Page 11 of Not Falling for the Forward
“You know what I have just thought!” I almost shout, delight filling me at my new idea.
“What?” They both ask together.
“Me and Jess are single at the same time! For the first time in years!” I yell, sitting up on my knees. Jess grins through the screen as Dan rolls his eyes. “I have someone to get over and if I remember rightly, Jess used to pull everyone forus,” I say. “Do you still have game?”
“I like to think so!” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, making us all laugh.
“I feel like this needs to be a girls’ night. But enjoy!” Dan grins.
“Let get Em laid!!” Jess squeals.
I burst out laughing at Dans disgusted expression at the thought of me having sex with a random guy. We spend the rest of the conversation planning the night out, and I forget all about Jack Cartwright.
***
Jack
I fucking hate today.
“So, Jack, we’ll do a few recorded questions for the online videos, then we’ll just chat, and I’ll pick stuff up for the article. Sound good?” I nod at the producer in front of me, not really seeing them, as a mic is strapped to my shirt.
Beth, the interviewer, is sat to my right. She has dressed up today in a dark suit and her hair and makeup have been done professionally, all for the camera staring at us. I have interviewed with Beth a few times and the normal casual appearance and demeanour of the woman somewhere in her fifties has always made me feel comfortable. Today, however, is less casual. It is one of the days they are filming for their new app, and due to my relationship with the magazine, I have been asked to come and help it launch.
It is essentially a gossip magazine, turning app, that is well known for writing utter lies about people; it has about me in the past. My manager set up a deal with them where I keep them sweet by doing afew interviews and giving them first dibs on anything going on in my life, and in return they don’t make things up about me. Seems unfair but it has worked; over the past few years, this particular magazine has only published nice things about me. It doesn’t stop the other arseholes from spouting rubbish, though. But it’s nice to have some good press.
The stage lights turn on in front of me and I have to blink away the temporary blindness they cause. It takes a few more minutes of people faffing with myself and Beth, making sure there are no shadows or that my forehead isn’t too shiny—thank you powdered make-up thing—then Beth kicks off the interview. “I’m joined here today by heartthrob, Jack Cartwright. You have been sending us your questions over the past week and now, when you sign up to our app, you will get all your answers.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at the obvious plug.
“So, Jack, this one is from Kirsty; she wants to know if you’re still single.”
A nice easy one to start with, I put on my most flirtatious grin to the camera as I answer, “Yes, I am.” The questions continue with a few of ‘is it true I went on a date with this model’ and ‘ is it true that a specific socialite’s dad kicked me off their yacht last year’. The answers are both yes, but I don’t confirm either of the rumours because they’re not just my stories to tell.
I am hit with a round of quick fire one answer questions, favourite hair colour on a woman: Brunette. Eye colour: Green. Boobs or bum: Both. It doesn’t pass my attention that I am basically describing a certain brunette, green-eyed, curves in the right places, first aider that blew me off last week.
“So, it’s the four-year anniversary of your accident. How have you found adapting to a new team and a new level of playing?”
My breath catches as if all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. My chest tightens and my heart simultaneously stops and races. “I…” my voice catches and I have to clear my throat to try again. I clench my fists tightly then open them up again, slowly to try and stop the tremors. I feel a bead of sweat tickle its way down my spine until it soaks into the band of my underwear.
Why has she brought this up? I need to talk to my manager about the pre-approved subjects for my interviews. This is absolutely not on that list. Especially not today.
With a shaking hand, I open the top button of my shirt to relieve the sudden pressure of it strangling me. I clear my throat again as my eyes dance around the room, every eye is on me. Staring. Waiting for my answer.
I can’t. Fucking. Breathe.
When did it get so hot in here? These fucking lights are torching me. I raise an arm to block the glare from my eyes. “Jack…” Beth prompts and my gaze shoot to her concerned face. I need to get out of here.
“I need a minute.” I manage as I dive out of the chair and rip my microphone off, throwing it on the floor as I dash to my changing room. My heart is pounding out of my chest as I collapse on the small sofa. I manage to wrestle my phone out of my pocket and hit speed dial to Aimee.
“Hey, I thought you were doing interviews all day?” comes her voice from the other side.
“I. I. Can’t,” I say, trying to gulp down breaths between each word.
“Hey, Jack, it’s okay. Just breathe,” Aimee coaches on the other side of the line, knowing exactly what my panic attacks sound like, having witnessed plenty over the past few years. I haven’t had one for months. I am normally so much better at centring myself when I feel themcoming on. The past three years with my therapist have taught me how to regulate my feelings or how to remove myself from the situation before it escalates to this. But that question came out of nowhere.
It’s the day. It has to be.
We sit on the phone for the next few minutes—me unable to catch my breath, Aimee saying words of encouragement to calm me down. Finally, I feel my chest start to open and I am able to gulp in full breaths.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Aimee says again. “When you’re ready, do you want to talk about what triggered it?”
