Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  “Do I ever? If you want to talk, let’s talk. If not, I’m going inside.”

  I take a long sip of water, debating if I want to have this conversation. What the hell. “Why don’t you tell me what you think is wrong.”

  “You’re throwing too late. Every damn play. It doesn’t help that your line isn’t doing jack to protect you. When you throw to Jackson, for some reason, you two are not in sync. Either you’re over-throwing it or he’s missing his mark. It’s happening every time, and you’re one throw away from an interception. It’s not all your fault—the play calling sucks. Someone needs to slap your offensive coordinator upside the head. But the real issue is you look like a deer in headlights out there. You’re not focused.”

  I sit across from her. We rattle back and forth about the team and the technical aspects of my game. It feels like old times. As much as I’ve always given her shit for criticizing me, she knows me better than anyone, and she’s never wrong. She picks up on things that no one else does, and I always end up getting better.

  We both avoid the issue of my lack of focus. That would be the gateway to personal issues, and I can’t go there. What would I say? “You’re a heartless bitch who broke my heart, and even all these years later, it’s still fucking up my life.” I’d probably end up getting kicked in the junk, and I don’t think I can handle hearing what she’d have to say. I don’t need her to reiterate that she didn’t love me. She’s made that perfectly clear.

  When the conversation lulls, she stands and brushes herself off. “I should get inside. It’s almost dawn, I think.”

  “Wow, we’ve been out here a while.” I stand and collect my empty water bottles. “Thanks again, Ari. Sorry for waking you up and… everything.”

  I turn to walk away, and she says, “Hey, Chase?”

  I spin around. “Yeah?”

  “What was with all the silent running earlier in the summer? That was pretty weird, even for you.”

  Urg. I was really hoping we would never have to talk about that. “That was Charlie’s brilliant idea. Spring practice wasn’t starting off so well for me. She asked how I got out of my slumps in the past, and I told her you would kick my ass until I stopped slumping. She thought since I was staying here, I might as well run with you, like when we were kids.” Charlie actually told me to stay at my parents’ just so I could go running with Ari, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  Ari smirks. “How’d that work out for you?”

  “It helped for a while. But then you started traveling and…”

  She fidgets with the hem of her tank top. “Oh.”

  “I caught the games you were on,” I say. “You were really great. Funny too.”

  She blushes. Oh, man. There’s nothing sexier than a woman blushing. “Thanks. I’m not sure where it’s going to go. The pre-season was a trial of sorts. I’m meeting with the network next week to talk about opportunities for the season.”

  I can’t help but smile. “That’s great, Ari. Good luck. They’d be crazy if they didn’t put you on the call. You know more about football than half the jokers they’ve got on there.”

  “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

  “Yeah. Good night.”

  She turns around and walks to her house. I stay to make sure she gets in safely. It has nothing to do with checking out her ass. Walking home, I feel a million pounds lighter. I still have no fucking clue what I’m going to do about anything, but I don’t feel as though I’m drowning.

  “Brennan, my office!” Coach yells.

  We’re finishing the final run through before the game against the Rams. Practices have been going better the last few days, but I’m not totally out of my funk. We’ve won our last three games, but only because we’ve gotten lucky. We’re not dominating. I’ve always been a quarterback that plays to win, but lately we’ve been playing not to lose, and that infuriates me. It’s up to me to turn this team around and make us the team we should be. I’ve just got to pull my head out of my ass first.

  He follows me into his office and shuts the door. He leans against his desk and points at the chair. “Sit.”

  “What’s up, Coach?”

  “I know you’re working hard, Brennan. I can see your effort. You’re the first one here and the last one to leave every day. Technically, you’re making progress, but your heart’s still not in it. I don’t know what’s got you all locked up, but you need to clear it up quick. Otherwise, all this effort is just spinning your wheels. It’ll make the difference between a mediocre season and a winning season. The team looks to you to lead them. If you’re just going through the motions, so will they, and we’ll have a losing record before you know it.”

  I nod. “Got it, Coach. I swear I’m working on it.”

  “Anything you want to talk about? Debt? Drugs? Dames? The three ‘D’s of evil.”

  “Nope. Still none of those. I wish it were that easy though.”

  He pats my knee. “My advice is to trim the fat. Whatever’s going on in your life that’s causing you stress, just cut it out. If there’re people in your life who aren’t supporting you, you don’t need ‘em. If you’ve got a problem hanging over you, find the simplest solution, solve it, and move on. You’re letting something weigh you down, and you just need to get rid of it. It’s time to sever ties and simplify your life, son.”

  “That’s really good advice, Coach. I’ll think on that.”

  Later that night, I go out with some of the guys from the team. The team has been so disconnected, and we really need to blow off some steam. I hope that hanging out will help bring back some of the chemistry I know we have. A huge group of us go to the Epic Roasthouse for steaks and drinks. No women, no drama. Just boys, meat, and scotch. Typically we make a rookie pick up the tab, but to try to earn some good will, I cover the check. I’ll find something else for the rookies to do. I’m thinking a car wash.

