Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 10

LOLO'S POV

The blinding flash of cameras hits me as I step out of the coffee shop, the warm afternoon sun doing little to ease the sudden chill that races down my spine. I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, creating a flimsy barrier between me and the vultures that have suddenly descended upon my life. The city buzzes around me, but all I can focus on is the low hum of anxiety that's settled in the pit of my stomach—the sense that everything is about to unravel.

"Lolo! Over here! Are you and Brooks dating?"

I keep my head down, my pace quickening as I navigate the crowded sidewalk, but the questions keep coming, relentless and invasive.

"Lolo, what does your dad think about you and Brooks?"

"Is it true you've been seen together late at night?"

The words blur together, a cacophony of accusations and insinuations that pound against my skull, each one chipping away at the fragile sense of control I've been desperately trying to maintain. My heart races, my palms slick with sweat as I push through the throng of people, hoping, praying, that I can escape before they get what they're after—a reaction, a slip, something they can twist and exploit.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Brooks and I were supposed to be careful, to keep things low-key, but somewhere along the line, the lines blurred, and now it feels like we're standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering dangerously close to falling over.

"Lolo, are you and Brooks together?" The question cuts through the noise, sharper, more direct, and I finally glance up, my breath catching in my throat as I meet the reporter's gaze.

She's young, maybe in her mid-twenties, with bright red lipstick and a sharpness in her eyes that makes my skin crawl. She's not here for the truth—she's here for blood, for the story that will make her career, and I'm the unfortunate target.

"I'm not answering any questions," I say, my voice steady, though inside I'm a mess of nerves, the pressure of it all threatening to suffocate me.

"But the rumors, Lolo—are they true?"

I don't respond, don't give her satisfaction, but the silence only seems to fuel her determination.

"Does your dad know about the relationship? How does he feel about it?"

I swallow hard, the words catching in my throat. I can feel the eyes of passersby on me, their curiosity piqued by the spectacle unfolding before them, and it takes everything in me not to scream, to push these vultures away and run as far and as fast as I can.

But I can't. Running would only give them more to talk about, more to twist and distort until the truth is unrecognizable.

So I do the only thing I can—I keep walking, head down, my heart pounding in my chest as I finally reach the car. I slip inside, locking the doors behind me, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to breathe, releasing the breath I didn't even realize I was holding.

But the relief is short-lived. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I don't have to look to know who it is. There's only one person who would be calling me right now—only one person whose reaction I'm dreading more than anything else.

Dad.

The phone continues to buzz, the sound loud and insistent in the silence of the car, and I close my eyes, leaning back against the seat as I try to summon the courage to face whatever comes next.

This was bound to happen sooner or later, I remind myself. We were never going to be able to keep this under wraps forever. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier; it doesn't do anything to quell the rising tide of panic that's threatening to pull me under.