by Kata Čuić
“Those photos don’t exist.” I scrub my hands over my face in frustration.
Fuck me. Will every wrong decision I’ve ever made continue to bite me on the ass?
If it weren’t for that particular phrase of a “money-hungry jersey chaser” being plastered all over the internet, I might not know who to blame for this mess. I never thought I’d see the day I wished for the football royalty hashtag to be brought back.
“Okay.” Shawn heaves a deep breath as he continues to clack away at his keyboard. “Then, you finally give in to all the requests you’ve had for a glimpse at your personal life. We’ll schedule a segment with Good Morning, Sacramento with the both of you. Let the Sacramento Sun have their tour of the condo with Evie as the hostess. We’ll paint a picture of your life now, as it really is.”
“No.” Evie steps forward, seeming suddenly sure of herself for the first time since Byers ushered her into our home. “A rebound plan like that will only lend credence to what’s already out there. Our best bet is to do nothing. Let them say what they will.”
That’s it.
I snap.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I shoot off the couch like it’s on fire, my voice echoing off the still devoid-of-pictures walls.
Evie recoils as if I’ve physically slapped her, but regains her composure just as quickly. “Yes, in fact. According to the attending physicians at Manhattan Mercy, I am.”
Goddammit.
Phrases like that are going to be just as hard to wipe from my mental lexicon as sexist ones like “pussy.”
Byers intercedes before either Shawn or I get the chance. “Evie. We can’t let them run you through the mud like this. Travers said you were fending off guys left and right tonight. It’s not fair for them to paint you as a hussy when you’re clearly not.”
She furrows her brow. “Travers? Was he the new guy stationed inside the club?”
I don’t like the idea of that one bit. Byers might have connections, but unless I’ve vetted them personally, I don’t trust them.
He nods. “Yeah. He’s an old buddy of mine and has a vested interest in keeping women safe. His wife was date raped in college.”
Evie’s entire posture sinks, but her voice rings sure when she speaks. “Please thank him for his service tonight from me, personally. And if the opportunity arises, give him a card for the Sing Out foundation, in case they need any services.”
In a strange, and somewhat disconcerting, show of humanity, Byers’ shoulders jolt from her offer. “I will. Thank you.”
The statistic of one in four rings through my mind.
Is that why Byers leaped out as the front-running candidate? Did I subconsciously detect a kindred spirit in him?
“As the person who’s being featured in the media right now, consider this me making my official request known. I don’t want a response. You’re being paid to represent Rob, not me. As long as he’s not being portrayed badly, there’s no reason for you to react.” Evie toes off her killer heels and moves toward the bedroom on surprisingly steady feet. “Thank you for your time and concern, though.”
For a brief moment, all I can think is her feet must be killing her.
My agent and head security guard pull me back to reality rather quickly.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Falls. I had it all planned, down to the second.”
“We’ll fix this. Don’t worry.”
I raise a hand to stop their meaningless apologies. Evie’s right about one thing. What’s done is done.
“I pay you to handle it, so handle it.” I’m not going to let anyone destroy my wife’s reputation ever again.
“You really don’t have a single picture of your wedding, or you just won’t give it to me?” Shawn presses.
“There was no wedding. No honeymoon.” All because of the bastard who started this mess. I thought I could outsmart him.
I was wrong.
How am I supposed to be one step ahead of Jackson, if I can’t even manage to outmaneuver my own father?
“What’s the latest intel?” I turn my attention to Byers since I haven’t heard from my other contact in a few days.
We can get through a media onslaught, but another attack is out of the question.
“Still in the Carolinas. He just met with his parole officer, but these pictures could tip him, and I think you know it.”
I do know it. That knowledge has me more worried than the court of public opinion.
If there’s one thing I understand about enemy number one, it’s his sense of ownership. Seeing photos of other men lusting after the woman he believes to be his sole property might prompt him to make a move.
“Evie’s idea might work.” Shawn collects his laptop and all the fucking photographs from the coffee table. “No response at all from us could make this blow over sooner.”
“I don’t want her painted as a gold digger. Fix it. I don’t care how.”
Both men understand their dismissal.
They grab their belongings and depart without further discussion.
Thank God.
I have a wife to console.
The bedroom is dark and…empty when I enter.
No sounds from the en suite bathroom. There’s only one other place to check.
Evie stirs from the pallet I made up when the closet door creaks open under my hand.
“I really need to be in here tonight. I feel so violated.”
“That’s okay, baby. I understand. Do you want me to sleep with you in here?”
I want that, but her needs come first right now.
“I’d like to be alone, please.”
That’s fair. If it wasn’t for my celebrity, her personal time wouldn’t have been plastered all over the media and debased.
“Let me know if you need anything?”
“I’ll be fine, Rob. Get some sleep. I’m sorry again about the mess. I hope it doesn’t change anything.”
Her robotic tone sends goosebumps racing across my skin. On any other night, I’d suspect something bigger might be wrong, but after the events of the past few hours, I can’t blame her for needing to distance herself.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“I won’t.”
Her immediate response cuts through me, but, I force myself to close the door and lean against it.
