The Game Changer: A Novel

by Sterling, J.

He laughed. “I sure will. See you later.” He waved as he walked down the corridor out of view.

  Jack walked out moments later, his hair still wet from the shower. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. “Great game, babe.”

  “Thanks,” he whispered before kissing my lips.

  He led me outside where the team bus rumbled. “I’m sorry you have to take a cab back to the hotel.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. I should be able to ride with you instead of sending you off alone at eleven o’clock on a Friday night.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” I tried to reassure him, but I sensed that he was uncomfortable.

  “I’ll wait with you until you get a cab.” He grabbed my hand and walked me toward the busy street.

  “You don’t have to do that, Jack. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  “Half the team isn’t even out of the locker room yet. It’s fine.”

  Hailing a cab took longer than I anticipated. It was a Friday night and the majority of the taxis driving past me were already filled with passengers. I started to worry that Jack would have to leave me alone when an empty cab came our way and Jack hailed it.

  “Thanks, baby.” I craned my neck up to give him a kiss before hopping inside.

  “I’ll see you at the hotel,” he said before shutting my door for me.

  I arrived before the team bus, so I stepped inside the grand lobby and waited. I almost headed into the bar when Jack’s warning coursed through my mind.

  Don’t look in there, Cass. Jack told you not to look.

  But the team’s not even here yet. What could I possibly see?

  I argued with myself mentally before caving and turning my head to peer inside the bar area. I spotted the three college girls who were sitting near me during the game. One of the girls waved her hand in my direction as if recognizing me from earlier, and I quickly averted my eyes.

  Holy shit. Those girls were sitting in the player ticket section?

  The team barreled into the hotel lobby, making a loud scene as they entered. I scanned the burly men, searching for Jack. Kymber’s husband passed by me without a glance, and I watched as he turned into the bar.

  No fucking way.

  I observed the scene unfolding like a car crash before my eyes. I couldn’t look away if I tried. He sauntered into the bar as one of the blonde girls hopped up from her stool and into his arms. She giggled as he gripped her ass, giving it a couple of smacks, much to her delight. She wrapped her legs around his waist, planting kisses all over his lying, cheating, rat-bastard face. Two more players, both married, entered the bar and a similar scene unfolded. I wanted to puke.

  My jaw dropped wide open as all the feelings of Jack cheating on me poured into my bloodstream. My stomach churned, threatening to empty its contents all over the shiny tile floor. Jack suddenly appeared in front of me, his expression grim. “I told you not to look in the bar, Kitten. I told you.”

  “Holy shit.” I shook my head, still shocked at the blatant display of infidelity and my own hellish flashbacks.

  Jack grabbed my arm and led me toward the elevator. “That’s why I said no bar. And that’s why we’re on a different floor than they are. So you don’t have to see that shit. Come on.”

  I stumbled as I tried to keep pace with Jack, who was clearly desperate to remove me from the area. “I can’t believe they act that way in public. Aren’t they worried about getting caught?”

  Jack eyed me. “Not here.”

  “Huh?”

  Jack’s lips tightened. “We’re not talking about this here. Wait until we’re in our room.”

  “Oh.” I sighed.

  Stepping out of the elevator, we walked down the long corridor toward our room. I ran my fingers across the wallpaper as Jack pressed the card key into the slot. With two clicks, he pushed on the door, holding it for me to enter before he followed. He lay down on top of the bed.

  “They aren’t worried about getting caught because everyone already knows.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that Kymber the bitch knows her husband is a cheating piece of shit?” I asked, my tone clearly reflecting my disbelief.

  He huffed. “Not in so many words, but yeah.”

  “So she knows he’s cheating on her, and what? She just doesn’t care?”

  I couldn’t fathom how anyone in their right mind wouldn’t care about being betrayed in that way. What kind of relationship was that anyway?

  “I don’t know if she really knows, but I know she suspects it.”

  “And she doesn’t care enough to find out for sure?”

  “She probably doesn’t really want to know the answer. The reality is that a lot of these guys cheat on their wives, Kitten. It’s a really shitty fact, but it’s the truth. And yeah, the wives usually know, but they just pretend it’s not happening.”

  “Like they’re in denial?” I shook my head, still trying to comprehend it all. I thought about Kymber and her crew of mean girls, and felt sorry for them.

  “Either that or they just pretend it’s not happening because they like their lives.”

  I shook my head, refusing to believe such craziness. “No way. All the material things they get are more important to them than being respected, or treated well, or truly loved?”

  “I think it’s really easy to get accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And they’d rather not give it up.” He tousled his dark hair before pressing his head against the wall.

  That entire concept seemed foreign to me. I wondered what caused a person to convince themselves that the trade-off was worth it. Who needed self-esteem and self-worth when you had big diamonds and expensive clothes? “Well, don’t you get any ideas, Mr. Carter, because that kind of crap will never fly with me.”

  My eyes started to mist, my heart aching with the realization that he already did do that to me. The whole cheating, my knowing about it, basically accepting it, and welcoming him back with open arms. It all happened.

  “Kitten, I would never do to you what they’re doing to their wives. I think they’re assholes. Especially the guys with kids.” He patted the bed. “Come here.”

