Chapter 23: Fan Frenzy I just hoped I wasn't walking towards something I'd regret. I kept walking. I didn't know where to go, so I just walked. South. It took me about an hour to get to the subway. The Bronx was far away from where all the action was. I swiped my metrocard and went through the gates. The smell of the subway was horrible, but I was too focused to care. I got on the 4 train heading to Manhattan. It was crowded and I was smashed in the middle of a bunch of people all going somewhere. I got off at 42nd street. Times Square. I walked up the stairs and into the bright lights. The energy of the city hit me like a wall. People everywhere, billboards flashing, music blasting. It was sensory overload. I pulled my hat down low and started scanning the crowds. I didn't know where to start, but I knew I'd find them. They were always together, Valeria and Miguel. It was disgusting. I walked around for about an hour. Nothing. I was starting to get discouraged. Maybe they weren't here. Maybe they had left the city. Maybe... Then I saw them. Across the street, standing in front of a souvenir shop. Valeria and Miguel. They were holding hands, laughing. I wanted to kill them. I started walking towards them, my heart pounding in my chest. I was so angry I could barely see straight. I crossed the street, dodging cars and people. I was getting closer. Closer. I was just a few feet away when I stopped. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I was angry. I took a deep breath and walked right up to them. Valeria saw me first. Her eyes widened in shock. "Jim?" she said. Miguel turned around, a look of confusion on his face. I stared at them, my fists clenched. I wanted to scream, to yell, to hit them. But I didn't. I just stood there, staring. "What do you want, Jim?" Valeria asked, her voice trembling. I didn't answer. I just kept staring. "Jim, please leave us alone," she said. "We don't want any trouble." Still, I kept looking at them. "Jim, go away!" Miguel said, stepping in front of Valeria. "Leave us alone!" I didn't move. I just kept staring. I didn't know what to say. That's when I noticed. Valeria was pregnant. My brain short-circuited. Pregnant? Valeria? With… Miguel’s kid? The rage that had been simmering inside me threatened to boil over, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, nauseating dread. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the cacophony of Times Square fading into a dull roar. What the fuck? My eyes darted between Valeria’s face and her stomach, searching for any sign, any confirmation of what I had just registered. But there was nothing, not yet. She wasn't showing, not really. But the fear in her eyes, the slight way she instinctively placed a hand over her abdomen, it was all the confirmation I needed. Miguel, oblivious to the internal war raging inside me, puffed out his chest. "You heard her, man. Beat it. You're causing a scene." A scene? He was worried about causing a scene? This dude was a piece of work. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy something, anything. But the image of Valeria, pregnant, flashed in my mind, paralyzing me. This wasn't just about betrayal anymore. This was about a whole new level of fucked up. I stepped back, creating some space between us. The air crackled with unspoken words, accusations, and regrets. The reality of the situation slammed into me with the force of a runaway train. I was nothing to her. Less than nothing. A stepping stone. I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me clammy and lightheaded. I needed to get out of there, to escape the suffocating weight of their secret. "I… I gotta go," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. Without another word, without even a glance back, I turned and fled, pushing my way through the throngs of tourists, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the living nightmare that Valeria had just revealed. I walked aimlessly, the vibrant lights and sounds of Times Square now a blur. Each step was heavy, each breath ragged. I didn't know where I was going, didn't care. All I knew was that I needed to escape. Should I go home? Face my family, knowing that the whole world was about to find out about my spectacular public meltdown? No way. Call Greg? He'd just lecture me about controlling my anger, about not letting Valeria and Miguel get to me. He wouldn't understand the depth of my hurt, the sheer, gut-wrenching betrayal. Rich? He'd be pissed. More damage control. More lectures about my image, my future, my goddamn brand. Dr. Klein? Maybe. She might have some insight, some magical words to make the pain go away. But the thought of rehashing the whole sordid mess, of reliving the humiliation and the anger, made my stomach churn. I was alone. Utterly, completely alone. Surrounded by millions of people, yet isolated in my own personal hell. As I wandered, lost in my thoughts, I failed to notice the growing number of people who were staring at me, whispering, pointing. I was so consumed by my own internal turmoil that I was completely oblivious to the external world. Until it crashed down on me. "Yo, is that Jim Feder?" The voice, loud and intrusive, cut through my haze. I ignored it, kept walking, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. No such luck. "Nah, man, that's definitely him! Yo, Jim! Jim Feder!" I cringed, my shoulders tensing. I knew what was coming. A group of teenagers, high school kids judging from their backpacks and the unmistakable air of youthful exuberance, began to converge on me, their eyes wide with excitement. "It's really him!" "Dude, I saw the video! You totally owned that café!" "Can I get an autograph?" "Let's