8. Mandy

Every angry stab of pain that shot through my feet, my ankles, my calves, and my thighs reminded me that I was okay. I was alive, I was in control of myself, and I was not a puppet. I was not Jackson's little plaything that he could manipulate and force to do his bidding or spend time with him. I could handle this. I had to handle this.

"Daydreaming again?" Harry huffed from beside me, sweat building on his forehead as he tried to keep my pace. He'd done alright on the flat path, but now, as we ascended higher on the Shadow Canyon Trail, he was struggling with the uphill. I figured he also wasn't used to running on trails; he generally pounded cement or a treadmill.

"Maybe," I chuckled, slowing my speed to give him time to catch his breath. "All this shit with Jackson has just been eating away at my brain. I think I'm down to my final ten brain cells."

"Better make sure those ten brain cells are your interior decorating ones."

Harry's hand wrapping around my arm made my fight or flight response kick in for a fraction of a second before I realized he was asking me to stop running altogether. Every time he touched me I couldn't help but think that it was something more than just an innocent gesture. He'd always been there for me ever since my final year of university, always by my side, almost as close to me as Amanda. But that hadn't stopped him from trying to lay it on me at our graduation. Hadn't stopped me from reciprocating, either.

I'd told him time and time again during those early years that I was broken, that I wasn't relationship material, that I had my own troubles and heartbreak to deal with. I made it abundantly clear. He also knew what Jack had done to me. But there was still a part of me that thought there might be a chance he hadn't moved on from our one night spent together all those years ago, and he still had feelings for me even though our relationship was purely platonic now and had been for eight years.

"What's wrong?" I asked, turning on my heel as he leaned over himself, hands braced on his knees as he desperately sucked in breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he wheezed. "Can we turn back?"

"We're closer to the parking lot if we keep going from here." I pulled my hydration pack off my back and forced the spout into his mouth. He sucked greedily, taking in every drop of water he could and breathing heavily through his nose between swallows. "You sure you're okay? I can call for assistance?—"

"I'm fine, Mandy. Let's just take it slow the rest of the way back to the car." Slowly, he lifted himself back upright, his face red and dripping.

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure," he grinned, taking one big deep breath as he shook himself out then adding, "You should really start running more, seemed like you were struggling to keep up."

My eyes had never rolled so hard.

————

The whizz of the blender was like white noise in my head, clearing it for a few seconds as I watched the bits of fruit, yogurt, and spinach get smaller and smaller. Around and around it went, smearing against the edges, turning dusty pink in the jug.

"I think it's good, Mandy," Harry chuckled as he wiped the back of his neck with a sweat rag. He'd followed me back to my house after I'd offered him what he so dutifully called ‘running aftercare.'

Releasing the button on the blender, I watched as all the little particles slowed and stopped. I missed the noise already. "This is my secret recipe, you know," I joked, sending him a half smile as I poured out enough for both of us. "You can't ever tell a soul what you saw me put in here."

"Strawberries, spinach, yogurt, and apple juice. Really creative. Genius, if you ask me."

"Shut up," I chuckled. I leaned onto the white kitchen island, my exposed lower back drying from the cool air in the house and watched as Harry hopped up onto the bar stool. Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot about your date last week. How'd it go?"

He laughed as he sucked up the smoothie through a straw, wincing as he got a big chunk of spinach. "I was wondering when you'd remember. It's fine, you've had your own stress going on. It was good. We had a great time, she seemed super into me, but she, uh… she didn't return my calls after. Don't know what I did."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry." I reached across the island, grabbing his hand with mine and giving it a little squeeze.

"It's alright. I'm just a little sick and tired of every date I go on ending badly, you know? I'm starting to wonder if I'm some self-fulfilling prophecy now, ruining it before it even gets a chance to start." He squeezed my hand back, a little harder than I had, as he looked down at our overlapped fingers.

"Don't be silly. There's absolutely someone out there for you." My phone buzzed in the pocket of my leggings but I ignored it. "You're an incredible guy. You will find someone that matches your vibes and I promise, you'll be happy."

Harry mumbled something under his breath, too quiet for me to hear. I didn't press him on it. What he felt was his business and if he didn't want to share it, he didn't have to—I just wished I could make him feel better. I wished he didn'tdoubt that there was someone out there for him. I wanted him to be happy, and just because I was happy without a significant other didn't mean everyone else was.

