Benched

by Charles, Colleen

  “No can do. I’m on my way. Don’t drink all the wine before I get there.” Sue Ann signed off with a weak chuckle.

  The game had started. The Caribou excelled at protecting the zone, the defensemen were tight. A few shots had sailed just wide, and one had hit the crossbar. Everything seemed to be flowing well with Adam’s return. The referee blew his whistle and signaled, but I didn’t focus on the TV.

  Sue Ann: Seriously, babe, don’t worry about me. Just watch the game, and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can. I’ve got to change my dirty shop clothes before I think of doing anything else.

  I read the message three times, wishing she were here already, then locked the phone and placed it on the sofa beside me. I wasn’t going to borrow trouble where there wasn’t any. Not anymore.

  Chapter 38

  Julia

  The first game of the season was a resounding success.

  I beamed at the TV screen and watched Adam rink-side, high-fiving his team mates and pulling them into bear hugs. The Caribou had won 3-0. A total rout. Adam had scored the first goal. The eventual game winner.

  I could hardly wait to hear from him, checking my phone even though the game was live and Adam was clearly still pre-occupied doing interviews with all the local sportscasters.

  “Damn it.” If I’d been there, I’d have been able to celebrate with him. In retrospect, it was probably a dumb idea not to go out and be with the man of my dreams. But at least they’d won. That was what counted.

  I wriggled my nose. I still hadn’t heard from Sue Ann since the last text, and with the game out of my mind, I wondered what had happened to her.

  I picked up the remote to mute the TV, then froze. A slow smile spread on my face, and I turned up the sound instead.

  Adam’s sweaty face took up half the screen. His grin was as wide as mine. He radiated pure pleasure from the time on the ice, the victory, the freedom. This had to be the best moment of his life, by far, after being taken off the ice for so long.

  “Mr. Spencer,” the reporter said, “how does it feel to be back skating with the Caribou again?”

  “Oh man,” Adam said, “it feels amazing. I never thought I’d play again after my ACL injury. This is just, I can’t even express it. Feels like I’m high right now.”

  I winced. Probably not the wisest thing to say after the recent doping scandal.

  The reporter cleared his throat and grimaced. Apparently, he thought so, too. Surprisingly, he blew past it. “Wonderful! Duluth applauds you, Mr. Spencer. Do you have any comments about the game?”

  “Uh, no, not really,” Adam said, rolling his eyes to one side, thinking out his answer. “Look, it was a good game. They played hard, and it was by no means easy. Even though the score was a bit lopsided, they were tough and had just as many shots on goal as we did. It’s just that ours fell in our favor.”

  “That’s difficult to believe. You scored one of the three goals. That had to feel good and be a boost for your self-confidence.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said, then grinned again, that proud smile that made me want to rip his gear off and kiss his sweaty body from head to toe. “Yeah, but their defense was tight. Tough but good.” Adam shifted on the screen, ready to get back to the locker room and hopefully head out to see me.

  But the reporter wasn’t done yet. “Will you be playing all season?”

  “Yes, I will be. But I’d rather focus on tonight’s victory for now. Focus on getting back to my pre-injury form. I won’t stop striving until I’m even better than I was before my ACL.”

  “Of course,” the reporter said, stalling for a second, “and speaking of celebrations, what plans do you have for tonight?”

  Adam rubbed sweat off his forehead and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I’m going to spend time with the most important –”

  Heather McNeal bobbed into view beside him, grinning broadly, framed by the plastic wall surrounding the white ice. “He’s going to spend time with me, of course.” She gave a deathly sweet smile, right to camera. “I’m sure the city of Duluth has missed me just as much as it’s missed Adam.”

  A bucket of ice dropped into the pit of my stomach. What the hell was she doing there? Coming from the direction of the same seats that Adam had offered to me and Sue Ann? Adam’s expression went blank, he looked at Heather, then at the reporter.

  “You’re Heather McNeal,” the reporter said, “of the McNeal shipping dynasty. Adam’s fiancée?”