  I moved to lie down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I know you aren’t like those other women. And I wouldn’t like you if you were.” His lips pressed against the side of my head. “I made a mistake before, but it won’t happen again. I know you’d leave me forever if I did and I can’t…” he paused, “I won’t lose you again.”

  Shouldn’t She Be Hotter?

  Cassie

  Jack and I fell into a comfortable routine over the next six weeks. Matteo accompanied me to every home game, and the heckling basically stopped. Until Jack garnered his first lost for the team, that is. That night I was forced to hear a few choice things about how much “Jack sucked” and how I needed to “get his head on straight.” The hard-core fans were rabid. When you won, they loved you so fiercely you could do no wrong. But the moment you lost, they stepped all over you on their way out the door.

  We talked on the phone constantly when he traveled. He wanted me to come to as many away games as I could, but it wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. I spent most of my time wandering alone in a strange city or eating by myself in restaurants. From the outside, it seems so glamorous to be the girlfriend of a major leaguer, but it’s mostly sort of lonely. Not to mention the fact that seeing the other players constantly cheat on their wives made me sick to my stomach.

  I had small bouts of insecurity every now and then, but I did my best to keep my fears in check. Jack tried his best as well, staying on the phone with me until all hours of the night, opting for room service instead of going out with the guys, no matter how many times I told him not to.

  Baseball kept Jack gone for literally half of each month. The most consecutive number of days he’d been home at one time was seven.

  Seven.

  Trust was a tricky thing. At times, it seemed like a liv
ing, breathing entity that I shaped, built, and conformed to fit my needs in that moment. And other times, it moved like an uncontrollable emotion that ebbed and flowed like the tides in the ocean. One day I’d be perfectly fine and the next I’d be a wreck, convinced that Jack was no better than his teammates.

  I wished our relationship were easier, but we were a work in progress. The hardest part was being OK with that. I had a choice when Jack first came back. I didn’t have to let him through my front door, but I wanted to. I needed to move forward and believe that he wouldn’t hurt me again. My heart longed to accept his actions and take a leap of faith, but my head refused to give in.

  Stupid head.

  Jack being on the road didn’t mean that the online posts about us stopped. They didn’t. And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself not to read them, I usually couldn’t resist. My own curiosity killed me. I’d read the things written about me or Jack and I’d swear I’d never read them again because they caused me so much anguish. It became a vicious self-deprecating cycle, and I needed to work on my willpower.

  And Melissa, bless her heart, didn’t always help matters. She kept tabs on every site that posted about me or Jack, and even though she claimed to not share them all with me, it seemed like she alerted me to a new post every day. I was exhausted simply hearing about it all.

  Determined to stay focused on work and not the press, I scanned the Internet at my desk, searching through old photographs and news clippings for another photographer’s research. An e-mail alert from Matteo popped up on my screen.

  Want to grab lunch today? I have no clients and Jack’s still out of town.

  I almost typed back “Yes,” but stopped myself. I enjoyed Matteo’s company, and we’d become really good friends, but I knew what would happen. Someone would see us together and take our picture. That picture would be plastered all over the Internet within minutes and most likely printed in the paper the next day with some false headline and trumped-up story from an “anonymous source.”

  I hated feeling like I couldn’t go anywhere with anyone when Jack was out of town, but all it took was one headline that screamed “While Jack’s Away, Cassie Will Play” to stop me. The headline was printed above a picture of me and Matteo laughing over dinner and resulted in a number of Internet accusations, not to mention my needing to reassure Jack that absolutely nothing fishy was going on between Matteo and me.

  That was a nightmare I had no intention of repeating. I quickly typed a response back to Matteo’s e-mail:

  Working on a project. Sorry. See you when Jack gets home.

  Hopefully my last line made it clear that I wouldn’t make plans with him until Jack was back in town.

  I worked straight through lunch and by the time I left the office, I was famished. After sweating through the humidity on the non-air-conditioned train ride home, I decided to stop at a café.

  “Good evening, Cassie. You want to order something to go?” the short round man asked. I’d only been here a handful of times, but Roman always remembered me and greeted me by name.

  “Actually, Roman, I think I’ll eat here tonight.” I smiled as he pressed his hands together with delight.

  “You go ahead and sit anywhere you’d like.”

  “Thanks.” I looked around at the empty tables before choosing one in the far corner near the window. Roman appeared at my table, an iced tea in hand.

  “You need to see the menu?” he asked.

  “I think I’ll just get your famous East Side sandwich and fries.”

  “You got it, pretty lady!” He grinned and it stretched across his whole face, forcing me to smile back in return.

  I rested my back against the wooden chair and watched the people dash by. New York was such a busy city all the time. Day or night, snow or sun, people always rushed around.

  My phone vibrated against my hip pocket. Pulling it out, I read the text message from Melissa.

  Cute top.

  What the hell?

  I looked around anxiously with the sudden wish that she were here for a visit and simply hiding from me. I typed out a response:

  What are you talking about?

  You’re on that Spotted website again. Spotted: Jack Carter’s girlfriend dining alone near her apartment in Sutton Place.