get a selfie!" I tried to keep moving, to slip past them unnoticed, but it was no use. They were like a swarm of locusts, blocking my path, their phones thrust in my face, recording my every move. "Come on, Jim, just one picture!" "Sign my shirt!" "What was it like flipping that table?" Their voices, once filled with innocent excitement, began to grate on my nerves. The flashing cameras, the relentless questions, the sheer invasion of my personal space, it was all too much. My chest tightened, my palms began to sweat, and the familiar feeling of anger started to bubble up inside me. I could feel myself losing control, the carefully constructed facade of calm that I had been desperately trying to maintain crumbling under the weight of their attention. "Back off, guys," I muttered, my voice low and menacing. "Just leave me alone." But they didn't listen. They pressed closer, their excitement fueled by my obvious discomfort. "Aw, come on, man, don't be like that!" "We're your fans!" "We just wanna say hi!" Fans? They were fans? These weren't fans, they were vultures, feeding off my misery, reveling in my downfall. The rage that I had been desperately trying to suppress finally erupted. It surged through me like a tidal wave, washing away all reason, all restraint. "I said, BACK OFF!" I roared, shoving my way through the crowd, knocking a couple of kids off balance. The teenagers, startled by my outburst, recoiled slightly, their smiles fading. But they didn't disperse. They just stood there, watching me, their phones still recording. "What's your problem, man?" one of them sneered, his bravado returning. "We just wanted an autograph." "Yeah, what's your deal?" another chimed in. "You think you're too good for us?" Too good for them? No, I didn't think I was too good for them. I just didn't want to be bothered. I was going through something personal. But their words, their accusatory tone, their smug expressions, it was all too much. It was like they were deliberately trying to provoke me, to push me over the edge. And they succeeded. "You wanna know what my deal is?" I snarled, my voice dripping with venom. "My deal is that I'm sick of you little shits sticking your phones in my face, treating me like some kind of goddamn zoo animal!" I took a step towards them, my fists clenched, my eyes blazing with fury. "Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed, my voice echoing through Times Square. The teenagers, finally realizing that I was serious, began to backpedal, their bravado replaced by a mixture of fear and apprehension. But one kid, a skinny, pimply-faced kid with braces and a backwards baseball cap, didn't back down. He stood his ground, his eyes locked on mine, a defiant smirk playing on his lips. "What are you gonna do about it, Feder?" he taunted, his voice trembling slightly. "Gonna flip another table?" That was it. That was the last straw. Without thinking, without hesitating, I lunged at him, my fist connecting with his jaw with a sickening thud. The kid crumpled to the ground, clutching his face, his eyes wide with shock and pain. The world seemed to freeze. The noise of Times Square faded away, replaced by the ringing in my ears. All I could see was the kid on the ground, his face contorted in agony. Oh fuck, what did I just do? A wave of nausea washed over me, followed by a crushing sense of regret. I had lost control. Again. I had let my anger get the better of me. Again. I looked around, my eyes darting from face to face. The teenagers who had been swarming me moments before were now staring at me with a mixture of horror and fascination. And then I saw them. The cops. They were running towards me, their faces grim, their hands reaching for their weapons. I knew it was over. I didn't resist as they wrestled me to the ground, handcuffing my hands behind my back. I just closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. The ride to the precinct was a blur. I sat in the back of the patrol car, staring out the window, watching the city lights streak past. I was numb, devoid of all emotion. They took me to a holding cell, a small, cramped room with concrete walls and a steel door. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and despair. I sat on the hard, uncomfortable bench, waiting, wondering what was going to happen next. Disorderly conduct, assault, disturbing the peace. The charges ran through my head, each one a nail in the coffin of my already tarnished reputation. Duke was gone. The NBA was gone. My life was gone. All because of Valeria. All because of Miguel. All because of my own inability to control my goddamn anger. The door to the holding cell creaked open, and a police officer stepped inside, his face unreadable. "Feder, you've got a visitor," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. A visitor? Who the hell would be visiting me in jail? Rich? Dr. Klein? Maybe even… Demitra? I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest, a flicker of hope igniting within me. The officer led me down a narrow corridor, past a series of identical holding cells, each one filled with its own collection of lost souls. We stopped in front of a small, windowless room with a table and a couple of chairs. The officer opened the door and gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the room, searching for the familiar face of my visitor. And then I saw him. Sitting at the table, his face etched with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, was someone I hadn't seen in years. Someone from my past. Someone I thought I would never see again. Dev Malik. "Well, well, well," he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Look what the cat dragged in."