  “That’s right,” Heather said, lifting her left hand and waving Adam’s engagement ring at the camera. “We’ve recently been reunited. Adam is my everything. I’ve been sitting on the sidelines cheering him on since day one. He wouldn’t be back on the ice if it wasn’t for me.” She stared into the camera, and it was as if she had her gaze trained right on me. As if she were speaking directly to me. “Nothing will ever change that. He’s my rock, and I’m his.”

  Adam opened and closed his mouth, blinking.

  Heather clapped her arms around his torso and forced her lips against his jaw. “My baby. I’m so proud of him,” she prattled on, “I knew he’d achieve his dreams. Nothing could stop him. Or should I say, no one.”

  “Oh my god,” I whispered, then growled my displeasure like an angry mother lion.

  What the hell? I knew Adam wouldn’t betray me like this. It was a ruse, another sick attempt on Heather’s part to break us up for the sake of her reality TV show. I set down the remote so I wouldn’t throw it at the lying witches face.

  Then I groaned. Dammit. The publicity! I couldn’t stand it that people thought Heather and Adam were still together. Would he ever set the record straight on that? Because now was his damn chance. I stared at him, willing him to say something. Anything.

  And waited.

  Adam just stood there, silent. He stared blankly at the camera and…

  Enough!

  I couldn’t watch him freeze like that. Not take up for himself. Or for me.

  I pointed the remote at the TV and switched over to another sports channel. I had to block out the image where Adam just stood there with his mouth open, catching flies, when it should be spouting words at Heather. Telling her to get the hell away from him.

  The feed wasn’t on the ice on this channel, it was in the sports studio, where analysts sat in their suits and ties, smiling at each other. Ready to talk about the scores, the players, the tactics, as if Heather McNeal hadn’t just tried to stomp on me for the twentieth time that month.

  Usually, I enjoyed this kind of post-game wrap up and banter from the color man. But not after that disgusting display. Why had the local news even allowed her on camera? Surely, because she was beautiful and the camera loved her.

  I stared as blankly as Adam had. What had he been thinking?

  I couldn’t grasp this. Why didn’t Adam stick up for himself? For me? For us? Not once had he spoken out during this entire time. Not when they’d ripped me to shreds or ruined my business. Not then and not now.

  A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t stand, or I’d collapse, but I managed to wiggle the wine glass to my lips and slurp some of it. I’d down the whole bottle if it would take away some of the sting. Was this how it was going to be all the time since I’d decided to hitch my wagon to a professional athlete? Everything about the spin when it should be about the truth?

  I didn’t need the world’s acceptance, but I couldn’t be with a man who wouldn’t tell the world about me. He wasn’t proud of our relationship.

  He wasn’t the man I thought he was.

  I let the tears flow down my cheeks. The sooner I got them out, the better, then I’d be able to think clearly again and figure this out.

  Benefit of the doubt. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  The wine glass shook in my hand, slopping more of the good stuff onto my jeans, staining them. I didn’t wipe it off. I simply stared as the blood red liquid soaked straight through to my flushed skin.

  It reminded me of the st
ain of disappointment soaking into the fabric of my life.

  Chapter 39

  Adam

  I stared at the camera, my mind racing. A million thoughts, too little time. A jumble.

  What the fuck does she think she’s playing at?

  The only other time I could remember being this shocked was hearing about my parents. Heather and I had already gone through the closure conversation. I’d softened. She’d softened. We were moving forward.

  Apart.

  “Yes, we’re going to have the wedding really soon,” Heather said, continuing with her renewed diatribe of bullshit and lies.

  Julia is seeing this right now. She’s seeing Heather touching me, talking about us being together.

  I jerked myself from Heather’s grip with a mighty yank. “Get off me!”

  The reporter, a sallow dude in a loose, cotton shirt and tie, jumped.

  Heather put up another fake smile. “Poor baby, you’re just tired from the game. Why don’t we get you into a hot bath? Jacuzzi tub. My place.”

