“I’m so sorry, Jack. I didn’t even think about who might be watching.” Her breath warmed my chest.
“It’s not your fault.” I planted a kiss on the top of her head. “We didn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff before.”
“I look like such a bitch in those pictures.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I tried to reassure her but ended up pissing her off instead.
She pushed away from my chest, squaring her shoulders to me as her breath quickened. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”
I leaned forward, cupping her cheek in my hand. “I’m just saying that people are going to think whatever they want to think, no matter what we look like in some online photo.”
Her eyes closed as her breathing evened out. “But I don’t want people to think you have some crazy mean girlfriend who yells at you after your games.”
“They won’t,” I told her. I couldn’t promise her that people wouldn’t think badly of her, but I’d do my fucking best to try. I’d fight the press for her. I’d do anything to keep her feeling safe, happy, and loved. She didn’t deserve to be vilified online for any reason. Hell, if the public knew anything about our relationship, they’d be hunting me down daily with pitchforks and chanting. “But you have to promise me something, Cass.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?” she pouted, looking up at me with those big green eyes.
“You can’t let them get to you. The press will write and post whatever they think will sell ads or get them attention. They say things all the time that aren’t true, and you just have to remember what is and what isn’t. OK?”
I’d experienced how rabid the press can get when it comes to players. I’d escaped the scrutiny somehow in regard to everything that happened between Chrystle and me. I always wondered if Marc had something to do with that, but I’d never asked him. I watched my teammates’ relationships crumble under the pressure and never once blamed them or their girlfriends for not being able to handle it. But I knew I couldn’t let that happen to Cassie and me. I’d make sure of it.
“Cass? Just try not to read anything if you can help it. Tell Melissa to filter what she sends you,” I suggested.
“Like only send me something if it’s good?” She shrugged.
“Yeah, Kitten.” I pressed my lips against her forehead. “Tell her to only send the good stuff.”
When Life Gives You Lemons
Cassie
Not wanting to wake up Jack, I grabbed my things for work as quietly as possible and headed out our front door. Once outside the apartment building, I rushed toward the subway station, noting the time. If I missed my train, I’d have to grab a cab. And grabbing a cab would take forever at this time of the morning.
I passed by a local newsstand as a headline caught my eye: “WELCOME TO THE BIG APPLE, JACK CARTER! GRAB A SEAT AND STAY AWHILE!” Jack had a love-hate relationship with the press. He told me once that the press only likes you when you’re winning. But the second you lose, you’re the first one they blame. It didn’t serve any purpose for him to read the things written about him by strangers, so he never did. He always said that he knew what he needed to improve upon, and he didn’t need it shoved down his throat by some reporter who had no idea what it was like to stand on that mound.
Plus, the bad articles really pissed him off, and he almost punched out a reporter once. One long-winded talk in the manager’s office with the media director present, and Jack vowed to never read any more press about the team again.
Even still, seeing this paper caused my heart to swell in size. His first win for the Mets was printed in black ink, and I wanted to cherish the memory, even if he didn’t. I figured since the article was positive, maybe Jack wouldn’t mind. So, I purchased one copy to read and another to keep.
I ran down the dank subway stairs, my papers clutched firmly in my hand as my train pulled in. The brakes squealed as it came to a complete stop before the doors opened. I hustled through the crowd and into the packed subway car. Not wanting to stand the whole way, I silently thanked God for the empty seat I spotted. Once sitting, I flipped open the paper to the sports section, immediately scanning the article on Jack. After skimming the highlights, I mistakenly decided to flip to the Entertainment & Arts section.
My pride-filled heart suddenly exploded inside my chest, and I almost choked on the air around me when I caught glimpse of a familiar photo. I stared at the larger-than-life picture of me pointing my finger at Jack, my face clearly twisted in anger. I looked furious as Jack simply stood there, dejection written all over his face. My eyes fell to the photo caption where my first name was posted as clear as day. “Mets new golden boy gets reamed by girlfriend Cassie off the field.”