by A. J. Pryor
“That’s not my problem.”
“It will be,” he retorts. “I keep you protected, make it known you answer to me alone. I have a reputation no one wants to mess with. The minute I can’t claim you anymore, goodbye privacy.”
Body rigid, I clear a few things up. “I don’t respond to threats, Randy, and I’m not afraid of reporters. But I get it. I do. You need something. Here it is. Yeah, I have a girlfriend, and if anyone mentions her name or tries to contact her, I’ll make sure the next thing they’re reporting on is how fast ice melts at the North Pole. You can put that in your story.”
I walk away, wondering who is going to castrate me first: my dad, Reggie, or Hannah.
Hannah Black, a journalist at Century in Rewind, is dating Derek Cage. Sources close to the couple say she may be carrying his child, and wedding bells could be in their future.
Will Hannah Black be able to tame The Rage? Let’s hope not. The Bears can use all the aggression they can muster.
Derek Cage has found love in the form of Hannah Black. Brave woman to take on a man like The Rage. Maybe we should be electing her for president.
I almost said yes. The urge to type those three letters when Derek asked me to marry him battled inside me. It’s crazy and spontaneous, but nothing has ever felt more right.
I’m addicted. And in love.
Fuck, I’m totally screwed.
“Talk, Sunshine.”
Chandler slaps a few papers on the conference room table, ESPN in bold printed across the top. Derek’s livid face stares back at me.
Derek “The Rage” Cage confirms he has fallen in love. Sources close to the situation say she’s a journalist, a new member of Larry Solomon’s team. We caught up with Senator Tom Cage last night at the gala to benefit mentally challenged children. Here’s what he had to say:
“My son’s sole focus is football. If there’s a woman in his life, I don’t know about her. How important can she be?”
You prick.
“Ten men are about to filter in through that door, one of them Travis McCoy. You better have your game face on.”
“Where did you get this?”
“It’s all over the Internet, Sunshine.”
“Shit.”
I read the article one more time.
“It’s not going to change the more you read it. Tom Cage has it out for you.”
Throwing the papers in the trash, I fist my hands and groan. I hate that man.
“Want to talk about it? For a woman who captured the heart of Derek Cage, you look miserable.”
I have the blurred lines of a story, a man to free, and a senator to crucify. But nothing is solid. I need facts, not speculation.
“If I tell you what I know, will you keep it a secret, not let on until I’m ready to go to print?”
Leaning his elbows on the table, he nods. “I swear on all that is Chris Hemsworth; I will not tell your secrets.”
“You are weird.”
“That’s beside the point. Talk.”
I tell Chandler everything. “I think Lily knew a secret about Tom Cage or the Cage family. It could have led to her murder.”
“Do you know the secret, Hannah?” Larry’s voice startles me, his entrance to the conference room had been silent and undetected. Thankfully, he’s alone.
“Can you please close the door, Larry? I don’t want any of this information leaked.”
“Of course.” The door clicks shut, and he turns the lock.
“I don’t know what Lily discovered, but it cost her, her life.” I detail the letters, the possibility of another boy or a stalker, my belief that Derek is innocent.
Both men are quiet while they digest this information. Chandler breaks the silence. “Is the sex good at least? Is it everything I imagined it would be?”
“Chandler!” Larry scolds.
“Sorry.”
Larry turns his attention back to me. “Hannah, I want this story. How close are you to the answers? Do you need more resources?”
I need every resource he’s got. But we’re talking about Derek’s life. I’m not willing to place it in anyone else’s sloppy hands.
“Thank you, but I need to do this on my own. I might find something that’s too personal to reveal.”
Disappointment shadows his face. “This is journalism, Hannah. Nothing is too personal.”
“This is.” I won’t back down. Not now, not ever. “You’ll get Derek’s story. An exclusive look no one else can capture. But it will be on my terms.”
“I could fire you.”
“And then you’ll have nothing. I promise, Larry, be patient. You won’t be disappointed.”
Larry leans forward, elbows on the table.
“I want that story on my desk the minute it’s complete.”
The door to the conference room rattles with the rest of the team waiting impatiently to enter. I’m sure Travis has a few choice words about this morning’s article.
“You can skip the meeting, Hannah. This story takes top priority.”
“Thanks.” I slip out of the room, avoiding eye contact and escaping Travis McCoy. I feel their stares, hear their angry grunts, and I know my time here is limited.
Black, ominous glass everywhere. I wait outside Tom Cage’s office for a glimpse of the man, a look into his dark world. The wind has picked up, and a cold blast runs through my navy pea coat, straight to my bones. People dressed in suits walk at a brisk pace up the front steps and into the building via revolving doors.
When I was a child, revolving doors had meant wealth, fame, the big city. We don’t have buildings like this in Los Angeles; the doors never turn.
My dad once took me to Washington, DC, for a work event. I turned round and round inside the entrance door to our hotel before venturing outside, not a care in the world. The urge to spin through those doors died with my childhood, but if I can’t free Derek from his silent jail, then his life will become that spinning door. Hell on constant repeat. Is that what is has been like for him all these years?
