“What did you do?” I asked as I burst into Lee’s office the following Monday morning. I didn’t bother to talk to Dylan or otherwise pretend that things were OK—because they were most definitely not OK. Lee had been lucky in that I hadn’t been able to see him until now—or unlucky in that I’d had the entire weekend to spend stewing and raging over what’d happened with Kile on Friday night at the university—but he was going to hear from me now, whether he wanted to or not.

“Jeff, what are you—” he started, holding a hand over the phone’s receiver that he held to his face, but I stepped up to the phone and smashed the button to end the call. His face contorted in anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! That was my boss!” he shouted but I didn’t care, not one iota. All that mattered was figuring out what the hell he’d done and why he’d done it.

“You can call him back later. Right now, you’ve got me to deal with,” I said and he stared at me, confused and upset. “You’ve got some explaining to do. Lots of it, in fact.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit!” I shouted, slamming a fist against his desk and making him jump. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play games with me, Lee. The time for that passed days ago. How long have you been having us followed?”

“You’re talking crazy, you need sleep, you—”

“All I need right now is for you to start giving me answers before I really lose my patience,” I said and finally, finally he let out a sigh and his face shifted to one that suggested he might be willing to work with me. “I caught Ross on Friday night recording us, recording a personal moment between Kile and me. You care to explain that?”

“He’s doing his job, Jeff. For Christ’s sake, you’re scaring me,” he said.

“Good. You should be scared. And he wasn’t doing his job, or at least not one I was aware he’d been hired to do,” I said. “As far as I knew, he was supposed to be filming interview segments of Kile and me.”

“And that’s exactly what he was doing. He probably thought that he was supposed to be taping the two of you talking, I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm or anything weird by it,” he said and I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Listening to him try to weasel his way out of this was pathetic.

“Then why was he so scared when I confronted him about it?”

“If you were acting with him anything like you are with me right now, I would’ve been terrified if I were him, too,” he said.

“You’re not answering my questions, Lee. That seems to be a pattern for you.”

“Jeff, listen, you’re not hearing me, I didn’t have anything to do with whatever the hell you think is going on here. Why would I do that? Why would I have you followed?”

“Because you’re a coward who’d do anything to make a buck,” I spat, and it felt so good to have finally said it. His eyes went wide and he scoffed. “So let’s cut the shit, shall we? I know you did it. Who else could’ve possibly known where we were and what we were doing? Who else could’ve tipped off the paparazzi?”

“It could’ve been anyone. The two of you aren’t exactly unrecognizable. Someone probably caught sight of you and phoned it in thinking it was weird you were together,” he said.

“You really can’t stop yourself, can you?” I asked, shaking my head. “I knew you were a liar and a schemer, but even I wouldn’t have guessed you’d go this far.”

“Jeff, listen to me, I didn’t do this. I swear to you. This project has been stressful enough for me, why would I want to create even more of a headache for myself by stirring the pot for you two? It doesn’t make sense, none of what you’re saying is making any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Creating drama is the name of the game with you, it always has been. It’s how you got to be where you are now,” I said. “I don’t know what your end game is, I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t have any hard and fast proof yet, but I promise you, if and when I find anything—anything at all—I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again,” I said and he laughed—he actually fucking laughed.

“With what clout? You’re a black sheep, Taylor. Even if I had anything to do with this—and I didn’t—you couldn’t do anything to me. Nothing,” he said, a smug smile appearing on his face.

“Don’t underestimate me. I know a lot of people.”

“So do I. Now get out of my office and get your shit together before I call security,” he said. I stood glaring at him for a minute, almost wishing he would call someone so I could have the pleasure of hanging up on them, too.

“Get out!” he shouted and I did. I should’ve been concerned, should’ve cared about how what I’d just done might look, but I couldn’t. There wasn’t any energy left in me to care about that.

“Dude, what the hell just went on in there?” Dylan asked, stirring me back to reality. I hadn’t even realized I’d walked to his desk, but there I was.

“I don’t even know. I think I might’ve just lost my job,” I said, though I didn’t really care.

“What? Why?”

“Threatening your boss doesn’t tend to go over very well for most people,” I said and Dylan’s eyes went wide.

“Dude, what? What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s Lee. He’s been behind all of this, it’s always been him. I can’t prove it, not yet, but I know it was him. He’s been having us followed, running his mouth to the press about what Kile and I have going on, and now there’s photos out there of us in some less than flattering light,” I said and Dylan let out a low whistle, eyeing Lee’s office over my shoulder.

“That’s a pretty serious accusation,” he said.

“I know. But it’s true. Who else could possibly have known what was going on and where we’d be? You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” I asked, my blood going cold at the question.

“What? No, of course not. Jeff, man, you’re being more than a little paranoid here. I told you you weren’t the kind of guy I’d ever want to cross and I meant it. I didn’t have anything at all to do with the Avery project. The only reason I even knew about it was because Lee co-opted me into being your glorified water boy when he hired you,” he said and I let out a sigh. I didn’t want to believe Dylan would’ve betrayed me like that, not after the things we’d talked about, and it was a relief to hear that he hadn’t. The look on his young, still naive face told me he was being honest. At least I’ve got one person here I can trust, I thought. Not like it matters anymore now, though.

