This chapter didn't unfold quite the way I expected it to. Yay Ginny/Amelia friendship!
Ginny still doesn't know about Mike and Amelia's fling, but that could be added to the mix at a later date.
Ginny actually considers just…not showing up to the ballpark after she gets a hastily dashed-off text from Trevor telling her some trashy gossip site's finally released the pics. Despite her better judgement, Ginny snatches her laptop off her nightstand and pulls up the site to see for herself.
The first picture hits her like a fastball to the ribs and, for a moment, she gasps for breath as an invisible band squeezes around her chest. The faces of the couple lounging comfortably together in the rumpled hotel bed are hidden from the prying eyes of the camera—they're too busy kissing, hands roaming over one another's bodies under the sheets—and it wouldn't be quite so bad if Ginny's jersey wasn't slung over the foot of the bed with her name and number bared for all to see.
Tears prick at her eyes and her cheeks grow hot with shame. She remembers nearly everything about the night the pictures were taken, remembers how damn happy she was. Trevor'd had good game—he'd hit an RBI double and a triple and Ginny got to see it with her own eyes from the stands—and, afterwards, they went to a fancy Italian place well out of both their pay grades' to celebrate.
Now, the images of her own body, her love and happiness written over every inch of bare skin, is on display for everyone to see. There are people out there, somewhere, pouring over these pictures—pictures neither Ginny nor Trevor intended for anyone else to see—and laughing at her.
Ginny had thought she was done being a punchline.
She slams her laptop shut and throws it across the room. The crunch of aluminum and plastic is satisfying.
Ginny falls back in bed and presses her hands over her face. She can hear her cell phone buzzing on the nightstand beside her bed, but she ignores it. It's been going off non-stop all morning.
Then someone starts banging on her apartment door.
Ginny lowers her hands from her face and stares up at the ceiling. Who the hell let the media into the apartment building? she wonders.
Ginny pulls her comforter over her head and curls into a ball. If she ignores them long enough, they'll eventually get bored and move on to the next hot thing.
The banging, thankfully, stops.
"Ginny," a woman bellows, "it's me. Let me in."
Amelia. Oh, thank God.
Ginny throws her comforter aside and hops out of bed.
"I'm coming," Ginny calls out, before racing into the bathroom to throw cool water on her face and attempt to make herself a little more presentable.
After pulling her hair back in a hasty, lopsided ponytail, Ginny goes to let Amelia in.
Amelia swoops into Ginny's apartment and deposits a shiny leather briefcase on the sectional in Ginny's living room without a word. She watches warily as Amelia slips out of her jacket, tosses it over the briefcase, and marches back over to Ginny. Amelia rolls up the sleeves of her dress shirt like she's ready to get in there and get her hands dirty.
"How are you doing?" Amelia asks, reaching out and giving Ginny's hand a squeeze.
"Pretty shittily. You?" Ginny asks, pulling her hand free to wipe at her sore, aching eyes.
The simple, comforting act—Amelia reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently—makes Ginny's eyes sting with a fresh wave of tears, but she isn't going to cry again. She's not. And she's sure as hell not going to cry in front of Amelia.
"We need to come up with a plan," Amelia says, putting her hands on her hips. "I've got Eliot tracing the hack—"
"He can do that?" Ginny asks, as she wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
"Apparently. I guess 'social media guru' is actually in his job description," Amelia says, heading back over to her briefcase. Amelia snaps it open and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. "I'm going to draft up a statement for you to read—"
"Oh no. No, no, no," Ginny exclaims, holding up her hands. "You're not making me face those jackals."
"Who, your teammates?" Amelia quips, tossing her silky blonde hair over her shoulders. She sits next to her jacket and briefcase and begins writing. "I'll stress that it was Trevor Davis who was hacked—illegally, I might add—and that your intimate relationship with him ended… It did end, right? You're not still…?"
"Fuck, no! It's over and done with," Ginny sighs, pressing her hands over her face. If a hole could open up in the floor under her feet and just swallow her up, that would be pretty grand.
"Okay," Amelia says, pen nib scratching across the paper as she writes. "I'm also going to throw in the specter of a lawsuit. It worked for Justin and Kate, so why not?"
"You sound awfully cheerful for an agent whose only client just had their nude selfies blasted all over the internet," Ginny says.
"Well," Amelia says, drawing the word out to impossible lengths. She lowers the pen and looks up, eyes shining.
Ginny's stomach sinks. "I'm not going to like whatever comes out of your mouth next, am I?"
"Kim K. turned a stolen sex tape into a multimillion dollar empire," Amelia says, shrugging and smiling sweetly.
Ginny sees right through the faux-innocent act though. "No way, Amelia. Whatever empire you think you're gonna build on these pics, you can just forget about it right the hell now."
"Just saying!" Amelia returns to writing out Ginny's official statement. "It was just a thought."
"Turning my nude pics into a multimillion dollar empire is definitely gonna endear me to the twenty-three guys I play with who still aren't quite sure what to make of me," Ginny mutters.
"Twenty-three?" Amelia asks idly.
"Mike's got my back, at least," Ginny says, going over and collapsing onto the sectional next to Amelia. She peers over her shoulder to see what she's writing. "I would never say that, by the way."
Amelia tuts at her and scribbles out the offending sentence. "I'm starting to see where Lawson's coming from."
"What's that mean?" Ginny asks, leaning back and picking a tattered copy of ESPN the Magazine up off the coffee table.
Amelia's head shoots up and she flashes Ginny a deer-in-headlights look, eyebrows nearly climbing off her forehead. "Oh, nothing. He's always complaining about how you shake him off whenever I'm in earshot," she says hastily.
Ginny isn't sure what to make of that response so she just rolls her eyes. "I think he's just trying to play up the grumpy old man shtick," she says, as she flips through the magazine.
"Right," Amelia says, laughing. She puts the pen down and examines her handiwork before ripping it from the pad. "Official statement, officially submitted for her highness' approval." She holds out the piece of paper to Ginny.
Ginny takes it from her and, as she starts to read, she can't help but let out an impressive whistle.
"That good, huh?" Amelia pretends to preen and Ginny can't help but laugh a little.
It feels a little strange to be laughing, especially when her career is possibly in the balance, but it's better than the alternative. And it helps Ginny to know Amelia's on her side. Things are still pretty fucking bad, but they don't seem nearly as awful knowing Amelia and Mike are fighting for her.