Page 83 of Home Safe

“Kara! Talk me off the ledge. Or over the ledge. Should I be talked off the ledge or over the ledge in this scenario?” I ask, frantic.

“Off the ledge for sure,” Kara says. “This is not end-your-relationship level bad, okay?”

I cover my eyes with one hand but don’t answer.

“Acknowledge, Danae,” Kara says, louder. “You are not ending things with Griffin because of a little media attention.”

“Alittlemedia attention?!” I whisper yell. “There was an entire crowd of reportersoutside of my house. Asking questions about Jason. I’m not prepared to deal with that kind of thing! You’re my best friend—you know me!”

“Yes, I am your best friend, and that’s how I know that you are panic-spiraling about this right now. But if you abruptly make the decision to end things with Griffin in response to this situation, I also know that you will regret it forever. Because you love that man.”

I still at her words.You love that man.

“Am I right, or am I right?” Kara asks. “I already know I’m right, but you can still give me the satisfaction of saying that I’m right.”

“You might be right,” I quietly admit.

Kara sighs. “Close enough. What was it that Jason’s therapist told you about the animals? Calm down your dog brain and get your owl brain back, Danae. This is not real danger. I’ve got your back. All of us at school will have your and Jason’s backs. Reporters won’t get within five miles of the school building. I’m sure Griffin will figure out how to deal with this. Don’t do anything dumb because you’re afraid, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge.”

“You promise you’re off? I don’t need to call back in a few minutes for a second round of pep talks?” Kara asks.

Smiling at how well she knows me, I pause to thank my lucky stars that Kara and I wound up teaching at the same school. “I promise I’m off. I will calm down.”

Despite the assurances to Kara, my heart is in my throat, in my stomach, and pounding out of my chest all at once for the duration of the nine innings. Griffin is very obviously off his game—evidence that Samantha was able to get in touch with him. On the one hand, guilt over him playing badly due to my phone call gnaws at my stomach. On the other hand, panic and the utter loss of knowing what to do eat away at my mind, and it only seems fair that he would be plunged into the same turmoil.

By some unknown mercy, no mention of the photo or news about our relationship is made by the announcers of the game. The Crowns end spring training with 4–2 loss, due in part to an error made by Griffin. As the game ends and smiling players from the winning team are interviewed, the gnawing guilt starts to win out over the panic.

I should have waited until after the game to tell him. I shouldn’t have ruined his game. What kind of girlfriend am I? Will Griffin even want to be with me after today? Is this the wake-up call for him that being in a relationship with me is only going to hinder his career? Surely, he’ll realize that it was a mistake to think that a guy like him could be with a girl like me. With all my baggage, I am not an easy person to be with. What was I thinking, believing that we could do this? How could I think I could handle this kind of attention? This was a ridiculous mistake. I never should have let myself get close to him when Iknewthat something like this could happen.

I’m seconds away from a trip to the bathroom to revisit the Biscoff cookies I ate on the plane when Griffin’s face suddenly fills the TV screen, standing next to the sideline reporter.

“Griffin, can you tell us anything about why today’s game was such a struggle?” the reporter asks.

“Not every game is going to go our way, and it’s normal for players to have off days. But I’d like to address some media attention that broke this morning regarding my personal life,” he says. He shifts his eyes from talking to the reporter to speaking directly to the screen. My lungs freeze in place.

“News outlets have been spreading a photo of me and my girlfriend watching the Baltimore game yesterday, where I was supporting my college buddy, Lawrence Rogers,” Griff says. “While I will confirm thatI am in a serious relationship, I’d like to ask for privacy at this time. This is especially an appeal to all the Crowns fans in Kansas City—the greatest fan base in the country—to please respect our privacy until we choose to share more openly about our relationship. While I’ve chosen this public life as a professional athlete, Danae is a private citizen with a need for confidentiality regarding her personal life right now. She means a lot to me, and I won’t stand for her getting dragged into a media circus. Please show her respect by not invading her privacy or disrupting her daily life.”

The reporter asks a couple of follow-up questions, but my ears tune everything out as Griffin’s statement loops through my thoughts.

My girlfriend.

Serious relationship.

She means a lot to me.

Show her respect.

Standing abruptly, I turn off the TV and pace the room. I clench my phone as though I’ll miss the call I’m sure is coming if I lose physical contact with the device. When a video call request pops up, tears immediately fill my eyes as I answer it.

“Babe, please don’t end things. Please don’t leave me over this,” Griffin says, eyes full of anguish. His hair is a mess, and his hand aggressively rubs over his beard as he stares at the screen. “I’m so sorry, Danae. I wouldn’t have taken us to that game if I would have known this would happen. It was dumb. I should have thought about the possibility and not pushed you to go. We should have stayed in the privacy of the condo. This is all my fault, but please,pleasedon’t let this be the end.”

Warmth trickles down my cheeks as the tears spill over, coating my lips with salt.

“Please spell out the thought factory for me. I’m dying over here,” Griffin says, leaning his forehead against his palm. “I’d pay every cent I have, or ever will have, for someone to give me a teleportation device so I could be there wiping those tears away right now. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

Wiping my cheeks with one hand, I lean against the wall and slowly slide down to sit on the floor. Propping the hand holding the phoneagainst one knee, I blow out a long exhale. “We’re not over,” I say, and Griffin lets out a similar exhale. “I mean, there were definitely some moments when the ‘this is over’ column had significantly more bullet points in it. But everything you said in your interview tipped the scale back the other way.”

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