Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
His silence is deafening.
“I don’t even know if I have a job anymore,” I say softly. “Because what happens when the algorithm forgets me? When the brand deals dry up? When all I am is internet fodder who dated a hockey player for views?”
He reaches for me, but I step back.
“I really need to sleep,” I whisper. “I’m tired and I have to be up early for school tomorrow. Can we talk later?”
His expression flickers—hurt, but he nods. “Yeah. We can.”
I turn away but he gently grabs my wrist, causing me to pause.
He looks absolutely crushed and my chest squeezes so hard, I think my heart might have cracked. “I’m sorry,” he says with a sigh.
“This isn’t your fault, Lucky.” Something flickers in his eyes. Hope? Relief? It’s quickly dashed when I pull my hand free and turn away once again. I walk slowly back to the house, shoulders heavy, throat tight.
I close the door and lock it. I don’t dare look out the window at Lucky. I can’t bear to see him standing there confused and hurt. I can’t bear to talk about this anymore.
I just want to go back to sleep, and maybe tomorrow I’ll feel strong enough to figure out how to feel safe again.
CHAPTER 33
Lucky
My condo is dark except for the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen and the soft glow from the city lights outside the window. I’ve been pacing for an hour. My phone’s been in and out of my hand a dozen times. The words I want to say are stacked up in my throat like they’re waiting for permission.
But I can’t start with her.
Not yet.
I sink into the corner of the couch and tap my mom’s name. It’s late, but she picks up halfway through the first ring.
“Lucky!”
I drag a hand down my face. “Hey, Ma. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“What’s wrong?” she demands. One would think that’s a mom just being intuitive, but she can hear the distress in my voice.
My jaw tightens. “It’s Winnie.”
A soft inhale of breath. “Tell me.”
“She’s… hurting. Not because of me exactly but because of the fallout from being with me. There’s a lot of hate online. A lot of bullying. She’s been trying to blow it off but today at school, someone vandalized her car… painted a nasty message.”
“Oh no,” my mom cries out softly. “Poor Winnie.”
I lean back, head hitting the cushion. “She told me she hasn’t posted in almost a week because she’s afraid of the backlash. People are using her content against her. Big influencers. Trolls. What’s worse, this is her livelihood. It’s not just something she can walk away from. She shouldn’t have to walk away from it.”
“Do you think she can recover?” my mom asks.
I rub at my jaw, try to flex the tension out of it. “I don’t know. She’s overwhelmed and I don’t know how to fix this. I thought I could protect her. I thought maybe if I kept showing up for her, it would be enough.”
“Sweetheart,” she says softly, “you’re not the problem.”
“I know,” I say wearily. “She said it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“You may not have caused this, but you can be the solution,” she muses.
“Please tell me you have a good idea.” I sit up straighter, because I’m all for fixing this for her. “She asked me to leave tonight. Said she was tired. She’s never done that before. And I get it. I do. But it still felt like someone slammed a door I wasn’t ready to see closed.”
“She’s tired because she’s carrying the weight of other people’s hate,” Ma says. “And probably blaming herself for not being able to carry it better. That’s what kind people do. They think it’s a failure when the world breaks them. But I’m sure this is temporary. She cares about you way too much to let you go.”
“Then what do I do?” I ask, voice quiet now. “Because I’m not about to let her drown in this.”
“You have something they don’t, Matty. You have a voice people actually listen to. You want to help her? Be louder than the hate. Be the storm that drowns them out. Make it so no one forgets whose side you’re on.”
I blink in surprise, because… surely it can’t be that simple. I sit with that for a beat, my ma’s words anchoring me. A plan dawns. “I have a hell of a following on social media,” I muse.
Ma laughs gently. “Yes, you do.”
So simple.
But will it be enough?
“I love her, Ma,” I whisper, throat tight.
“I know,” she says. “So go tell the world.”
♦
I’m at the kitchen island, and even though it’s brightly lit, I set up a ring light. I rarely use it as I’m more of a spontaneous filmer, but this is too important not to look as good as possible.