Clarissa’s been over several times and assures me that most of the backlash has died down. Though Anne has told me I’m better off staying away for another couple of weeks. For the time being, I’ve been lazing about my couch, binging on chips, chocolate, and downing unhealthy portions of a Canadian cider. Clarissa picked up several cases of it when she went for a short trip to Toronto. I bought a few of her cases. I’ll be disappointed when it’s gone. But I know it’ll be for the best. I need to get off my ass and find another job.

It’s difficult to let go emotionally. Though I haven’t been keeping in contact with fans—Anne has put up only two messages since the video went viral—I can’t stop myself from watching the games. Mostly the Blazers. I can’t stay away from Brett. Watching his games, I’m not hoping the worst for him. My heart is not over him. It’s pathetic, but I’m still rooting for him. I’m an idiot for having feelings for someone that would be so cruel. I often fantasize that maybe it was a big misunderstanding. But there was no misunderstanding the fact that Izzy was in his apartment on New Year’s Eve. He had never confessed to me that he had dated Izzy, either. Though he had plenty of opportunities.

Despite all the flack Brock has been getting, his games have continued to wow crowds. It amazes me. He has kept his focus and has had play after play that turn games into the Blazers’ favor. I’m aching to see him in an interview, but there has been nothing. Not since New Year’s. I imagine that the coaches and owners have told him to lie low for a while.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Delivery for Miss Driver!” a voice yells.

“Leave it by the door,” I call back.

Typically, I’d talk to my doorman, but after my cooch went viral, it’s kind of awkward. I take another swig of my cider and go to the door. I look out the peephole. No one is there. I take a deep breath and begin to unlock all the mechanisms. I’ve been paranoid that some paparazzo is standing there. Though they haven’t been around the apartment in weeks.

I turn the knob and slowly open the door and look down. There’s a card and some flowers. Brett. He’s done this several times in the past few weeks. The first time, I chucked them. This time he’s sent orange dahlias. The time before it was sunflowers, and before that it was gerber daisies. Then it hits me. These are all the flowers that are in Dana’s garden in the spring. He told me that the day we went out snowmobiling.

Is he hoping I come back home with him in the Spring? Ugh. I couldn’t imagine seeing Dana and Elena now. I lean down and pick up the flowers and notice a container next to it. I bring them into the apartment and set them down on the counter, kicking the door shut with my foot. I glance back up at the television across the room. The fans are roaring. I see Brett clapping and jumping in the end zone. Another touchdown.

I open the container. Inside I find some shortbread cookies in the shape of footballs. My heart softens. Did he make these? I read the note laying on top of them.

I look down at the footballs covered in brown flood icing with little white laces. They aren’t perfect, but there are few mistakes. His hand is much steadier than mine. I take a bite. So sweet.

“Another victory dance for ‘Brock the Rock,’” says the announcer. “After the interview he had with Jimmy Schnell this morning, one has to wonder if Lexi Driver is watching.”

I scrunch my face. Brock had an interview with Jimmy Schnell this morning? But he hasn’t had a television interview in weeks.

I run over to my coffee table and pick up my phone. I need to find out for myself. I’m about to search Brett’s name on the Internet when I see there are several texts; I must have been out of the room when I got them. There are two from Anne and several from Clarissa. Anne wrote me six hours ago.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

“Uh … Who is it?” I feel guilty that I hadn’t kept an eye on my phone.

“It’s me! Clarissa!”

I glance down at my clothes. I’m still in my pajamas. Ugh, Lexi! I press my hands to my cheeks. Despite my appearance, I walk over to the door and open it, “Huh, hey, sorry for answering the door like this.”

“Like what?” Clarissa waltzes in, ignoring my pajamas. It’s then that I notice that she’s still in her pajamas, too. Except her pajamas have a few splatters of paint on them. I hold my fist to my mouth, trying to hide my smile.

She looks over to the counter. “Ah! So, lover boy has sent over some flowers. Ohh! And cookies.” She takes a huge bite into a football cookie. “Mmm. Not bad, Rock.” She looks over to the flowers, “Hey Lexi, you haven’t opened the card. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t want to hear his excuses.” I fold my arms across my chest. “He forgot his phone. Whatever. Izzy Avery was still at his apartment that night.”

