33.1
Adriano
It's been thirty-three days since the incident.
It's been thirty days since we were picked up in an unmarked SUV outside of training camp (because in the midst of all of this shit, training camp started) by armed agents in suits and taken out of town to a landing strip where the First Lady met us and told us to stand down.
"My daughter has been eviscerated in the media," she says frostily. "She has been torn apart. My husband's last term in office and his re-election campaign are now marred by this disgusting incident."
"Where is Georgina?" I demand. I don't give a shit about the president's re-election campaign or what the hell his last term in office is like.
"Georgina is going to rehab," the First Lady tells us. "It'll be announced tomorrow. This little dalliance she's had with the two of you is going to be written off as a byproduct of a nervous breakdown triggered by the stress of working on her father's campaign and running the foundation."
"What, are you kidnapping her?" scoffs Nathaniel. "This is ridiculous."
The First Lady raises her eyebrows. "Oh, I see. You think she's being held against her will? How quaint. I'd figured both of you were slightly more worldly than this."
"She wouldn't have chosen to go to rehab," I say.
She narrows her eyes. "Did you really think that the daughter of the President of the United States is going to continue an affair with two athletes?" She practically spits the word. "You didn't think this was ever going to work long-term, did you? Surely the two of you aren't that naïve. She was never going to choose you over her family– you do understand that, don't you? The First Daughter wasn't going to pick even one of you over her image and her family and her career and her country. She certainly wasn't going to choose both of you."
"We want to talk to her," Nathaniel growls.
"Oh, you want to talk to her?" The First Lady mocks him. "That would do wonders for her reputation, wouldn't it? If you care at all about her, you'll leave her in peace so that she can pull together the scraps of dignity she has left."
If we care at all about her, we'll leave her in peace…
The First Lady was right. Georgina was completely annihilated in the media– and we were not, even though we should have been right there in the same articles. Instead, we were written off as her unnamed lovers.
For the past month, Nathaniel and I have both been on edge, seething, barely speaking to each other. Nathaniel stomps through the house, angry and sullen and practically breathing fire. We've gotten in trouble for rough play at practices. Nathaniel got fined after he told a reporter to fuck off and walked out of an interview.
Mama Ashby called right after the campaign fundraiser. Word travels fast, even in West Bend. She wanted to know if Georgina was okay and said that the next time she saw us, she was going to slap us both upside the head. That was until we told her that Georgina's mother had convinced her to go to rehab, or that Georgina had chosen rehab (and her family and her image) over us. Bess insisted that didn't fit with the Georgina she met in West Bend, but who the hell knows? A few weeks ago, I would have thought the same thing. But Georgina is the daughter of the president.
My sister called a couple of weeks ago.
She had missed most of the news while she was traveling. Her first question was whether we were the guys with Georgina. She was more pissed off that we'd hidden the relationship from her than anything else.
"I'm not talking to my sister about who I'm screwing, Annie!"
"It's different when she's the daughter of the president!" she yells back over the phone. "I'm reading it in a tabloid right now!"
"The shit in the tabloids will stop soon enough if no one keeps feeding it.”
"You and Nathaniel were really with the First Daughter," she says in disbelief. "Like, the three of you. Together-together?"
I exhale heavily. "Fuck, Annie, I don't know anymore, okay?" I exclaim. "I thought we were. I thought she was with us."
"She was your girlfriend?" Annie asks, her tone softening.
"I thought so. But obviously I was wrong."
"So you and Nathaniel both like her? Do you love her?"
"I don't know, Annie," I groan. "Why the fuck are we even talking about this?"
"It's not a hard question, Adriano," she says. "I wasn't asking you how to split an atom. I was asking if you guys love her or not. It's yes or no."
"Fuck, Annie, yes, okay? I do. I'm pretty sure Nathaniel does, too. Does that make you happy? Your man-whore brother finally fell in love– with a girl he has to share– and she's chosen to go to rehab rather than publicly admit she's with him."
Annie is silent for a moment. "No, that doesn't make me happy, A-hole," she says. "And it obviously doesn't make you happy either. So why don’t you man up and do something about it– you and Nathaniel?"
"She's been taken off by the White House to fake rehab in hiding someplace, Annie," I say, my voice tired. "We have no idea where the hell she is and no one is giving us that information. Besides, even if we knew, it’s not like we could break in and force her to talk to us.”
"Well, then, get creative."
