Текст книги "Pucked Up "

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

My phone rings. It’s not Sunny; it’s Violet.

I don’t have a chance to say a word before she yells, “Why are your disfigured balls all over the Internet?”

I’m going to drown Randy in the lake when I find him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ALWAYS WITH THE OVERSHARE

I roll off my bunk and limp-run to the porch so I can get some privacy.

I go with the most logical reaction. Denial. “What are you talking about?”

“Your inflated balls are everywhere, clogging up my feeds.”

The next step is deflection. “How would you know it’s my balls, unless you’ve been looking at that naked spread I did a couple of years ago? It’s okay, Vi. You can tell me.” I never did a naked spread. I was asked; my agent thought it best not to go there.

“You’re the most disgusting person in the entire world, Buck. Seriously. I’m going to assume they’re yours because you were tagged. Plus the shrinky-dink seems about the right size for you.”

“My balls are swollen. It makes my dick look way smaller than it is.”

“So it is a picture of your dick!”

“I didn’t say that!” Shit. I hate it when Violet gets up to her trickery.

“Yes, you did!”

“Didn’t.”

“Di—I’m not playing this game with you. It’s your dick. I recognize the shorts. You wore them the last time I saw you, jerkface. What I want to know is how and why it ended up all over social media. You’re supposed to be at a camp, not flashing your balls all over the place. Plus there’s another picture of you in the same damn shorts with a Sunny look-a-like hanging off you. She’s been posting the picture everywhere, which wouldn’t be so bad if the one of your damn balls wasn’t right beside it. You better not be messing around on Sunny. Alex won’t have to kick your ass. I will!”

“Hold on.”

“Don’t tell me to hold on—”

I take the phone away from my ear. I can still hear her giving me shit as I type in a search of my name + dick. The first link is a medical site with the picture Randy took, along with the question. “What kind of spider bite causes this sort of swelling?”

After that is the group photo with me and my unfortunately swollen nuts. My balls are circled in red, and Sunny’s Doppelganger has reposted it, along with the ball pic. And she’s also posted one where she cropped everyone else out but the two of us and made it her damn profile picture. So much for her concern about me. It’s amazing how quickly pictures I don’t want circulating can go viral within the span of a couple hours.

There’s nothing I can do to stop this trainwreck now that it’s happened. I go to my own social media profiles to find I’ve been tagged by an insane number of people. There’s loads of bunny love offering to come take care of my balls for me, and wishing me a speedy recovery.

“It looks bad, doesn’t it?”

“Bad? It looks like you’re messing around on Sunny with someone who looks like Sunny! How am I supposed to help you when things like this keep showing up?”

I scrub a palm over my face. “This relationship is doomed to fail.” I explain what happened with the whole spider bite fiasco.

“Well, I see what you’re saying, but I still think maybe you’re right,” she mutters. “It’s doomed if you keep pulling stunts like this. I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.”

“Thanks a lot, Vi. You’re an awesome source of support.”

She sighs. “I love you, Buck, but sometimes you make it harder than it needs to be. Why aren’t you posting pictures of you with all the kids at the camp? You must have taken a million of them by this point. You always do. You need to jam your feed with something positive, not all this garbage about your balls being swollen.”

“It takes the altruism out of it if I post the pics of the camp.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not even a little. All those kids’ families sign a waiver for that purpose.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I read the emails Amber sends me. We’ve been over this before. I get that this is personal for you, but it doesn’t help anyone if you aren’t more vocal about all the good things you do. How do you expect to inspire other people if you keep it to yourself? All the positive things get shoved under the blanket of hockey hooker pics. Your life isn’t a frat party, but that’s the only version of you that people see. You’ve got all these great plans, but you’re not doing anything to promote your goals—unless your plan is to set up a hockey hooker support group.”