My target emerges, security surrounding him. He’s too gray for someone in their mid-fifties, but he attracts the attention of all those around him. A powerful man with untouchable secrets.
He walks briskly, people catering to his every need, the rest of the world small compared to the responsibilities resting on his shoulders.
“A remarkable man, isn’t he?”
The voice startles me, and I flip around, face to face with Sarah Press.
“Sarah,” I whisper. “What an odd coincidence.”
The hair on my arms begins to rise, and my defenses lock into place as I notice the disturbing gleam in her eyes. My anxiety intensifies. This was not a chance meeting.
“I should have told you the first time we met. I just wanted to be near you, to meet you.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah, I’m not following.”
“I’ve been watching you.”
“Why?” Did she send me those photos? Is Sarah Press my stalker? Or does this have to do with my father, with Spencer?
“It’s not every day my son is photographed with a woman.” In an instant, everything changes. Dread overpowers me. Every meeting has been purposeful, each incident a reason for her to reach out, find me.
“You’re Madeline Cage.”
Despair mars her kind face.
“He thinks you’re dead.”
“I know,” she acknowledges. “I know.”
“Why? Why would you do that to him?”
Her eyes are haunted. She looks . . . guilty. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” I fold my arms, ready for a fight. A fight for Derek.
Fidgeting, Sarah, or maybe it’s still Madeline, stares at the pavement. The wind lashes my face, slicing through me, but the frenzy in my blood is making me sweat.
“Can we go some place and talk?” she asks, her voice gentle like a child, her expression tarnished in shame.
Reluctantly, I agree.
“My home is only thirty minutes away. You can follow me.”
Has she lived this close his entire life?
Sudden loathing for this woman crawls across my skin. I bury it deep and follow her along back roads that might finally lead to answers. Snow begins to fall at a steady pace, an early winter storm in the middle of November.
We arrive at a new condo complex, a perfect place to raise a family with a playground, restaurants, and stores. I follow her up the snow-covered path. She opens the door to unit nine, and a beige pug jumps on her legs, wagging its curled tail, its tongue lapping at her calf in a repetitive rhythm.
She bends and picks the dog up, kisses its head, and shows affection I’d assume someone like her would be incapable of.
Her home is neat, even pristine, with updated furniture and a large flat-screen television. The dog jumps out of her arms and onto the red, velvety sofa, snuggling into a pillow, snorting and wagging her pig-shaped tail.
“Daisy, you’re not supposed to be on there. Get down.” Sarah waves at the dog, but Daisy doesn’t move, looking up at Sarah with a face no human could refuse.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Not really. This isn’t a social visit.”
She bows her head in shame or regret, maybe resolve. I have no idea what this woman is feeling. I can’t begin to imagine the reason she abandoned her son.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to make myself something to drink.”
Photos line the walls, the dark wood bookshelf, and the glass coffee table. I pick one up. A, dark-haired boy with large, curious blue eyes, stares back at me. His life is painted in painful, heartbreaking detail, showing him changing from a buoyant toddler to an anxious teenager and finally, a stoic adult.
She re-enters the room, a mug in her hands, and sits on the couch. Daisy curls up in her lap, a loving gesture, kindness that is at odds with her actions fourteen years ago.
Gathering my wits, I take a seat on the chair across from her, waiting to hear her side.
“I couldn’t handle it, being a Cage. The expectations, the prying eyes, all the rules. My parents were farmers. My siblings never moved away from the farm. The life I’d built was . . . it was too big.”
“And faking your death is minimal? Seems rather extreme to me.” This woman’s entire family died in a fire, and yet she faked her death. I bet any of her family members would trade places with her to have a chance at a life, not wallow in self-pity.
Her downcast eyes close. “Tom wouldn’t concede to a divorce. It’s not an option for a Cage, but a widow? He would gain sympathy. I wanted out. An anonymous life was what I was looking for. Being married to Tom Cage was suffocating. It’s impossible to catch your breath when the world is looking at you as if it’s their right to judge. There’s no room for mistakes.”
A war of emotions rages within me. I want to ask a million more questions and stay ignorant simultaneously. I want to berate this woman who left her son to fend for himself. What type of human does that?
“When your picture was snapped on the back of his bike, I knew you’d been sent to save him. I’ve been watching you ever since.”
Goosebumps spread across my skin, a chill impossible to warm. “Have you been threatening me?”
She shakes her head. “No. I would never harm you. Ever.”
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
Nodding, she looks to her clasped hands. “When you get to be my age, you reflect on your life with remorse. I thought he’d be better off without me. Tom would make him into a man where I would have failed him.”
“You failed him anyway.”
She takes a deep breath. “You need to help him, Hannah. You need to make him whole.”
I pick up a photo of Derek from one of his years on the 49ers. He’s focused, his eyes on the field, his face stoic. But there is weariness there, a burden weighing on him.
“I’m surprised no one has recognized you.”
“Someone did.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Lily saw you, didn’t she? You’re the secret she discovered.”
With shock and hurt in her eyes, Sarah shakes her head.
“No. It was Reggie.”