“OK, I get why you’d be upset about all of this, but did something happen on Friday night?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the other thing. Ross was recording Kile and me talking backstage and I suspect he’s been recording us surreptitiously all along,” I laughed. What else could I do? It was absurd, all of it.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Yeah, holy shit indeed,” I agreed.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“There’s not much I can do. Honestly, I’d like to wring Lee’s neck and rat him out to every person who’ll listen, but I don’t have the proof.”

“How don’t you? You said Ross was recording the two of you on Friday, wouldn’t we have the footage of that?”

“No. I snapped the memory card in half,” I said and his eyes went wide again before he burst out laughing.

“Wow. Dude, I knew you were an intense kind of guy but I had no idea it went this far,” he said. Though at first I wanted to scold him for laughing, after I took a moment to think about it, I had to laugh along with him. I’d always had a bit of a temper, but snapping the memory card like that was above and beyond even for me.

“What about the premiere? It’s in like a week, isn’t it?”

“It’s this Saturday. Less than a week,” I corrected him.

“How are things with you and Avery? Does he know all of this?”

“He knew before I did,” I said.

“Shit. How did he find out?”

“Lee met with him. Told him he knew we were seeing each other and tried to blackmail him into agreeing to put our relationship into the show,” I said, my blood boiling again at the thought.

“Whoa,” he said.

“Yeah. We broke up Friday night,” I said, my voice shaking and he gave me a sad look.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry to hear it. Look, if there’s anything I can do, any way I can help, let me know,” he said.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said and I meant it. Now more than ever I felt like I was alone, adrift at sea with nothing save for my own dark thoughts to keep me company. It seemed like everywhere I turned I found something I didn’t want to see, some other piece of bad news. I was overloaded.

“Do you want to get out of here and talk or something? I’ve got an interview to do later but I’d happily cancel it for you,” he said.

“No, no. Don’t let my drama bring you down, it’s already done that to enough people,” I said. Before I realized what he was doing, he’d scribbled his phone number down on a scrap piece of paper.

“In case you need it,” he said as he held the paper out to me. I took it and pocketed it.

“I knew I liked you. You’re a good kid,” I said and he smirked.

“Not as good as you seem to think I am, but yeah, pretty good overall,” he said. “Seriously, though, don’t hesitate to call or text if you need someone to hang out with just to take your mind off of things. I know you’re not going to have much to do over the next few days while they’re finishing up the edits on the show,” he said.

“I will,” I said, though I didn’t intend to make good on it. More than anything else, all I wanted was to be alone, to watch shitty old movies, and drink lots of booze so I could try and forget all of what had happened.

Because it was all gone now, for sure. I’d already lost Kile, I’d certainly be losing this job any day now once Lee told whoever he needed to tell I’d stormed into his office and threatened him, and what was left of my career would be in ruins afterward.

“If he asks, which I doubt he will, tell Lee I’m stepping out for a while,” I said.

“OK. Will you be back later?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“Well, text me or something and let me know. I don’t really want to be the guy in the hot seat over this,” he said and I felt a pang of guilt for putting him in that position.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll let you know, but I probably won’t be coming back.”

“You say that like you won’t ever be coming back,” he said, and he sounded almost hurt by the realization.

“I might not. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I don’t really want to stay here. Not as long as Lee’s in charge and selling me and my relationships out for his own gain,” I said.

“What about the premiere? Are you going to be there for that?”

“I don’t really have a choice, as much as I’d prefer to avoid it. I can’t imagine it’s going to go well, not with the way things are between Kile and me right now.”

“Well, I’ll be there in the audience to help you along if you need it,” he said.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to kiss my ass,” I said and he laughed.

“No, I’m really not. I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“Friend?” I asked, surprised by his use of the word. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Dylan—far from it, actually—I’d just never really thought of us as anything more than coworkers who got along well. It wasn’t often that I made friends with kids half my age—but then again, it wasn’t often that I fell in love with them, either.

“Well, isn’t that what we are?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I admitted and he smiled.

“Alright, get out of here,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said and made to leave, but he called after me.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Take care of yourself, dude. I know this sucks and hurts like hell and all, but just… Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.

“Too late,” I answered and he gave me a sad smile before I stepped out of the office. I’d already made several stupid mistakes, so what could a few more hurt me now?

Outside, I started walking without really knowing where I was heading. I couldn’t stay at NewSpin and I didn’t want to go home where I’d no doubt shut down and start drinking before it was even 10 AM, but where else could I go? When I reached Dupont Circle, I stopped for a moment and took a look around me. Many of the shops, cafés, and the like were decorated with pink, paper hearts and cutesy Cupids.

It was almost Valentine’s Day. The realization made me sick.

The date had almost entirely slipped my mind, and the days had run together while I worked with Kile on this documentary mini-series, or whatever the hell Lee had decided it would be, and the thought made me wonder what exactly would become of the show, of Kile and his career, and what would become of mine, because people would almost certainly hear about the photos by the time the show premiered.