I stare up at the sky, a million stars winking at me. Violet has a point. Amber has been on me about this for a long time. She’s been asking me to be more of a spokesperson for the charities I support. I need to put some energy into following through. The offseason is a good time to get this ball rolling, and do something on my own. My end goal is to create a foundation so fundraisers for deserving kids and their families are ongoing.

“Okay, Vi. I hear what you’re saying. I’ll put a few posts up about the camp. I also have an idea where I want to start with a project I manage. I’m thinking a charity game might go over well, especially preseason. I’ll talk to Amber, and we can start planning when I get back to Chicago. And I’ll email Dad and get him in on it since he’s got so many contacts.”

“This sounds so much better than hockey hooker support. You need to do something that showcases your generosity beyond sharing your yeti love.”

I roll my eyes. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I really can’t. I should go.”

“Wait. I have another problem.”

“Not the kind that might make Alex try to break your dick off, I hope.”

“Pfft. Waters couldn’t break my dick off if he tried. It’s made of straight magic, like a unicorn horn. Except not sharp. And made of flesh instead of whatever mythical substance unicorn horns are made of. But it’s unbreakable.”

“Have you been smoking the greenery while you’ve been up there in Canada?”

“No. Why? Never mind. So you know how Sunny’s on that camping trip with stupid Bushman?”

“You mean Kale?”

“Yeah. I’m worried she may have forgotten about my superior snuggle skills, or how fun naked movie-watching was, because there are pictures of him all over her like a horny dog.”

“There’s so much about that sentence I don’t even want to think about. I don’t need an overshare right before bed.”

“Can we not debate what constitutes an overshare right now? I don’t know how pissed I should be.”

“Sorry. Okay, tell me about these pictures. She’s not naked is she? Alex will flip his lid.”

“He’s got his arm around her.”

“While she’s naked?”

Sometimes Violet is frustrating. “No.”

“Is he fondling her boob over her shirt?”

“No.”

“Under her shirt?”

“No.”

“So he’s trying to kiss her or something?” She sounds disgusted, which would make me feel justified in my anger, if that was the case.

“No.”

“He’s got his dick hanging out?”

“Jesus. No. He’s got his arm around her.”

“Oh. Well, what’s she doing?”

“Smiling. They’re both holding beers. She posted it recently. They’re at a bar.”

“There’s no inappropriate hand placement?”

“Fuck no. I’d be on my way there right now.”

“Hold up there, Ragey McRagerson. Think about what you’re saying. Some guy has his arm around her shoulder, and you’re considering driving eight million hours north into the middle of nowhere to do what? Yell at him? Yell at Sunny? Throw her over your shoulder and move to a cabin in the woods with no running water and an outhouse so you can keep her in a cage and take her for walks on a leash?”

“You’re making me sound like a caveman.”

“If the loincloth fits . . .”

“He’s her ex. They dated for four years, Vi. What if she gets drunk and decides his tiny dick is better than my above average, magical unicorn dick?”

“I think you need to stop worrying about your mythical man unit and focus on the real problem. You’ve made some mistakes with Sunny. She has legitimate reasons to be wary about getting into this relationship with you. It sucks. I know that. But you have lots of redeeming qualities. You’re awfully considerate and sweet when you’re not out whoring your dick. Which you haven’t been, but it still looks bad, and your reputation precedes you.”

“I can’t take back all the bunnies.”

“Nope, you can’t. Which means you have to work a lot harder than most to earn her trust.”

I contemplate that. “I get what you’re saying, but I don’t think it’s fair that I take all the heat on this. All those pictures since we’ve been dating haven’t been intentional.”

“Do you think these are?”

“What if she’s letting him take all these cozy pictures to get me back?

“You mean to make you jealous?”

“I guess. People do that sometimes, right?”

“Sometimes. I don’t see Sunny being vindictive about it, but you need to talk to her. Maybe it’s intentional, maybe it isn’t, but unless you have that conversation, all you’re doing is spinning your wheels, making up worst-case scenarios.”