  Immediately, I was lightheaded.

  You’re joking.

  Before I typed anything else, my phone beeped again. Melissa sent a screenshot of the website to my phone, complete with a picture of me staring out of the window I was actually looking out of.

  Damn it.

  I grabbed my purse, dropping more than enough cash on the table to cover the bill, and looked around for Roman. “Roman, can I get it to go? I need to get home. Something came up. Sorry.”

  “Sure, Cassie. No problem. Tell Jack I said hello.” He transferred my food from the plate he carried into a box before handing it to me.

  “I will. I left the money on the table. Thank you.” I smiled before rushing out the door.

  I looked over my shoulder the entire walk back to my apartment. I couldn’t get there fast enough. Every step reminded me how exposed my life had become. From behind my sunglasses, I glanced at the passersby, wondering if the cell phones they held were actually being used to help splash my life across computer screens all over the country. Every tourist with a camera now seemed a potential accomplice in my media hazing.

  Once inside the safety and security of our apartment building, I allowed myself to crumple.

  “Are you OK, Miss Andrews?” the doorman asked, his big bushy moustache bouncing as he spoke.

  “Sorry, Antonio. I’m just a little freaked out by all the online posts and stuff. They can’t come in here, right?”

  “No, ma’am. They can’t come in here.” He straightened his back. “I won’t let them.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered, averting my gaze outside, thankful that no one stood gawking or staring.

  Insisting that my every step was tracked, I’d become paranoid. The press, the fans, the pictures; it never seemed to stop. There was little reprieve. Little sanctuary. I tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but the constant pressure was getting to me. Pieces of me were being chipped away at daily. Why was I up for public consumption? I wasn’t even the celebrity in the relationship.

  I called Melissa from the elevator as soon as the doors closed. “Are you OK?” she answered instead of saying hello.

  “No. I’m freaking out. How the hell does this whole town know who I am? And more importantly, why do they care?”

  “Because you’re Jack’s girlfriend. And he’s the number one pitcher for the team right now. You know how people get with stuff like this. They’re obsessed with celebrities’ personal lives.”

  I exhaled, unlocking my apartment door and walking inside. “But I can’t even get dinner without someone posting it online. Even you know I’m not that interesting.” I tried to laugh.

  “But they don’t know that. All they see is the girl who has the hot and awesome Jack Carter’s heart. They don’t know what you guys have been through.”

  “But they act like they do.” I sprawled across the couch. “They post all sorts of shit claiming to know everything about us.”

  Melissa laughed. “Yeah, and we both know how accurate those postings are. They’re almost as good as the ones on that hot wives website.”

  My heart beat in double time. “What hot wives website?”

  “Shit.” She paused. “I’m sorry, Cass. It’s just a stupid website.”

  “What’s on it?” I asked, before sitting up to grab my laptop from the coffee table.

  She hesitated and I knew she was keeping something from me. “Pictures.”

  “What else? Tell me,” I demanded.

  “No really. It’s just pictures mostly, but they rate you.”

  “Rate me how.”

  “Based on hotness.”

  I typed a description into the search engine as hundreds of disgustingly named we
bsites turned up. I added “athlete” into my search and bingo. I clicked on the first link listed and my name appeared, along with four recent pictures of me. There was a description that stated Jack and I met back in college but broke up for a brief time before getting back together after he was traded. A paragraph described what I did for work, but didn’t mention where.

  Thank God.

  A rating scale of one to ten stars waited at the end of the post to be voted on. Underneath the star rating, mine currently sat at six, by the way, was a comment section.

  “I found the website,” I breathed into the phone.

  “Oh God. No. Cass. Don’t,” she pleaded through the phone.

  I clicked on the Comment link as my stomach turned.

  “I heard she cheats on Jack every time he’s out of town with that Matteo guy. Maybe someone needs to help Jack get back at her. I volunteer.”

  “I saw her making out with that guy who’s always with her at the games. I would have taken a picture, but I didn’t have my phone with me. Next time.”

  “My friend went to school with her in California and said she was a bitch to everyone there and no one liked her.”

  “I thought baseball players were supposed to have hot girlfriends. Where’d he find this one—she’s disgusting. And she should probably go on a diet.”

  “Hello? Cassie?”

  “I’m here.” I sniffed.

  “Do we have to go through these one by one? Obviously you don’t cheat on Jack when he’s away. You were not making out with your super-hot driver, but if you’d let me I totally would. You were not a bitch to anyone who didn’t deserve it in college, and you’re not fat or ugly. These are all jealous girls who all think they want what you have.”

  My eyes filled with tears as I asked my best friend, “What do I do?”

  “You’ve got to stop reading it. Right now,” she insisted, and I clicked the small red X at the top of the screen, closing the page. “And I’ll stop telling you anything anyone is saying. None of it matters anyway, and it’s tearing you apart.”

  I nodded, knowing she couldn’t see me. “You have to help.”

  Melissa was right. These posts and judgments wrecked me. I tried to not care and be stronger, but it was hard when it was constantly shoved in your face. And it was even harder when the things posted were blatant lies.