“Fine,” Clarissa mumbles, her mouth full of shortbread. She tears through the envelope and something drops out of the card and onto the floor. Whatever it is, it looks fancy. Clarissa stares down at the floor, her eyes wide. “Box seats. TO THE SUPER BOWL! YES!”

I look down at the tickets from the corner of my eye. Seats for the game were sold out months ago. I can’t imagine the price Brett must have paid to get his hands on them. I bend down to the floor and pick them up. The seats he has given me are in the owner’s box. “What the hell happened on Jimmy Schnell this morning?” I ask dumbfounded.

Clarissa turns off the television and sets up the recording on her phone. She gives me a look as she lowers herself onto my couch. “You’ve been watching the games lately, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Haven’t you noticed that Brett isn’t giving interviews?” she asks incredulously.

I sit next to her. “Well, yeah. I thought with everything that had happened the team’s owners and coaches wouldn’t want him to do interviews. You know, in case one of the journalists asks an insensitive question.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption.” She hits the play button on her phone.

“All right! Before we went to an annoying commercial break, I announced that I am the luckiest man in New York! Or perhaps the world. I have the ever so dashing Brett Brock here with me.”

“Hello, Jimmy,” Brett says in a shy kind of tone.

“You know, Brett, I have a painting of your cock hanging over my bed,” Jimmy says. I roll my eyes in disgust.

“Yeah, I saw you buy the piece at Clarissa Montag’s art show,” Brett responds drily.

“Hey, it’s funny,” Jimmy says, “I’ve been telling everyone I painted it myself.”

“No, actually, Jimmy, it’s not funny. I don’t like to think about what may be happening underneath that painting.”

“Probably don’t!” Jimmy snorts. “But we aren’t here to discuss the painting or my many friends I’ve shown it to. Or the many friends I’ve made showing the painting. We are here to discuss why we haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Clarissa starts laughing, “Jimmy can be creepy, but he’s hilarious.”

“Yes, that is why I’m here,” Brett says. “People have been seeing plenty of me online, but not much of me on television.”

“Hee, hee, yes. Lots of you online. Have you watched your dirty video?”

“I know what’s on the video,” says Brett. “But I’ve never watched it online. I don’t care to see people’s comments. But I know Lexi has taken a lot of heat for this.”

“Yes, she has,” says Jimmy. “Everyone has been making comments about her body. Plenty of men writing the most derogatory things. There’s been a lot of shaming and judgement. But she didn’t post it, nor did you?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t dream of posting that kind of thing online,” says Brett. “This was not revenge porn as I know many people have been viewing it. I did not give the film to anyone. I don’t blame Lexi Driver for the fact that my penis was on air earlier this year either. I’d like to be very clear on that as well. Lexi had no control of the camera. Her camera guy randomly followed her eyes and moved it in the direction of her vision.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. “She wouldn’t have control over what her camera guy does, would she? Anyway, isn’t there a rule for the cameras in the locker room, Brett?”

“They aren’t supposed to suddenly move their cameras like that in the locker room. I can’t believe the guy didn’t get fired.”

“Finally,” I say, grateful. “People will recognize that it wasn’t my fault.”

“But, then comes the question.” Jimmy continues, “How exactly did these videos come into the hands of someone else?”

“Earlier in the year, we played in Chicago,” Brett explains. “At some point after the game, I lost my phone. But now I’m beginning to wonder if it was stolen.”

“Why’s that?” asks Jimmy, intrigued.

“Well, I recall seeing my phone before the game. I had used it to text my agent. Afterward, Lexi and I spent a night on the town, but I can’t recall using it while I was with Lexi. I think someone may have taken it during interviews in the locker room. I would have been distracted while giving my interview, or possibly misplaced it then, so I wouldn’t see someone sneaking off with it.”

“You don’t think it was one of your teammates, Brett?” asks Jimmy apprehensive.

