Page 25 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 9
Lance
I fucking hate hospitals.
Nothing ever good ever happens in them. They stink of death and pain; hopelessness and loss.
My head is bent and cradled in my hands as I sit in the waiting area hoping for some news soon from Mica. She’s been in the emergency room with her mother and sister for the last two hours.
All I can do is sit and wait and hope everything turns out fine.
Once again, it’s all my fault. I’m no good to anyone. Everyone I care about gets hurt or dies.
It happened to my younger brother. It happened to my mother. I’ve been cursed since birth and have been told that by my no good, lousy father since the day I let my brother die. I’m a failure and should’ve been the one to die.
My thoughts are interrupted by a male voice.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Lance Britton?”
I’ve been so deep in thought that I haven’t paid any attention to the comings and goings of people in the hospital waiting room. When I look up, I see a guy wearing a button-down shirt and a vest with khakis. He’s holding a notepad and pen in his hand and there’s a guy with a camera in his hand behind him.
My brain goes on high alert but my mouth doesn’t pay any heed to the warning bells. So, I answer honestly.
“Yeah, I’m Lance.”
The guy sticks out his hand to introduce himself.
“I’m David Rodriguez from the Tribune. I was informed you saved a little boy from drowning today and I was hoping to get a few words from you.”
Ah fuck.
There is no way I want to draw any more attention to this situation than is necessary. I know Mica wouldn’t want it, nor would her family. And I certainly don’t want to be called out for anything since it was my fault it happened in the first place.
I pull out my phone and type a quick message to the team’s publicist, Jacquelin. Although this has nothing to do with basketball, it’s been pounded into our brains since the moment we started on the team that anything to do with the press we need to contact her immediately. So, I do.
After typing the quick 911 message to her, I meet the reporter’s eyes again.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything without first talking to my team’s PR rep. You understand,” I shrug.
David nods. “I get it. But either way, we’re going to be reporting about what a hero you were today with your quick actions. You saved a life. That’s not something we normally see a lot of from any of your other teammates.”
It’s a dig meant to discredit some of my former teammates, as well as friends. Most of the publicity individual players get outside of being great players, is the notoriety of their impulsive actions off the court. Like Cade’s run-in with the law a year ago. And another’s rape allegations. Or drug and alcohol offenses.
When I just stare mutely at him, he continues. “We’re going to run the story either way – with or without your direct comments. The witnesses at the lake were more than happy to share how heroic your quick actions were. You’re being touted as a Savior.”
Jesus, if only they knew how far from the truth that really is. I’m no fucking savior. I’m a monster. A murderer.
My phone rings and I turn my back to answer it.
I don’t even say hello as Jacquelyn just jumps right in with her power tripping and authoritative commands. “Britton, tell me everything that happened.”
I walk outside away from the noise and reporters, who I’m sure will remain there until I get back, and I recount the details to Jackie. She wants to know who Mica is. Why I was there with young children. Who they belong to. What my relationship is to them. And the last question…was I drinking or doing any drugs.
“What? No. Absolutely not. Jesus, Jackie.”
There’s a silent pause as I know she’s mentally clicking through her list of clients and the trouble they’ve been in before. But this is different. I’m not in trouble. It was an accident – even though I may have caused it when I drew Mica’s attention away with my jealous questions.
So yeah, it was my fault Alvie nearly drowned.
