Molly:Because now SportsCenter did a bunch of digging—they know the truck out front was rented in Illinois, and now they’re speculating he’d been traded to the Chicago Steam. The story is blowing up.
Me:Because of one picture?
Molly:LOL it’s obviously a slow news day.
Me:Oh my God, he must hate me.
Molly:It’s NOT your fault. We told him to lay low and not leave the house, and what does he do?? Stands outside a house on JOCK ROW, in a COLLEGE TOWN, where his three superstar athlete brothers go to school only to be photographed by a few wannabe clout chasers.
Me:What do you mean?
Molly:The photo was in the IG story of some girl who lives next door or nearby or whatever. She deleted it, but someone had already screen grabbed it, and it wound up on TMZ.
Molly:I mean—there’s also a story that he’s dating a college student, but that story will be snuffed out as soon as the press conference starts. They’ll address all these rumors tonight.
Me:Oh…good.
There’s a huge lump in my throat, and I’m grateful that we’re texting and not talking because there’s not a chance in hell I’d be able to form actual words with my mouth.
Molly:Relax. And don’t worry about it—he didn’t leave on purpose. He had to. Honestly, it was inevitable that his cover would be blown. He’s like—a giant buffoon.
I take that personally, her calling him a giant buffoon.
I know him better now; he’s actually a terrific guy.
Kind, funny—really goofy but in a good-natured way.
A real catch.
My stomach churns, and I place my hand there to quell it, wishing I had a cold, carbonated soda to make it all go away.
The house is so quiet now.
There’s no hammering on the porch, no man in the hammock, no heavy stomping up and down the stairs. No Duke doing chin-ups in the upstairs guest bedroom.
He’s not rummaging through the fridge and making a mess.
Molly:You should be glad he’s gone, yeah?
Me:Yeah.
Molly:Posey. Are you okay???
Me:Sure.
Another heartbeat goes by; it’s not a long silence before my phone rings.
It’s her—calling like she normally does if she senses something is off, and I should have known to expect it.
“What’s wrong?” She pauses. “And don’t say nothing because I know it’s something.”
I nibble my bottom lip, debating. “It’s just strange with him gone,” I allow, at least giving her that.
“So? He’s been there, what—a week and a few days?”
I pace from one side of the kitchen to the next. “I know, but we became friends.”
“Uh, clearly.” My friend laughs through the phone line. “I took one look at that picture and went, “Uh-oh.”