  After gorging ourselves, we head upstairs to the bar. The no-women policy goes out the window, but that’s to be expected. These boys aren’t saints, and they’re certainly not monks. If there are women in the vicinity, we attract them like magnets.

  I’m sitting with my top wide receiver and my go-to running back, enjoying a bottle of thirty-five-year-old Macallan. Marshall, my running back, is one of those guys who just has to snap his fingers to get hordes of women to come running. He snapped, and suddenly our table is crowded with women. I’m polite, but the more they talk, the more I want to get out of there. I’m sick of mindless banter.

  I’m about to excuse myself when a five-foot-four tower of crazy arrives at the end of my table. The smell of alcohol comes off her in waves. Thank God there’s a smoking ban. If someone lit up near her, she’d burst into flames.

  “Chase Patrick Brennan, what in the hell do you think you’re doing? Who the hell are these skanks?”

  Ericson, my WR, elbows my ribs. “Did she just use your middle name? Seriously? Dude, that shit ain’t right.”

  “You’re telling me.” I turn my attention to Jenna and give her the look of death. “If you all will excuse me, it seems I have a situation to deal with. Ladies, my apologies for my rude friend here. Jenna, let’s take this elsewhere.” I take her elbow and walk her to a far table. She can barely put one foot in front of the other. “Jenna, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  She smacks my chest. “No, what the hell is wrong with you? I don’t hear from you all week, then I get a call from Marissa that you’re down here covered in whores. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Especially for my cousin to have spotted it. You know how she’s always been jealous of me. Always looking for a chance to knock me down. You will not humiliate me, Chase Brennan. I will not allow it.”

  “You’re doing a good enough job of that on your own. What were you thinking coming down here like this? What did you think it would accomplish?”

  Tears stream down her face, and she falls all over me. “I don’t know what else to do. You’re icing me out. You’re
making a fool of me. Tell me, what am I supposed to do?”

  She’s over the top, but not entirely wrong. I’ve pushed her to the back burner because I’m not ready to face the fact that I’ve fucked everything up. Maybe Coach is right. It’s time to trim the fat.

  I put my hand over hers and look into her eyes. “Jenna, you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you. I’ve been dealing with a ton of stuff, and it’s impacting my game–”

  She throws up her hands. “Your game! I’m so sick of hearing about your game! There’s more to life than football!” She’s shouting so loudly that the whole bar stops and stares.

  Her cousin, Marissa, shouts, “You tell ‘em, honey!”

  Fucking A, this is getting out of hand.

  Deacon, one of the veterans on the team, shouts, “Baby, you’re in the wrong place if that’s what you think.”

  Jenna glares at me. “Are you going to let him talk to me that way? No wonder your team is having trouble. You’re nothing but a bunch of low-class thugs.”

  My boys break out in laughter.

  “You’re on your own with that one, Brennan!” Deacon shouts back.

  “One, you’re the one making the scene, and two, he’s not wrong,” I say. “You intruded on a team-only function. What do you expect?”

  She points at the table I was sitting at. “And those hookers are part of the team now?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. They aren’t hookers—two of them are going to medical school. They just happened to be at the bar. Notice that they aren’t screaming and carrying on. If you’re worried about looking like a fool, you should start with yourself.”

  She recoils and looks as though she’s about to throw another fit.

  I touch her hand. “Jenna, please sit. Let’s talk about this calmly. Privately.”

  She sits in a huff.

  “Jenna, we need to take a break. This isn’t working. I have so much I’m dealing with, and I’m not being fair to you. I’m in a really strange place right now, and the only thing I know for sure is I can’t give you what you need.”

  She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. “No. You don’t get to do this to me. You’re just not trying hard enough. You need to get your priorities straight and focus your attention where it belongs.”

  I sigh. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but that’s exactly what I’m doing. Somewhere along the way, I got lost, and I need to find a way to get back to where I need to be.”

  She slaps me so hard she falls over from her follow-through. I’m pretty positive someone’s gotten all of this on their phone. It’ll be on TMZ before the end of the night.

  “Since you’re done being civil, I’m going to be very clear. You and I are done,” I say.

  She pounds on my chest with her fists. “You don’t mean that!”

  I grab her wrists and pull her hands together while her head falls forward, and she sobs. “Yes. I do. I’m sorry it has come to this. Let me call you a cab.”

  She pulls her hands back and smoothes down her skirt. She looks eerie, as if she’s suddenly sober. “You don’t mean any of this. I’ll give you the time you’ve asked for, and we can work things out after you’ve had time to regroup.”

  I feel as though I should correct her. This is a breakup, not just a break, but she’s so plastered, she might not remember any of this tomorrow. I pay for her condo, her car, her cards, and I’m not in the position to deal with the drama that will arise from cutting off that faucet. I’m sure I’ll regret this later, but as long as she gives me space, I can sort it out later.

  She stumbles as she tries to walk away. I reach for her, but she pushes me away.

  Marissa rushes to her side. “I’ve got her. Just let her walk out of here with some dignity.”

  I follow them anyway, and I watch Marissa pour Jenna into a cab before she passes out.

  “She’s going to feel miserable tomorrow,” I say. “Can you be there for her?”

