Page 46 of Embracing the Beat
She lifts her shirt enough to reveal her stomach. “Does this look like I’m pregnant with his baby? With any baby?”
“Umm—”
“Just so we’re clear, Weston—” The emphasis on my full name has my balls shriveling up like I’m a kid in the middle of a lecture. “I slept with Fucker one time. One.” She holds up her index finger to demonstrate her point. “Almost a year ago. I had no idea I was being filmed. I had zero clue he was such an asshole, and the only reason I came forward to admit it was me in the video was because it was ruining the life of a person I now consider my best friend. You remember? The girl I was telling you about. The one I’m going to stay with. Mia.”
“Uhh—” All my words desert me as quickly as the anxiety dissipates.
She stomps off to the kitchen, and cupboard doors slam before the faucet whooshes on.
Apologize, you idiot!
My conscience has decided to rejoin my body after I kicked him out earlier. And he has some good advice. Like a man walking to his execution, I head for the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to see what I’m up against.
The anger I expected. The tears I didn’t.
“Mikey…” I start, but I’m unsure of how to continue.
“Go away.”
I don’t listen, not only stepping into the kitchen, but into her path when she tries to leave.
“I’m sorry.” My apology is a whisper when my anger was a scream. Putting more power into my voice, I try again. “I’m sorry. I heard something at school. Someone saw you, and they were talking about you and Tucker—wait, did you call him Fucker?”
She’s looking down, but I see the left side of her smile quirk up. “Nickname Mia’s husband gave him.”
I huff a laugh but keep going with my apology. “I’m really sorry.”
She shrugs. “Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.”
“It will be from me. I shouldn’t have put any stock into what I heard earlier.”
“Who did you hear it from?”
Her question has the tips of my ears flaming in embarrassment.
“I overheard two students talking and assumed the worst. And before you say it, I know better than to take anything a teenager says as gospel, but around you, about you, I’m finding it hard to use my head.”
There are too many emotions tied to her to be rational. Another sign I’m in big trouble.
“Do you want to know what really happened?” she asks, meeting my gaze head on.
I hate that her eyes are red and glassy, that her cheeks are still damp from tears I caused.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
She walks to the living room and sits on the couch, patting the cushion next to her. Once I’m seated, she hands me her phone with a video all cued up.
Michaela King delivers press conference after leaked sex tape.
The video takes forever to load. But finally, there she is, sitting at a table in a conference room, a paper trembling in her hand where it rests against the table.
“Good morning. You, ah, you may not know me, or maybe some of you do.” Her smile is self-deprecating. “I called you here to clear up the rumors that the woman in the video with Tucker Winston is Mia Maddox.”
Several questions get lobbed her way, but I hear one clearly.
“If not Mia, then who is it?”