Vi’s right. I exhale loudly into the phone. “Are relationships always this hard?”

“Not always. But the ones that are worth it are the ones you have to fight for.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

VIDEO KILLED THE BATHROOM STALL

I’m half a second away from calling Sunny when my phone rings. At first I think it’s Violet calling back with some final insult of the night, or parting words of wisdom—both are equally likely. But it’s Sunny, and she’s on a video call.

My first thought is phone sex. I don’t know why. I have no real privacy here. I’m kinda pissed at her, and we’ve never had it before. Also, my balls still hurt. I have a feeling it would be almost impossible to get a hard-on, let alone come.

I answer the call. The screen remains black for several seconds before Sunny’s tear-stained face appears.

My anger dissolves into worry. “Sunny? What’s wrong?” I try to assess her surroundings, but she’s holding the phone close to her face.

“You promised!” She’s drunk. I can tell by her slur and the heaviness of her eyes. I’ve seen Sunny tipsy a couple of times. She was cute and fun and touchy. That’s nothing like she is right now.

I can only assume she’s seen the pictures of my dick. “Sunny, baby. I can explain.”

“You can always explain! You’re so good at it. Why do you have to look so good? Why do you have to be so sexy and sweet and good at sex? You’re all I can think about and—and—and—” She breaks down in a fit of tears.

I can’t see her face anymore. I think I’m looking at her hair, but it’s hard to tell. Music gets loud and then quiet again. Voices in the background sound male. I wish I had my earbuds. Sunny’s a loud crier, and sound carries around here. Even with the buffer of forest surrounding the cabins, our private conversation is public.

“Sunny Sunshine, take a breath. It’s okay. I wish you would’ve called me or messaged this week, then you’d know you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“We didn’t have very good reception. Well, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have gone with the cheaper phone package. I mostly only had one bar. Sometimes I could see your texts, but I couldn’t reply. Lily’s reception wasn’t any better. I tried to use her phone, and there were all these pictures—” She hiccups.

“Let’s talk it out.”

She lifts her head and looks blearily at me. “Your penis is all over the Internet. It was supposed to be my penis.”

“It is yours, baby. I’m sorry about the picture. I got bit by a spider today. I didn’t know Randy was gonna put that picture up.”

“I don’t care if everyone sees your penis. It’s a nice penis. Except your balls looked really big. Like, not-right kinda big, which I guess is from the spider bite? It was the comments on your wall. I didn’t like them. I can’t—” She hiccups. “Did you know there’s a hooker bunny group dedicated to you?”

I sure do. I stumbled on it one day when I searched my own name. I created a fake account under the name Beaver Bunny and joined so I could see what they posted. There were a lot of selfies, many of them with me sleeping and the girl giving the thumbs up. Sometimes there were pictures of my junk hanging out. None of that is going to help make things better between me and Sunny.

“Baby, you don’t want to look at that stuff. You know how people like to skew things.” As for the comments on the picture of my balls, I can’t control bunny condolences.

Sunny sits up straighter and flips her hair over her shoulder. She twirls a thin braid between her fingers and rubs it over her lips. “I didn’t try to join the group. I know what you’re like. I know, and I still—” She sighs. “Lily and Benji are fighting a lot. I was going to sleep in the tent last night, but there’s bear poop around the site so I didn’t. I don’t think Kale is over me. Are you over me?”

I’m definitely worried about how drunk she is, based on her inability to stick with one train of thought. I’m also concerned about her location. I have a million questions, such as where the fuck is she sleeping if she’s not in the tent close to the bear poop, and what exactly has been going on with Patch McBushman for her to say he’s not over her. I’m back to being pissed, but I recognize that expressing my frustration is useless with her in this state.

I address the last question, because it’s the most important and likely the only one she remembers. “No, of course I’m not over you. Why would you think that?”