“Absolutely not. They’ve all been very supportive through all this. They want to go to Super Bowl as badly as I do. They aren’t going to ruin their chances by pulling that kind of stunt.”

“But then who does he think did it?” I ask. Clarissa reaches out and puts her hand on my arm and her finger over her lips.

“Who do you think did it, Brett?” Jimmy asks.

“Someone that is trying to ruin Lexi Driver’s career.”

There’s a long silence, until Jimmy finally speaks up. “And who do you think it might be, Brett?”

“I don’t want to name names. Pointing fingers wouldn’t be fair. Especially if that person or persons were innocent. But I would love to get my hands on the locker room security cameras in Chicago.”

“Interesting,” says Jimmy. “You’re also here today to make an announcement?”

“Yes. I believe Lexi Driver is under some false impressions, too. She won’t speak to me now. But if she’s listening, I have something to say.” There’s a pause before he directly speaks to me, “Lexi, I know you ran into someone on New Year’s. Someone you didn’t expect to see. But don’t make assumptions. Seeing someone in my apartment hallway wouldn’t mean they were in my apartment.”

Jimmy chuckles, “So, in other words, you weren’t spending the night with another woman?”

“Yes, there was no other woman,” Brett says defensively. “I’d also like to add that I have no intentions of giving any interviews for the rest of the season—even if we make it to Super Bowl. I will only accept an interview with Lexi Driver.”

The airwaves are quiet again. Jimmy finally speaks up, “Wow. Lexi Driver, please come back to the entertainment world!”

“I’d also like to add that the other players on the team are in solidarity with me,” Brett says. “They have agreed that if we make it to Super Bowl, they won’t give any interviews for Media Week or post-game. It seems to us that Lexi has been fired. The Blazers don’t think Lexi should be punished for the meddling of another person.”

“That’s true,” says Jimmy. “I’m impressed with the Blazers on this one. But it’s true, isn’t it, America? Lexi Driver hasn’t done anything half of America hasn’t done. I think everyone listening should know something: if watching leaked videos that were released by a hacker, you are not a bystander, you’re as bad as the hacker. You have a choice people. You can choose to victimize innocent people by watching or downloading this trash, or you can forgo watching it and leave the victims with some dignity.”

I’ve never been crazy about Jimmy, but in a New York minute, my feelings for him have changed. Thank you, Jimmy.

“That said, it’s surprising that you’re here today, Brett. Today is a big day for the Blazers.”

“Yes, Jimmy. Today we find out if we are going to the Super Bowl!”

“Normally, you’d be practicing right now,” Jimmy comments. “So, thanks for stopping in to chat. All the Blazers’ fans will be clinging to their televisions today. Know that I’m rooting for you, Brett.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

The recording stops, and Clarissa picks up her phone. “So, what are you thinking, Lexi?”

“Well, I can’t deny I’m glad he did it. But I’m confused by what he said. Izzy was in his apartment. He’s acting as if I only crossed paths with her in the hallway. Hell, I even heard him talking to Izzy after she slammed the door in my face.”

Clarissa nods her head slowly, gazing at the tickets. “Uh huh. I noticed there are three tickets to the Super Bowl. I know it’s in Pennsylvania, but you’re still going, right?”

“Absolutely. I’m never going to get the opportunity to get seats like this again. You want to come?”

“Do you need to ask?”

“Question is, who’s playing?” I reach for the remote and turn the television back on. The Blazers are leading by twenty-four points and once again, Brett is slamming the football down in the end zone. The game is in its fourth quarter.

“I think we have a good idea,” Clarissa says impressed. “He must want an interview with Lexi Driver something fierce.”

As Clarissa continues to watch the game, I walk back to the kitchen, my face alit. I have an indescribable feeling within me. I’m excited and scared. It was brave of Brett to discuss with Jimmy—of all people—the humiliating videos. Brett sat down with someone he despises and shared himself candidly to save my reputation. He is also refusing interviews to help me keep my job. He’s gone out on a limb, in hopes of salvaging our relationship. On the other hand, while I believe he wants to be with me, he’s also lying. Izzy was in his apartment. In a teddy. I can’t pretend that didn’t happen.