Fuck. This is snowballing into something that I thought would never happen. Some nosey ass investigated Kiana's past and plastered her abuse all over the net. Including the pictures of her bruised and battered body when she was admitted to the hospital. How the fuck di they find those?

I also got multiple calls from Sasha about how they were barely able to leave their apartment because there were a bunch or reporters and paparazzi outside their apartment. Ki also called me up to say the diner was in a frenzy today when people decided to storm the diner today, she had to be escorted from there to my place where she's been the whole day.

This is fucked up.

"I thought we had this contained! Nah, you can't tell me it's out of your hands, I pay you for the reasons of keeping people out of my business and doing damage control when something happens!" I scrub my hand over my face as my publicist continues to make excuses as to how people are digging into my girlfriends past and plastering it on the net for everyone to see. It's like every is out to make our lives a living hell.

"You got more chance otherwise you're fired."

Whoever oversees my life right now has it in it for me right now. I use the pent up anger inside me and leave it all on the court during practice, I know the looks I been getting are ranging between 'you good bruh' and 'damn.' My heart pounds in my chest as a Maverick, a freshman guards me when while Rome dribbles the ball across the court and passes it to me, I make a fake leaping for the basket, I hang onto the rim for a while before dropping to my feet.

The next two hours pass in a blur during practice and at this point I've tuned out the world, I can't help but feel responsible for the predicament I put Ki in, maybe if I went the son of a former basketball player all this would've been easier. I feel fucking hopeless and defeated by all this shit, it's like neither Ki nor I can catch a break. She just got out of an abusive relationship, she doesn't need for people to be putting her on blast for something that wasn't her fault, I don't understand what kind of sick and twisted motherfucka can do such a thing and sleep at night. The nigga fucking put her in a coma, and she steal has to live with that painful and traumatic experience.

Coach blows his whistle, signalling for the end of training. "Alright, guys good game, you're free to go." I pick up my stuff, ready to go to the shower rooms. "Except you, Carter. Meet me in my office." Coach Jackson saunters off to the direction of his office and I look up at the ceiling, sighing. This is the last thing I need, I just wanna shower and get my ass to bed.

After five minutes since, Coach left I head the same way he did to his office. Upon entry, I put my bag on the floor and sit in the chair opposite his, a desk separating the both of us. "Carter. I have some concerns."

What now? "About what, sir?"

He leans onto the large, mahogany desk with his bulky arms, placing his two index fingers on his mouth in thought, "you." My brows scrunch together in confusion, "I don't understand."

"Okay, this is a sensitive topic, and I don't feel comfortable involving myself in certain aspects of my players unless need be and this is one of them, Devontae –" The fact he said my first name has me a bit nervous now. "The gossip blogs and internet hasn't been kind to you lately nor your girlfriend and I worry that it's affecting you. Mentally."

Ah. I say nothing as I look from my coach's dark brown eyes that hold deep worry, "coach, I appreciate the concern but I'm good." His brows raise in a way that's not convinced and I'm not convinced myself. "Devontae, as much as I want you to pursue your dreams, I don't want to see yourself drown in the bullshit people wanna spin about you and your life. It's pressure yes but you shouldn't let them get to you and as much as this could backfire just let people know your two cents, tell 'em to mind they business."

Yeah, I don't think that will help. It'll just add fuel to the fire and people will have even more reason to nit-pick everything else however I should address the people talking mad dog shit about my girl, she did nothing but accept me as I am and now, she's coming under fire. What the hell am I gonna do now? My eyes look at the floral, silk scrunchie on my wrist that I have never taken off for the past month, looking at it gives me a clue as to what I have to do, it's preferably not the best choice but I have to.