Several loud honks snapped me out of my head and when I looked around at the street behind me, I found a car full of people heading my direction. The windows were rolled down, which was highly unusual for this time of the year, and a lot of noise was spilling from out of the car.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you!” a young guy shouted from the driver’s seat as they approached. “You’re Jeff Taylor!” he continued. I tried to ignore him, tried to pretend like I hadn’t heard or that I was anyone else in the world, but there was no fooling the driver. His friends were shouting and jeering at me, flipping me off from their open windows.

“Fuck you, you lying piece of shit! It’s because of people like you that we’re stuck with the garbage media we have!” the driver shouted, and I froze. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” he shouted. Clearly, he and his friends had seen the District Inquirer.

Little did any of them know, I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed for being so foolish, for being so careless to let myself get involved with Kile in the first place and for keeping it going when all of the writing was on the wall that disaster was much more likely than not if I kept seeing him.

They tore off, still shouting and throwing up obscene gestures, and it took everything I had not to scream at the top of my lungs and melt into tears. How the hell had everything gone so fucking wrong and so quickly?

Because I was an idiot. Because I let my guard down and let Kile in, I thought as I power-walked down the street. People were staring at me, I felt their eyes on my back, burning through my clothes, and I didn’t want to see or face any of them. I didn’t want to look at myself right now, much less feel the scorn of millions of people I’d never met and never would, all of them judging me for something they didn’t understand and would never know the truth about.

I crashed through the front doors of the bookstore that Dylan had taken me to early on in my ill-fated career at NewSpin, and the barista looked up at me with a look of concern as he took in my disheveled appearance and wheezing breaths.

“Americano. Now,” I ordered and he nodded before getting to work making it. Minutes later, I’d sucked down the first half of the drink while I tried to catch my breath. I’d known this was coming, known it would be almost impossible to avoid, but I didn’t think it would hit so quickly.

I pulled my phone and the piece of paper Dylan had given me out of my pockets. I’d intended to text him, to tell him that maybe I did need him to cancel that interview, when at the top of my messages I saw the last one I’d exchanged with Kile, which sent me into a tailspin.

>> Me: Got it. Be there in fifteen.

In that moment, as I stared at that simple, mostly meaningless message, I wished more than anything else I could text him now, ask him how he was doing, what he was up to. Now, though, I wondered if I’d hear from him again. No matter what I said, no matter what I did, I doubted I’d ever be able to convince him that I hadn’t been working with Lee on his scummy plan. Though the evidence pointing in my direction was damning, I couldn’t understand how he could think that I’d really do that to him… how did he think that I’d faked it all, pulled at his heartstrings to try and mount some massive career comeback? I was as cynical as they came and even I wouldn’t have believed that story if someone had told me it had happened to them. Before I realized it, I’d typed out a message to him.

>> Me: I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but I really need to talk to you. I really need to fix this.

My finger hovered over the “send” button, trembling—though I wasn’t sure if it was from my nerves or the strong espresso I’d sucked down or some combination of the two—and I couldn’t bring myself to press it. Anything I could say at this point would likely only make things worse, dig me further into this grave I’d found myself in.

This is all Lee’s fault, I thought angrily as I let my phone fall to the table I’d sat down at. I was almost convinced he’d fire me after the show premiered and he didn’t need me anymore, but another part of me wondered how true that really was. Maybe instead he’d keep me around, using our bad blood as leverage to make me do whatever he wanted me to do.

Is this really what my life has devolved into? I wondered, my anger turning to sadness. Is NewSpin the rest of my life? Will anyone else have me? I asked myself, though I already knew the answer. If Lee or Wade or any of the other higher ups at NewSpin or NewsAmp decided to give me the axe, I knew I’d be toast. I’d never work in journalism again. There wouldn’t be any recovering from that—and that assumed my reputation ever recovered from the District Inquirer's spread on me and Kile. But even if I did somehow manage to keep myself and my career together, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep working in this industry, not if this was truly what it’d become. It was nothing like it was when I’d started out.

Face it, Jeff. It’s over, I thought with a sad smirk. It’s all over and I don’t have anyone to blame but myself for letting it happen, I thought, thinking of all of the opportunities the universe had given me to back out, to say no, and pre-empt all of this. But I didn’t do it. I gave in, and look what it got me.

Kile’s face, his warm, almost staged smile, stared up at me from his message thread on my phone. I couldn’t fix things with him any more than I could fix things with my career, but I had to try, so I deleted the message I’d tapped out before and started over.

>> Me: Kile, I’m sorry. For everything. I know you don’t want to see me, and I understand why, but please come to the premiere on Saturday. For both of our sakes.

I smashed the send button before I spent too much more time agonizing over the content of the message and kept my eyes locked on the screen, hoping against hope the “Delivered” text under my message would change to “Read.” After fifteen minutes, in which I drained the coffee cup, it still hadn’t and I knew it probably wouldn’t. Still, the fact it said “Delivered” meant he hadn’t blocked my number—not yet, anyway—so I had to take that as some small amount of hope that he’d make an appearance on Saturday. I needed to see him, needed to try and explain what I now knew to be true.

At this point, it was all I had left.