He downed the rest of his smoothie before hopping off the bar stool.

"Bathroom still where it used to be?"

I chuckled. "Obviously."

I watched as he walked off down the hall, his legs still shaky from the run. My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and then again. It's not important. If it was, they'd call. Emptying our glasses into the sink and giving them a quick wash, I tried desperately once again to keep my mind off of Jackson and our argument, off of whatever the fuck his end goal was with all of this.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

"Seriously?" I grumbled, sliding my phone from my pocket and wiping the sweaty screen on a paper towel. My screen was lit up with Instagram notifications, from both my personal and professional accounts. Tags. Comments. Likes. Messages. "What the fuck…?"

I flipped open the notifications, navigating over to the tags. Picture after picture popped up, then video after video, all of the same scene—Jackson, sitting back in his chair with a smug but surprised look on his face. Me, standing up, leaning over him, angry. A direct shot from somewhere off to the side, both of us clearly in view. My hand shook as I read the captions.

Jackson Big's girlfriend rages at him.

Jackson Big's off the market?

In a shocking new video, Jackson Big's new girlfriend Miranda Littleson is already angry with him.

Jackson Big, America's once most eligible bachelor, might have deserved the lashing he received.

Jackson Big gets his ass handed to him by his new girlfriend.

The shaking moved from my hand throughout my body, tremors racking every inch of me as I clicked the little play button. "I don't know how I ever let myself love a man like you," I heard my voice shouting through the speaker of my phone, the clip playing twice before moving on to the next one, the exact same scene. Over and over.

It was past tense. They had to know it was past tense. Right?

I scrolled the comments, my eyes burning as I read them one by one—some supportive, some mean, some attacking my body, others attacking my hair, and some of them actually praising me for putting him in his place. This was bad, this was really bad.

My phone lit up again, my mom's face and her name, Gianna, filling the screen. A video call. It had to be about the news, there was no way she'd call me out of the blue like this. I declined the call.

Messages started pouring in, requests from reporters and shocked emojis from people I hadn't spoken to since high school. My phone was buzzing out of control, unable to keep up with all of it. My mind couldn't keep up with it either. How did he let this happen? Was this on purpose? What the fuck does he want with me?

"Mandy," Harry said, his voice filtering in from somewhere on my left. I could barely move, couldn't even open my mouth. Fight or flight had fully hit me now, and I'd done the one thing I always hoped I wouldn't, the secret third option—freeze up. "Mandy, what's going on?"

Shaking, furious, I turned my phone screen to him.

"What the…?" He snatched my phone from my hand, scrolling to a video and pressing play.

"I don't know how I ever let myself love a man like you," I heard myself say again. And again.

"Holy shit," he mumbled, scrolling.

My phone buzzed again in his hand, the screen lighting up with the same unknown number that had called me last week. I knew exactly who it was. I grabbed my phone back, swiped to answer it, and brought it shakily to my ear.

"Explain," I hissed. "Now."

A sigh from the other end.

"Jackson fucking Big, tell me what the hell is going on or so help me God?—"

"Calm down. It'll be fine. We'll fix this. I don't know how this happened or how this got out but we will figure it out, okay? I'm in Chicago right now but I'll be back tomorrow morning. Meet me at seven. I'll send you the location," he was rambling, his own voice shaken and surprised. I hated that it made me feel even an inch better about the situation.

"I don't want to see you," I lied.

"I get that. But we need to meet with my PR team, okay? First thing in the morning."

"I want it fixed now," I choked, my voice cracking. I could feel the tears building in the corners of my eyes. I didn't want to cry, not about this, not about him.

"I know. I know, princess, but it's getting late and there's nothing we can do about it tonight," he sighed. In the background, I could hear giggling and the clinking of glasses.

"Are you… are you celebrating this?" I snapped, sucking in a breath and holding it.

"No," he said quickly. "My sister just got engaged. I'm sorry. This is horrible timing."

It was too much. Far too much for me to deal with, too much for my already fragile heart when it came to him. "Okay," I whimpered. A warm hand met my shoulder, rubbing me softly, trying to calm me. "Tell Tiana congratulations. But you better fucking fix this."