Her eyes drop along with her voice. “We had sex. I figured once you had the milk you’d throw away the cow.” She looks up again, tears sliding down her blotchy cheeks. “Why do you think I held out for so long?”

“You thought I wouldn’t want to see you anymore after we had sex?” This is definitely not a conversation I want to have on the phone.

“Well, yeah. You’re so good at the sex, and I’m not. I bet the hooker bunnies are good at it. I bet they give blow jobs. I should’ve given you a blow job. You’re amazing at sex. I already told you that didn’t I? I think I’m kinda drunk.” She blows her hair out of her face. When it doesn’t work she pushes it away with heavy, uncoordinated fingers. “If there was a Stanley Cup for orgasms, you’d definitely get it. I could make one for you in my pottery class. I miss you. I’m so mad at you. You promised no more bunny pictures and poof!” She snaps her fingers sloppily. “One magically appears. She looks like me. Do you think she’s prettier? She was wearing makeup. Should I wear makeup?”

Her honesty makes me feel ill. There’s so much about what she’s said that’s unsettling. This isn’t how I want things to be between us. I didn’t push for sex because I didn’t want her to think that was my only reason for being with her. I thought I’d made that clear. But again, she’s not in any condition to have that talk. “I think you’re gorgeous without makeup. And that wasn’t a bunny. It was one of the camp counselors. Sunny, baby, where are you? Where’s Lily?”

“I already told you, she’s fighting with Benji.” She shifts around, leaning against a wall. Words are written on it in marker, or scratched into the surface, exposing silver where there was paint before.

“Are you in a bathroom?”

She nods and sniffs. The sound of toilet paper being pulled from a roll follows. She brings the wad to her nose and blows. “It smells horrible in here.”

“I bet. Why don’t you go outside? It’ll smell way better and be quieter.”

She drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m hiding.”

“From who?”

“Kale. He tried to kiss me. He hasn’t brushed his teeth since we got here, I don’t think. Or maybe he has cavities. Anyway, his breath is bad. And his beard—I don’t like it. It’s not soft like yours was during playoffs. I like your beard. It feels nice on my nipples.” She strokes along her collarbone. She might be wearing a dress, but I can only see from her shoulders up. “I like you a lot, Miller. Everyone thinks I shouldn’t. Except Violet and my mom. She thinks you’re perfect and that you’ll take care me, but I can take care of me. Lily tells me I’m gonna get hurt, and maybe she’s right, but I don’t wanna listen because I want to be with you, but sometimes it’s so hard.”

Her candidness gives me a lot to process. There’s a quick burst of noise. Country music and male voices filter through the phone, along with a flush and the sound of water running.

“Sunny, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you in the men’s bathroom?”

“Uh-huh. No one will look for me here ’cause I have a cookie, not a penis.”

She’d be funny if I was there to take care of her. I’m angry at Lily for not being a better friend and Patch McBushman for making her feel like she needs to hide. “You need to get out of there, sweets.”

“I can’t. There are urinals. Men pee in rows. It’s weird—like cows feeding at a trough, but they’re peeing. They’re right outside the stall. I’ll see penises. Or is it peni? I don’t know what the plural is.” Her eyes are wide with drunken horror. “I only want to look at your penis.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. But the men’s bathroom isn’t a good place for you to be. Just cover your eyes and head for the door.”

She takes a couple of deep breaths.

“You can do it, Sunny. I’d come get you if I could. Camp’s done tomorrow. I’ll come as soon as the kids leave.”

“I don’t need you to save me, Miller. I’m self-succinct.”

I think she means self-sufficient, but she’s mixing up her words. “I know that. I’m just worried, and I don’t like that you’re upset. I want to be there to make it better.”

She licks her lips. “I like it when you make it better. Better always feels good.”

“I’ll make you feel really good when I see you, ’kay?” I hope it’s loud enough in the bathroom that no one else can hear our conversation.

“Okay. Maybe. First I want to be mad about the picture of you and that girl who looks like me.”

