Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 22

LOLO'S POV

I stumble into the office, the weight of the world settling heavily on my shoulders. The noise of the bustling newsroom is a constant reminder of the media frenzy that's consuming every aspect of my life. It feels like there's no escape from the prying eyes, no matter where I turn. The latest headlines scream about my personal life, blending into the cacophony of office chatter and relentless phone calls.

My assistant, Mia, shoots me a sympathetic look as I pass her desk. She's been trying to shield me from the worst of it, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. The paparazzi seem to have a sixth sense for trouble, appearing at every turn, snapping photos and hurling questions that only add to my stress.

"Lolo, we need to talk about the media situation," Mia says as I settle into my desk, her tone tinged with concern. "The press is getting more aggressive. I've had to turn away a few reporters already this morning."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I know. I've been trying to keep a low profile, but it's like they're following me everywhere."

She nods. "It's not just you. Brooks is getting hit hard too. I saw a few photographers hanging around his training facility earlier."

I groan, frustration bubbling up inside me. "It's impossible to focus on anything with all this going on. I need to get some work done, but it feels like I'm constantly on edge."

Mia gives me a reassuring smile. "Let me handle the calls and messages. I'll do what I can to keep the worst of it away from you."

I appreciate her offer, but it doesn't ease the knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. The constant scrutiny is wearing me down, making every interaction feel like a potential headline. I can't escape the sense of being trapped in a media circus, where every move is monitored and analyzed.

As I try to focus on the stack of reports in front of me, my phone buzzes with a new notification. It's a text from Brooks, and my heart leaps at the thought of hearing from him.

Brooks: Saw the latest. We need to talk.

I quickly type back, trying to keep my response light despite the worry gnawing at me.

Lolo: Saw it too. Can we meet up later? I could really use a break from all this.

His reply comes almost instantly.

Brooks: Definitely. I'll call you when I get out of practice.

I put my phone down, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. I know that seeing Brooks will be a welcome escape from the relentless media intrusion, but I also worry about how this situation is affecting him. The pressure we're both under is starting to take its toll, and I fear that it might push us further apart.

As the day drags on, the pressure mounts. I'm interrupted by a constant stream of calls from reporters, each more invasive than the last. I try to stay calm and professional, but it's clear that the situation is spiraling out of control.

When the workday finally ends, I head to the café, where Brooks and I often meet. It's supposed to be our safe haven, but today it feels like just another arena for the media to invade. I spot Brooks at a corner table, looking as tired and strained as I feel.

"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from him. "Thanks for meeting me."

He gives me a weary smile. "Of course. I've been dealing with my own share of media nonsense today. It's getting out of hand."

I nod, trying to suppress a shiver of anxiety. "It feels like we're living in a fishbowl. Every time I step outside, there's a camera in my face."

Brooks leans forward, his eyes searching mine. "I'm worried about you. The constant scrutiny is taking a toll on both of us. How are you holding up?"

I look away, struggling to find the right words. "I'm managing, but it's hard."

He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. "The media isn't going to let up, and we have to find a way to handle it."

 I squeeze his hand, feeling a surge of comfort from his touch. "I know. I just wish there was a way to make them back off. Every time I think I'm starting to get a handle on things, something new comes up."

Brooks sighs, his expression one of deep frustration. "It's like they're trying to make us crumble."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the media's intrusion hanging heavily between us. I can see the exhaustion in Brooks's eyes—the strain of trying to balance his career with our personal challenges. It's a reminder of how difficult this situation has become.

"I've been thinking," I say finally, breaking the silence. "Maybe we should consider taking a step back from the spotlight for a while. Just to get some breathing room."

Brooks looks thoughtful, his gaze fixed on the table. "It's not a bad idea. We need to find a way to protect ourselves from all this pressure. But we have to be careful about how we go about it."

I nodded in agreement, feeling a glimmer of hope.

BROOKS' POV

The sun is setting as I walk out of the training facility, my muscles sore and my mind tangled in the mess of the day. The media frenzy surrounding me has become a constant cloud, hanging over every moment of my life. I try to ignore the distant flashes and the murmurs of the reporters that follow me as I head towards my car.

I spot a few photographers loitering near the parking lot, their cameras at the ready. They've become a familiar, unwelcome presence, and today is no different. As I approach my car, the press begins to close in, their questions becoming more insistent.

"Brooks! Can you comment on the latest reports about your relationship with Lolo?"

"Are you worried that the media attention will affect your performance on the field?"

I keep my gaze straight ahead, trying to push through the throng of reporters. Their questions are sharp, invasive, and they feel like a barrage of arrows aimed directly at me. I open my car door, but the cameras are already flashing, the bright bursts of light stinging my eyes.

I try to ignore the flashing lights, focusing instead on getting into my car. My heart is racing, a mixture of frustration and anxiety is bubbling up inside me. I'm used to being in the spotlight, but the intensity of it all right now is overwhelming.

One of the reporters shouts, "How is Lolo handling the pressure? Is it affecting your relationship?"

The question strikes a nerve, and I stop, turning to face the crowd. "I have no comment," I say firmly, trying to keep my voice steady. But the press doesn't relent, pushing further, their questions growing more invasive.

I slam the car door shut, the noise loud in the midst of the media storm. I start the engine and pull away, the flashing lights gradually fading in the rearview mirror. The weight of the day's events presses heavily on my shoulders, and I feel a surge of frustration.

As I drive, I think about Lolo. I know she's facing her own battles with the media, and it's eating away at her. I wish there was more I could do to protect her from this invasive scrutiny. The thought of her dealing with this on top of everything else makes me feel helpless and angry.