  “We’re not engaged,” I said straight into the camera, then glanced at the reporter. The man’s expression lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. He’d just won the lottery of interviews.

  “You’re not?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes, of course we are. He’s just tired. Right, babe? You’re just tired,” Heather said, stroking my arm in a frantic caress.

  I shucked her off me again. How had she thought this shit would work on national fucking television? Yeah right, she wanted to be on national television. Seems she’d stop at nothing to bring that pipe dream to fruition. The only reason I’d kept my silence throughout the past few months was because I didn’t want Julia to get hurt by the crossfire if Heather erupted. Anything I said would’ve made it worse for her. The press would’ve had a field day if I’d come right out and talked about how I felt for her. But enough time had passed now.

  Relationship shit was supposed to be sacred, private. Not tossed out on television like filthy, moldy towels laying on the locker room floor for weeks.

  “You should probably give Adam some room,” Heather said, trying to latch onto me and guide me away so she could save face.

  “No,” I said and held up a hand to the reporter. “I’ve got something to say. I want to set the record straight.”

  The reporter practically jizzed in his pants. This was the news story of his career, right now. “What do you want to say, Mr. Spencer?”

  Heather leaned down and hissed in my ear, “Don’t blow this for me, Adam. Please.”

  I ignored her and smiled at the reporter so she tried another tactic.

  “Nothing, he wants to say nothing,” Heather yelled, redness creeping up her neck and onto her tan cheeks. “He’s tired, didn’t you hear me?”

  “I’m in love with Julia Wales. She’s the woman for me. Heather and I broke up shortly before my car accident. Right after she fucked my brother.”

  And I hope the fucking censors don’t get to that in time to bleep it out. Take that, FCC.

  Heather stumbled back. Her mouth dropped open, and she sucked in a vacuum cleaner gasp of air.

  “Julia Wales, that’s the –”

  “She’s an interior decorator,” a woman said.

  The three of us turned in unison, the cameraman panned to encompass the newcomer.

  Jessie Glyn strolled up to them, wearing a silk top and too-tight skinny jeans that gave her a muffin top. She’d casually thrown a denim jacket over her shoulders.

  “Jessie Glyn,” the reporter whispered. She was media royalty, apparently, because the guy with the microphone needed to breathe into a brown paper bag.

  “That’s right. I’m Jessie Glyn, and I’m dedicated to the truth,” she said, flashing a smile to camera. “I always have been and always will be. It’s my father’s legacy.”

  “What’s going on here?” Heather asked, confusion lighting her classic features.

  “Well, Heather, I’ve organized this little interview to have a chat about the truth.”

  “You organized this?” I asked. Shit, I’d thought it was a run of the mill post-game interview. But then, I was pretty familiar with all the sportscasters and reporters in Duluth. This dude was too skinny, an overgrown rat. When I realized I’d never seen him before, I’d just figured he was new on the scene. After all, I had been away an entire season.

  “You see, folks,” Jessie said, grandstanding for the camera. Her image flicked onto the big screen above the ice where fans stopped in their tracks, clutching drinks and hotdogs. They looked up at the screen, listening with rapt attention to the audio. “Heather McNeal is the real enemy here.”

  “Enemy? What? Jessie, what the hell are you doing?” Heather hissed, and her voice came out clear as day. “This isn’t what we discussed before the game. We’re best friends. You know how important the pilot is to me. You know I promised you that the show would feature your newspaper in an episode.”

  The Caribou fans went silent, a few of them turning to watch the live action rather than the screen.

  “The world needs to know what you’ve done.”

  I frowned, my gaze travelling from Jessie to Heather, and then up to the stands. A familiar face jumped out at me, one that shouldn’t have been there. Mark nodded at me, then turned his attention to the interview broadcast on the screens and onto people’s televisions in Duluth, if not across the country.

  How is Benedict Arnold involved in this soap opera?

