Chapter 112: The Biggest Winner

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“Nolan! Did you hurt Kate Moss?”

“Are you and Kate dating?”

“Did Johnny Depp attack you?”

“Did Leo DiCaprio introduce you?”

The questions hit from every direction. Flashbulbs washed the hospital entrance in white bursts, turning the night into broken frames.

Nolan stopped where Lisa had told him to stop. Not too close to the curb. Not too close to the doors. A place where he could leave without being swallowed.

“Kate is receiving medical care,” he said. “I met her tonight through a mutual friend, drove her home, and was preparing to leave when she was injured in a private accident. I called for help immediately. I am sorry she was hurt, and I hope she recovers fully.”

“Was the accident sexual?”

“I am not discussing her private life.”

“Did Johnny Depp punch you?”

“There was confusion inside the hospital. I regret that it happened, and I apologize to Mr. Depp for my part in it.”

“Are you going to see Kate again?”

“No. I respect her recovery, her family, and her agency. If I could go back, I would have left earlier.”

That answer did exactly what Lisa wanted. It made him sound responsible without sounding guilty, regretful without sounding frightened, and private enough to leave the dirt to everyone else’s imagination.

Lisa watched from inside the lobby and almost smiled.

The next morning, Johnny Depp did the rest of Nolan’s public-relations work for him.

Someone inside the hospital had fed details to entertainment reporters. Depp had argued with security, yelled at staff, and tried to force his way back toward Kate’s room after she told him to leave. A photographer disguised as a visitor caught enough of the aftermath to make him look volatile and Nolan look restrained by comparison.

Kate’s statement arrived before noon.

She apologized to Johnny, to Storm, and to Sarah Doukas for the trouble. She described Nolan as the person who had called an ambulance and stayed until help arrived. She asked the press to respect her recovery and said she would pause modeling work while doctors handled the injury.

It was polished, probably agency-approved, and very useful.

By the time Nolan met Jennifer Love Hewitt at Disneyland, the story had already traveled from gossip columns to daytime entertainment segments.

Jennifer was waiting near the entrance with a folded Los Angeles Times under one arm and a look that tried to be stern but kept breaking into excitement.

“You are everywhere,” she said.

“Good morning to you too.”

“No. Everywhere. People, Us Weekly, Entertainment Weekly, The Hollywood Reporter, E!, the local news. My agent called before breakfast. My mother called twice. You turned a hospital accident into a national launch.”

“I did not plan it.”

“That almost makes it worse.” Jennifer unfolded the paper and showed him the entertainment brief. “They are calling you the football genius who hospitalized Kate Moss and knocked down Johnny Depp.”

“That is not an ideal brand.”

“It is memorable.”

She was trying not to laugh. Nolan could see it in her mouth.

“You are more famous than me now,” she said.

“Not for singing.”

“For being dangerous.”

“That part is not sustainable.”

They moved into the park before the crowd around the gate noticed them. Jennifer wore a cap low over her hair and a loose jacket that made her look less like a performer and more like any girl cutting school for something better. Nolan kept his sunglasses on.

They rode Space Mountain first. Then Star Tours, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted Mansion, and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Jennifer laughed harder than the rides deserved, not because the rides were new to her, but because she had a rare day where nobody was pulling her toward a microphone, a studio, or a rehearsal room.

At lunch, she picked at fries and watched a family pose in front of Sleeping Beauty Castle.

“People think being on television means you are free,” she said. “It is the opposite. Everyone has a plan for you.”

“Agents, parents, networks, labels,” Nolan said.

“Exactly.”

“Then build enough value that they cannot move you without permission.”

Jennifer looked at him. “You say things like that and make it sound possible.”

“It is possible. Just expensive.”

“Do you care about anything besides winning?”

He considered lying, then decided not to.

“Yes.”

She waited.

“I care who gets to stand beside me when I win.”

That was unfairly effective. Jennifer turned away, but her hand found his on the table and stayed there.

The day should have ended cleanly.

It did not.

Paparazzi caught them near the exit, hand in hand.

“Nolan! Jennifer! Are you dating?”

“Is Jennifer joining the cheer squad in Hawaii?”

“Jennifer, are you leaving music for football?”

Jennifer froze for half a second. Nolan stepped between her and the cameras just enough to give her space.

“This is Jennifer Love Hewitt,” he said. “She is a friend, she is talented, and if her schedule lets her, she will cheer with BHHS in Hawaii. Anything beyond that belongs to her.”

“Nolan!” Jennifer hissed.

“Smile,” he murmured. “Your agent will forgive me when she sees the coverage.”

Her smile arrived late, but it arrived.

Once they reached the parking lot, Nolan noticed the car behind them before they made the second turn. Then a second one. Paparazzi, not police.

“Drive toward the Valley,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because your car is easier to follow than I am.”

In San Fernando, he had her slow near a side street, opened the door, and slipped out before the trailing cars could adjust. He cut through narrow alleys, back fences, delivery lanes, and an apartment courtyard where an old woman shouted at him in Spanish. By the time he reached a main road again, the cameras were gone.

He walked the rest of the way home.

Near his neighborhood, the adult-video couple from down the street waved from their porch. The man held up a glossy catalog with the gravity of someone offering a business opportunity.

“We got new girls,” the man called. “You ever want to try real production, kid, you come talk to us.”

“I am busy.”

“Everybody is busy until they see the menu.”

Nolan took the catalog only because refusing would have made the conversation longer.

By the time he reached his front door, he had survived Kate Moss, Johnny Depp, Disneyland, paparazzi, a tactical escape through the Valley, and a neighborhood invitation to ruin his future in a different industry.

Lisa was right.

Entertainment fame was not cleaner than football. It only bled in brighter colors.

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I hope this chapter drew you further into the story. Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.