“That’s cool. You can be upset about that. We’ll talk about lots of stuff.” We both have things to be unhappy about. “You gonna get out of that bathroom, now?”

“Okay.” She nods, resolved. “I’m gonna put you in my bra.”

“I love being in your bra.”

“I know. Oh, wait. I’m not wearing a bra. Hmm. I’ll put you in my underwear.”

“Even better.”

She’s definitely wearing a dress. She stands and hikes it to her waist, shoving the phone down the front. It’s the closest I’ve been to her pussy in a week.

There’s a rattling sound, then Sunny panicking. I try to tell her to calm down, but since I’m in her underwear, she can’t hear me. All of a sudden there’s a loud slam. Deep voices issue shouts of surprise and a couple of whistles.

“Sunny? What are you doing in here?” I know that voice. It’s Patch McBushman.

There’s some fumbling and arguing. The music gets obnoxiously loud, then there’s crunching. Gravel, maybe. More muffled talking. All of a sudden it’s not dark anymore. Sunny’s phone drops out of her underwear and onto the floor of the trailer. I can see her legs and her panties. They have little flowers on them.

A hand covers the screen like a spider. It’s not Sunny’s face I’m met with afterwards. I almost gag; it’s Bushman.

I point at him. “I’m coming for you.”

He might smirk, but I can’t tell because his beard covers his mouth. “Come on, Sunny Bunny. Let’s get you into bed.”

“Don’t call me that! Hey, where’s my phone? Give me that.”

He ends the call before I can say another word. I try to call back, but I get voice mail.

It’s on. I’m gonna take that fucker and his stinky breath down.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DEFLATED

The next morning I get up early, partly because I can’t stop thinking about Sunny, and partly because my balls hurt, and I have to pee. I head to the bathroom, still hobbling, but not quite as bad as I was last night. I’m unhappy to see that my balls are still bigger than they should be when I free the lightning rod. The swelling hasn’t gone down the way I’d hoped it would overnight.

I stop by the medical clinic before breakfast. I’ll get another shot of antihistamine, participate in closing activities, and get my ass to Sunny.

I drop my drawers; Nurse Debbie’s expression remains neutral as she inspects the situation.

“Shouldn’t the swelling have gone down more than this?” I ask.

“It’s not the swelling that’s the issue. It’s the fluid.”

“Fluid?”

“Sometimes this happens, especially when there’s an allergic reaction to the bite. The site fills with fluid.”

“Like a blister?”

“That’s a reasonable comparison, yes.”

“Okay. So will it go down on its own?” I can’t be walking around with balls the size of grapefruits. And I have a long drive ahead of me. Sitting isn’t going to be comfortable like this. Most importantly, I need my parts to work again. Soon.

“Eventually, yes.”

“How long is eventually?”

“It could take a few days, maybe longer.”

“That’s no good. Isn’t there something we can do? Something you can give me?”

Nurse Debbie clears her throat and looks at her clipboard. “The antibiotics I gave you last night should help. There’s another option—”

I slap my thighs. “Well, what is it? Anything is better than having a giant nut sac.”

“I can drain the bite.”

“Drain it?”

She nods. “That will definitely alleviate swelling.”

“So you’d do that by . . .” I let the question hang. I have a feeling I already know the answer. There’s only one way to drain fluid.

“Using a needle.”

“Right. Okay.”

I run my hands up and down my thighs. My stomach feels like it’s hanging out in my toes. I’ve had stitches plenty of times without any freezing. I’ve watched the team doctor put a huge needle in a gaping wound on my arm, and it didn’t even faze me. But a needle in the balls is different. They’re attached to the center of my universe.

“My balls will go back to being their regular size?”

“It should help significantly.”

“I’ll be in working order sooner?”

“You should be if you take it easy and don’t overexert yourself. You’ll have to sit out today, and no strenuous activity for the next few days.”

“What’s considered strenuous?”