  She leans against the cab door. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  “I’m so surprised that she lashed out like this. You know how she hates to make a spectacle.”

  Marissa squints at me as though I’m crazy. “What else could she do, Chase? She’s desperate. She’s a society woman. She doesn’t have a career, and we both know she’s not into philanthropy, so all she has is shopping, social lunches, and you. Everyone is constantly asking her about the wedding, and she has nothing to report back. Nothing! It’s been mortifying for her. You’ve put up a Chinese wall. I can’t count how many times she’s looked like a fool when people ask her things about you that she has no idea about.”

  “That’s why I’m letting her go! I can’t give her what she wants.”

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Nice job with that by the way. You tell her in a bar when she’s drunk. That says a lot about how much you care about her. She isn’t some conquest you’re cutting ties with. She’s the woman you asked to marry you.”

  Just hearing those words makes me grimace. I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to fight off the tension headache I feel forming. “I’ve been a dick to her, I know. She’s a good girl. She deserves to find someone who can love her in a way that I can’t.”

  She smacks my forehead. “Wake up, buddy. She’s not going to let this go just because you gave her the blow off. She’s invested. Don’t forget, you were the one who insisted on a public engagement. You called a god damn press conference! You set yourself up for all of this, and she’ll be patient so she can save face, but she won’t walk away. She’d rather be in a loveless marriage than be jilted.”

  “I can’t live like that, and neither should she. She needs to move on.”

  She pats my shoulder. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” She slides in the cab, and it takes off down the street.

  I should feel something: loss, guilt, sorrow. But I don’t. I’m actually breathing easier for the first time in weeks. Trimming the fat.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Arianna

  “Turn on channel four! Quick!”

  I fumble for the remote that’s buried somewhere in my blankets. “I’m half asleep, Charlie. What’s going on?” After finding the remote, I turn the TV to channel four. “Urg. TMZ? Really? You know I don’t watch this junk.”

  “Both you and Chase were mentioned in the rundown.”

  I turn off the TV and roll back over. “Charlie, I have to be on a six o’clock flight. TMZ can suck it. I’m going to bed.”

  I don’t know why she watches those shows. She knows from watching my father and me what a soul-sucking parasite the press can be. The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m going to L.A. tomorrow to meet with the network to talk about expanding my role as a sportscaster. Sportscasters are a slightly more evolved version of the soul-sucking parasite, but they’re still press. Hence why I’m only willing to talk Xs and Os and honest commentary about the athletes. I’m not interested in drama or hype—just if the players and coaches are doing their jobs. If the network isn’t interested, well, then I’m out.

  After a night of tossing and turning, I manage to make my flight and get to L.A. around seven thirty. The network sent a car, allowing me to collect my thoughts before the meeting rather than navigating the obscene morning rush-hour traffic.

  I’m walking into this meeting completely blind, which isn’t a position I’m comfortable with. The execs wouldn’t give my agent the slightest hint of what they wanted to talk about. If I didn’t want this so badly, I’d demand some quid pro quo. Sometimes this is how the game is played, especially when you’re not the number-one player in the world anymore.

  The studio offices are like their own metropolis, so it isn’t hard to understand why these people think the world revolves around them. In their little bubble, it does. When you’re a celebrity, they need something from you and they kiss your ass. When you want something from them, like a seat in the booth, they expect ass kissing, a skill I never acquired. This meeting ought to be interesting.


  “Arianna, thank you so much for coming,” David Epstein, the head of the network, says when he greets me in reception.

  He leads me back to his over-the-top office with a great view of the city. I’ve known David my whole life. He and Daddy played at Stanford together, and they’ve remained friendly over the years. A leggy receptionist who really needs an education in appropriate work attire enters the office with my agent in tow. Aaron scours every inch of her exposed legs with his eyes. Note to self, time for a new agent.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?” she asks.

  “No, thanks,” I reply with as I sit on the soft leather loveseat. I purposely sit in the middle so as not to allow room for my slimy agent.

  He smirks at me and sits on the adjacent sofa.

  David shakes hands with Aaron. “You know, Aaron, I don’t think we’ll need you this morning. Arianna and I are going to play a bit of catch up. Why don’t you and Celeste, my lovely receptionist, get some breakfast? The rest of the team will be in for the formal meeting in an hour.”

  Aaron begrudgingly leaves, taking the receptionist with him.

  David sits across from me and smiles warmly. “I want to preface this by saying this conversation is just between you and me. I have not expressed what I’m about to say with anyone else.”

  “Okay, David. I appreciate that.”

  He takes a drink of water, his hand trembling slightly. “I’m worried. I’ve been keeping a close eye on your dad these first few games. He doesn’t look good. I fear the travel is just too much for him, but he won’t admit it. He’s so damn stubborn.”

  I release a long sigh. “Stubborn isn’t the word for it. It’s denial. He puts on a big show, but it’s wearing on him. He won’t even discuss quitting before the end of this season.”

  David leans across the gap and puts his hand on my knee. “If I could, I would fire him and force his ass to stay home and rest. But I can’t do that to him.”

  I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to maintain my composure. “That would break him.”