  I stepped back, allowing Jessie more of the screen. “Heather McNeal cheated on Adam Spencer with his own brother. And then with Carter Jenkins. She tried to ruin Julia Wales and her design business. All because she wanted to become the next Kim Kardashian.”

  “My personal life is my own!” Heather shrieked, then gripped the ends of her blonde hair and tugged. “How dare you! How dare you do this to me? You’re my friend!”

  I could almost hear the collective gasp at the Federal Communications Commission.

  The crowd booed and rumbled. A low roar of disapproval.

  “Heather McNeal,” Jessie continued, “forced an unnamed accomplice to switch out urine samples with Adam Spencer, and implicate him in the drug scandal which could’ve ruined his career.”

  Heather went pale as a fucking sheet. Even if it wasn’t true, the libel laws didn’t protect Heather because I was such a public figure in Duluth. I was practically a national celebrity. And Jessie could say whatever the hell she wanted since she had journalistic immunity.

  “We have an insider source on the matter. Folks, it appears that Heather spread the vicious rumors that almost ruined an innocent woman’s business and saw Adam Spencer lose his position with the Caribou.” Jessie paused for effect. “Picture how differently this game could’ve gone if Adam hadn’t been on the ice.”

  The crowd’s boos grew louder. Adam pictured Gaston from Beauty and the Beast with his torch held high. A flaming mass of righteous indignation.

  I use antlers in all of my decorating…

  All of this information would ruin Heather. Her father was the acting president of the Chamber of Commerce. He’d probably make her leave town for this, if it didn’t ruin the entire McNeal family altogether. Bring their business to its knees.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Deny it then,” Jessie challenged. “Deny it to Duluth and the supporters gathered here today. Deny it to the Caribou.”

  “Fuck the Caribou!” Heather yelled.

  Wrong. Answer. Bitch.

  Hotdogs and hamburgers, popcorn, empty and full beer bottles. These were the missiles that the members of the rabid Caribou fans launched at Heather McNeal. I gasped when a huge glob of processed orange Mexican cheese landed on her perfect blow out.

  She screamed and held her arms above her head, then darted for the exit.

  The reporter salivated and looked at Jessie. “After that, if she wants to be a reality TV star, I think we can make that happen. Just not in the wa
y she wanted.”

  Jessie Glyn’s smile shone with truth and redemption. After high fiving the young reporter, she raised the microphone. “This has been a special news report, brought to you by Jessie Glyn. Stay Sweet, Duluth.” Then she did a mic drop.

  A literal mic drop.

  Pandemonium reigned.

  Chapter 40

  Julia

  I sat on the sofa and glared at my phone screen.

  The shaking had finally passed but the anger, lord have mercy, the anger was so strong I felt like someone had rammed a stick of dynamite up my ass and lit the fuse. I fumed. I shook my hair out of the high ponytail and fumed some more. I’d scratch Heather’s eyes out, then scream at Adam, then scratch Heather again.

  And fume.

  Why hadn’t he said anything back to the conniving witch? Why hadn’t he turned his back on her and finally walked away?

  Why hadn’t he defended me, the woman he claims to love?

  The question was prominent. It floated around inside my body, lying in wait like a dead corpse. Clogging up my neural pathways. Annoying me. I expected and damn well deserved better than this.

  Why hadn’t I seen his hesitation sooner? Why hadn’t anyone warned me?

  I ramped myself up further, dwelling on the times I’d seen Heather touch Adam. On the games I’d watched before he’d caught the other woman cheating on him. How I’d sat on my chintz sofa, glued to the television for every Caribou game, crushing on him. Pining away for him. And the whole time he’d been in love with someone else, who didn’t even come close to deserving him. Nothing had changed. Except I’d changed. I’d just been shattered beyond all recognition.

  I remember watching how he’d kiss Heather after every game. Leaning over the Plexiglass to lock lips with the stunning blond to the cheer of the crowd. And every time, my stomach would flip over. But now that I was in a relationship with him, would he mention my name? No, that was too much to ask. It was because I wasn’t skinny enough. Or because I wasn’t hot enough to be on TV?