“Anything high impact. I’m also recommending that you wear briefs to reduce friction.”

“I’ll get briefs today.” I can make sex with Sunny low impact if I need to for a few days. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“If you’re sure.” She’s giving me an out.

I can’t take it now even if I want to. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll numb the site first.”

“Sounds good.” I’m not above making this more manageable.

Nurse Debbie gives me another one of those hospital gowns to change in to. It’s ironic that she gives me privacy for that, since she’ll be spending time with my nuts again shortly, but I put it on and sit back down. I have to keep my legs spread so I have enough room for my swollen parts. After the numbing, Nurse Debbie leaves me alone again while we wait for it to take effect.

Since there’s no one else around, I use the voice-to-text function to send Sunny a message. I honestly don’t know why people bother typing. This is so much easier.

How are you feeling this morning?

I flip through my emails while I wait for a response. It looks like Amber had access to the Internet yesterday. I have twelve new emails from her. Most of them are audio messages.

Nurse Debbie comes back with a covered tray. I stop checking messages and let her do her thing, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. I have no interest in seeing the needle she plans to use.

“Okay. There’s going to be a pinch, but I need you to stay as still as you can.”

I’m trying to stay relaxed. The “pinch” feels more like someone jabbed me in the balls with a hot poker.

When she’s done, she swabs the site and covers it with gauze and medical tape. That’s going to be a bitch to get off. I sit up and check out my package. It’s not as swollen. I get another shot of antihistamines, a straight shot of antibiotics, and a couple more painkillers. I’m still not allowed to play in the tournament this morning, which blows, but not as much as giant balls.

I slide off the bed and give walking a shot. My limp isn’t as pronounced anymore. Still, I’ll take Nurse Debbie’s advice and get myself some briefs.

After the clinic, I hit the mess hall. I can sit with the counselors, but sometimes it’s nice to hang out with the kids and shoot the shit. It’s still early, and they’re trickling in a few at a time. My buddy Michael sits at a table by himself, poking at his pancakes.

I gingerly sit beside him and ruffle his hair. “How you doing this morning?”

He gives me a halfhearted smile and lifts one shoulder. “All right.”

“You party it up last night?”

“We stayed up ’til midnight.” He gives me a cheeky grin.

“Hardcore. You tired today, then?”

“I’m okay.” He looks around, making sure no one else is near. “The medication they give me makes me feel sick. I didn’t want to have the treatment yesterday, but they said I had to, and now I can’t play today. I hate this.”

“I bet. That has to suck.”

He pushes his food around his plate. “It does. I never used to get sick, and now it’s like I’m always feeling crappy.”

“You gotta take care of the body first, though, right? So it can get better?” I cut into my short stack, which is actually seven pancakes layered with margarine and fake maple syrup. “I can’t play today, either.” I shove food in my mouth and chew. Now that my balls aren’t the size of my head, I’m hungry again.

“Why not?”

“I got a spider bite.”

His cheeks flush. “I wasn’t sure if it was a rumor.”

“I wish. I’m on coaching duty; you wanna be my junior coach today?”

His eyes light up like I’ve told him I’m buying him a Ferrari. “Seriously? Like f’reals?”

“Yeah, man. I’mma need some help. You in?”

“For sure.”

“Cool.” I take off my ball cap and put it on his head. It’s way too big, and I probably have the worst case of hathead ever, but I don’t care. I’ve got that warm feeling I get when I do something that makes someone else feel good. It’s a rush. I pull out my phone and snap a couple of pictures. “Is it okay if I post these?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

I put up one of the pictures and caption it: Stratigizing with my junor caoch over bfast. Team Butterson has it in the bag.

“How do you do in school?” I ask him.

“Good. I get mostly As. Except in music.”

“So you’re good with spelling?”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess I’m decent.”

“Cool.” I do something I’ve never done before, because it feels right. “You wanna check that over for me before I post. My spelling sucks.”