Reggie Maddox? The Harolds said Reggie was a troubled teen, that he led Derek into trouble. And he discovered Tom Cage’s biggest secret?
“I left the country after that and have been living abroad the past ten years. When Derek decided to come back to Chicago, I moved home. A decade is a long time for people to forget someone. No one recognizes me now.”
“Did you tell Tom Cage that Reggie discovered you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened after that? Is there any connection to this and Lily’s death?” I have to find out what she knows. If she was lurking around all those years ago, then maybe she saw something. Maybe she holds all the answers.
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure why there would be.”
She nudges Daisy to the side and stands. “Reggie spotted me in the woods. He was smoking weed and most likely up to no good. I’d only met him once before I vanished, but he’d remembered me. We stared at each other, and I could tell he thought I was a mirage, possibly a hallucination. I told Tom what had happened as soon as I could. But Reggie had gone to him first.”
“Reggie told Tom? Was Tom open to Derek’s friends approaching him?”
“I don’t think Reggie gave him a choice.”
I wonder if Tom Cage is bribing Reggie to stay quiet. If he’s Derek’s best friend, keeping this from him is monumental. There has to be some reason Reggie’s never leaked the news.
“What happened when Reggie told Tom? How did he react?”
“I don’t know. Tom wouldn’t tell me. He assured me the situation had been handled but insisted I needed to leave the country. I was gone the next day.”
“Dammit!” I slap my legs and stand. “Do you not care about your son? How do you not know anything?” I’m losing it. Frustrated, angry, and incredibly sad, my heart feels like it’s been cut open and is bleeding out angst. “Derek needs answers. It’s the only way he can heal from the destruction you caused.”
“I’m sorry. The only people who were close to Derek at that time were Reggie and Lily.”
“Derek said Reggie won’t talk to me.”
“Have you tried to reach out to him?”
“No, I’ve been around him enough to know he’s a closed book.”
The room falls silent. Another dead-end, another hurdle.
“Derek needs to know,” I state. “You need to tell him who you are.”
“No. I can’t. I won’t.”
“If you love your son, you’ll come forward. You’ll help him.”
“Help him how? Make his life into a bigger media circus? Break his heart again? No. He’s better off not knowing the truth.”
“Then why did you tell me?”
“So you know how to love him. So that you, Hannah, can bring Derek back to life.”
The cold wind smacks me in the face as I race to my car, but I’m immune to it. My thoughts are on Derek and reaching him as quickly as possible. I keep hearing Sarah’s words. So you know how to love him. So that you, Hannah, can bring Derek back to life. Can I actually do that? Am I enough?
Pulling the driver’s door open, I jump inside, slamming it just as fast. Shivering, I reach for my phone and drop it, the slick case sliding through my stiff fingers. Shit. I bend to get it, and the back door swings open.
I jerk my head around, and I’m face to face with Senator Tom Cage.
Selma, Lacy, Snap. Look for the open receiver, cock my arm, spin the ball.
Three feet too far. Shit.
“Homey, you play like this on Sunday, and we are fucked.”
Hands on my hips, staring at the perfect missed pass, I know Coxy’s right, but I refuse to acknowledge his lame comments.
“Again!” I yell.
Everyone is in position. Maverick breaks open,
same speed, same open space, and I throw, fucking it up once again.
“Dude!” Maverick yells from ten yards away. “What. The. Fuck?”
“Run faster, asshole.” My words are shit, and I know it. Maverick was exactly where he was supposed to be. My head is not in this game. Fuck him. Fuck all of them.
“Again!”
Maverick is pissed, and Coxy eyes me like the devil.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Coxy?”
“That’s it.” Maverick drops the ball and rounds on me. He’s in my face, his nostrils flaring. “What’s in your head, Cage? You’re telling me to cut one way, then throwing the opposite direction. I can’t read minds.”
I shove him hard.
Ripping off his helmet, he stands tall, his breath coming in deep inhales and exhales, his eyes filled with hate. He can’t touch me, and he knows it. If he even tries to retaliate, the consequences will be fast and harsh. I’m a total asshole for putting Maverick in this position.
Coxy is at my back, shoving me forward, his palm connecting with my shoulder, each push a reminder this is not how a star quarterback acts.
“Settle the fuck down,” Coach is yelling, knocking George’s hand aside. “Not on my field.” His finger pointed at my face.
Coxy pushes me into a private office, then slams the door. “Sit,” he barks.
Falling into a chair, I heed his command. Ashamed, furious, defeated, I won’t look at him.
“Talk.”
Sitting on the desk before me, Coxy has one foot on a chair and his arms are resting on a propped-up knee. He looks like one of my old professors dressed up for Halloween, and I begin to laugh.
“QB, are you on crack?”
I laugh harder.
“You know coach doesn’t let that shit fly.”
Rubbing my eyes, I control myself. “No, Coxy, I’m not on drugs.”
“Then please explain to me your pussy-ass behavior.”
Taking a deep breath, I scratch my scalp and try to put into words why I’m angry. “Did you see the paper today?”
His eyes narrow confused; he hasn’t.