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“Sod off,” a dark-haired boy shouted when the ball collided with his forehead. A roughhousing scuffle ensued that sent a second boy sprawling in the aisle at their feet.

“Sweet kicks,” he said by way of apology for landing on Sam’s customNikes. Climbing to his feet, he cast a quick look at Dillon, and then returned for a doubletake. “Aren’t you…?”

“Will you kindly fuck off?” Dillon didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. She knew where it was leading and wasn’t in the mood for it.

The kid was taken aback but didn’t push the situation, and instead scurried to where his mates had resumed their horseplay at the other end of the carriage.

“You might want to reel it in a bit,” Sam cautioned once they were alone again. “Can’t go on snapping at every person who casts a glance at you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Dillon pressed herself closer to the vibration of the wall. “I’ll snap at whoever the bloody hell I want.” She’d been irritable all day, uncomfortable making an appearance in public. For three months, she’d been holed up in Wales, hiding with her head in the sand.

Ever since photos of her and Kam had turned up on the internet.

It had been the middle of January, three days after Kam flew home to Los Angeles. She’d called Dillon that morning in tears to warn her about the tabloids. The driver who’d picked them up after their escapade at the castle had evidently not been entirely oblivious.

According to Kam’s lawyer, the woman sat on the dashcam photos for almost two weeks, battling an ethical dilemma, but in the end, each photo she sold made her more than an entire year’s wages driving for Uber. The payout neutralized the sting of being terminated for her violation of privacy toward their patrons.

“You never could do anything on a mediocre level,” Sam had mulled, sipping Jack in her coffee while poring over the internet carnage in Jaqueline Sinclair’s kitchen. She’d taken the first train to Wales after Dillon texted her about the images going viral. “Leave it to you to get caught post-shag with the hottest movie star on the planet. I guess there’s not much room to deny it?” She let out a low whistle, zooming in to view the unmistakable smear of lipstick on Dillon’s collar. The stills were wide-angle, high definition, a clear representation of exactly what had transpired.

“Of course we’re going to deny it!” Dillon hadn’t quit pacing the kitchen. “Kam’s on her way to Morocco to finalize filming. The last thing she needs is this rubbish trailing her to the Middle East!”

“The last thing she needs or the last thing you need?”

Dillon stabbed a finger onto the counter. “The last thingeitherof us needs. Don’t lay this all on me, Sam. You know this will affect her career.”

“I also know she’s made it clear to you she doesn’t care—”

“She was crying, for fuck’s sake—”

“I got a fiver that says she was crying because she’s terrified history is going to repeat itself,” Sam said coldly, distant from the empathetic ear Dillon had desired. “After Kelsey—”

Dillon cut her off. “I’m not running away from this, alright? I love Kam. I’m not leaving her. I just…” she glanced at Sam’s iPad, where half a dozen browsers hung open, the top headlines flashing across the LED screen.

Out Athlete Identified With Kameryn Kingsbury—Is Love In The Air?

Questions Arise for Sand Seekers Star Caught On Camera With Former Girlfriend of Kelsey Evans

A third, featuring her Team GB headshot, read in bold:Everything We Know About Dillon Sinclairand then wrapped her life into a series of bullet points.

She slumped into a chair. “You’re right. It’s not her I’m protecting. I just—I don’t know how to deal with this level of scrutiny, Sam. I can’t handle the press. The attention. Maybe…” She leaned against the island bar, taking in the quiet surroundings of her mother’s kitchen. “Maybe when Los Angeles is over. Just not now. Not while I’m feeling so much pressure.”

Sam said nothing. They both knewnot nowwas just another variation ofnot ever.

And so while Kam faced an initial barrage of homophobic hate while filming in a country famous for its intolerance, Dillon had hidden away in Wales, insulated from the outside world. She focused on her training, steered clear of all social media, and let Kam’s PR team do what they did best—quell the rampant rumors.

A night out with friends.

A proud ally of the LGBTQ community.

All the implications she was still straight as an arrow.

It was doubtful many people believed it, but as was the habit with celebrity gossip, when the next A-lister took a misstep—in this case, thanks were to be offered to J Lo for divorce rumors #4—the hyperfocus of the zoom lenses turned another direction.

And for the most part, life went on. Dillon ignored the sidelong glances at the aquatics center, performed batch deletes of emails and messages, and tried to let the intrusive comments roll off her shoulders.

Especially when they came to her by way of strangers—like today at the horse show, when a Dutch rider she’d never met stopped to ask if she would introduce her to Kameryn at the Olympics. Or the creepiness of an American spectator who’d trailed her through the barn aisles to the stands, where she spentSeren’s entire dressage test surreptitiously clicking photos of Dillon with her mobile.

“So—you just planning on being a tosser from now until the end of forever?” Sam queried as the train started moving again.