“Really?’

“Yup. I’m dyslexic.”

There’s no hesitation or judgment, which is the great thing about kids. He sits up straight. “One of my friends has that! He sees all this stuff backwards. It’s like it’s all mixed up and upside down, right?”

“Pretty much.” I pass him my phone. He checks it over, and we tag him, which is great. It means I can monitor his progress, and see what kind of financial need his family has.

***

Four hours later, I’m standing at the edge of the parking lot with Randy, giving autographs to parents, hugging kids, and taking pictures. I haven’t had a chance to give him shit over the balls picture, but we’ll be in the car soon enough.

The people from the local paper are here, just like Amber said. They interview me and Randy, as well as a few of the kids. Amber was right about them; they’re not like the usual reporters I deal with. Everything is way more relaxed up here.

Michael’s parents pick him up in an older van. It’s not a junker, but it’s definitely on its way out. His mom’s out of the car before it’s even in park. She embarrasses the shit out of Michael by hugging him and kissing his face while crying. She checks him over the way moms are supposed to, with a critical eye full of love.

When she’s done making him wish he could sink into the ground, she drags him over to me and Randy. Michael stuffs his hands in his pockets and mumbles an introduction. His mom cries even harder and hugs me, thanking me for giving him this opportunity.

They’re a great family, and they look like they’re managing, for now. I don’t know if that will change with Michael’s treatment. He’s a kid. He could need full-time care for months, which would mean someone staying home instead of working. I need to find out if that’s going to be an issue. I get their information so I can keep in touch. I know exactly how I want to move forward now with the fundraiser. If Vi and Amber want some positive media coverage, they’re gonna get it.

Once all the kids are gone, I throw my bags in the back of the rental and check my messages. I hope Sunny’s gotten back to me; otherwise it’s going to be a challenge finding her out in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, Canada. I have five new messages from her, all of them sent within the last hour.

The first one makes no sense:

Rsodfld fluck bod

The next one is super clear.

Don't come 2 Chapleau

It’s a kick in the already achy balls until I read on.

We r at Alexs cottage. Let me no when ur cuming

She links directions. The final message makes me wonder how much of last night’s conversation she remembers. I don’t need text-to-speech to get it.

Cnt wait 2cu

I don’t send a message back. I want to see her, but I’m still not happy about last night, or all the pictures this week. Her lack of communication might not be her fault, but the rest of it is up in the air.

They can’t have been there long since last night at midnight they were at a bar, and it’s only two in the afternoon. Looks like Waters’ cottage is only about a forty-five-minute drive from camp. I have to wait for Randy to finish consoling his girl of the week before we can go. She’s a puffy-eyed mess as he hugs her goodbye. She goes in for a kiss, but he pulls the forehead move. Oh yeah, he’s done with this one for sure. He has to pry her off him to get in the car.

Once we’re on the road, he lowers the window and heaves a sigh of relief.

“Made a bad choice with that one, huh?”

“I can’t even tell you. She was up for anything, though. Speaking of getting it up, how’re your balls?”

“Don’t you worry about my balls. Worry about your own. I hope the Internet stalking is worth the contortionist tricks.”

“I’ve already blocked her.” He’s not smiling, so I know it’s not a joke.

I shake my head and bite my tongue. I was as bad less than four months ago, so I can’t say anything.

“Thanks for posting the picture of my balls, by the way. I told you not to. It caused me an assload of problems with Sunny last night.”

“What? But your face wasn’t even in the picture. How could she know it was you?”

“Because you posted it using your own damn name.”

“Oh shit. But it could’ve been anyone’s balls. How did she trace them back to you?”

“It wasn’t just Sunny. Bunnies galore, which is the bigger problem. That other picture you took at the clinic went up on your feed. Sunny’s Doppelganger posted it every damn place, and my shorts are the same in both pics, obviously. That’s how Violet knew it was me, and everyone else too.”