I try to make myself as comfortable as possible, knowing it’s all in vain.
I have a wife to guard tonight.
No rest for the wicked.
“Baby?” Rob sounds like he gargled with sand. “Coming to bed?”
I resist the urge to look at him by focusing on my laptop in front of me, continuing to pore over financial records for the Sing Out foundation.
This project was our baby at one time, but it’s fallen into a state of mismanagement. It hurts my heart to see this once-upon-a-time good thing we created together coming apart at the seams.
Of the fifty campuses that started up chapters our senior year of college, thirty have dropped out due either to lack of funding, or more disturbingly, lack of interest.
It was hard enough getting college administrations to approve the foundation as a viable student organization on their campuses. No one wants to admit they have a problem.
And yet the statistics are irrefutable. More sexual assaults take place on college campuses than anywhere else. In spite of all the legal requirements in place for student liaison officers, ease of reporting, and Title IX standards, sexual assault continues to be the largest underreported crime in the country.
Of course, when victim shaming is such a huge part of rape culture, keeping quiet is often preferred over being reverse criminalized for an attack no one asks for.
Rob gives up waiting for a response and drops down onto the couch beside me with a sigh. “What are you working on tonight?”
“Following the money trail,” I mumble. “I think someone’s siphoning off funds, which is causing some chapters to close. If I can pinpo
int who, then we can fire them, put new safeguards in place, and hopefully move on without too much bad publicity.”
“That sounds…time consuming.”
“It is,” I assure him. “But, it’s important, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
“Until we find out who the problem is, that makes sense.” Thankfully, he seems to resign himself to another night alone in bed with little argument.
Over the past month, I’ve done a pretty good job of staying out of Rob’s way. I’m awake all night to work. Either for Sing Out, researching grad school programs, or monitoring the media shit storm created by a single night out on the town with Alyssa.
That last one isn’t really conducive to me getting my life together, but what can I say? I have a touch of masochist in me.
Without any further photos of me to post online, and certainly none of Rob and I in public together since I’m back to sequestering myself in the condo despite Shawn’s begging for positive media material, the witch hunt is slowly dying out. The focus has returned to Rob’s amazing performance so far this season.
With three wins under his belt and a seemingly brand-new smiling personality in front of the cameras, fans and sports casters alike are wondering what triggered his turnaround.
Speculation about his mystery wife and if that woman really is me continues to be a hot topic in the Falls Fanatics forums, but most of his obsessed fans have reached the consensus that Mrs. Falls is someone they don’t know, and his messy breakup with me at the end of college was what triggered his downward spiral in the first place.
They’re surprisingly astute for people who know nothing of the real Rob Falls.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he offers.
“Not really.”
“Well…can I get you anything? Coffee? Some pad thai from your favorite restaurant down the street?”
“It’s two in the morning. Sweet and Spicy isn’t even open.” I make the mistake of casting him an incredulous glance.
Oh, weakness, thy name is Rob Falls.
His sandy brown hair is mussed from the pillows, his beautiful eyes half-lidded and sleepy. My name still rests on his bare chest; I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll always have a special place in his heart.
Just not his future.
With four months to go in our bet, I’ve overheard several more phone calls between him and his…girlfriend.
As much as I don’t want to believe he’s lied to me as a perversion of helping me, I can’t deny what I’ve heard between them.
Love, trust, affection, hope.
If I thought she was the kind of woman to not let him slide back into his old, drunken ways, I’d cut my losses and save the rest of my heart while I can.
But, he won’t let me go without knowing I’ll be all right. So, I’m doing exactly what Cathy and Alyssa suggested. Taking steps to make myself happy. To give myself a chance at a future, even if it isn’t the one I’ve hoped for since I was fifteen.
I always knew that fantasy was a long shot.
Rob studies me with his tired eyes. “You know, if it wasn’t for the fact you’ve been so damn productive and cheerful lately, I might think you’re avoiding me.”
I am and I’m not. With no more secrets weighing me down, my steps truly are lighter these days. I’ve accepted Rob and I will always be good friends, forever bound together by shared misery I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’m making steady progress in my phone sessions with Cathy, learning how to control my fears instead of letting them control me as Rob said.
I pat his knee reassuringly. “Speaking of productive, I wanted to let you know my surgery is scheduled for next week. Mama already agreed to take a few days off from work to be here, and the surgeon thinks they’ll be able to do it laparoscopically, so my recovery won’t be as long as it might have been had she opted for open surgery. If it turns out they can’t do that as planned, your mom said she’d be happy to trade off weeks with my mom during my recuperation. Everything’s set up.”
Rob jerks his head back in surprise. “Okay. Awesome. Which day next week? I need to let the coaches know I won’t be at practice.”
A little laugh bubbles out of my throat. He really needs to go back to sleep. “Didn’t you hear me? You don’t have to take a day off, not that they’d let you during the season, anyway. Everything has been arranged. I just wanted to let you know there will be a guest here for a few days, so you don’t come walking out of the bedroom completely naked in front of my mother or anything.”
And, what a special brand of torture those occasions have been for me. He’s all but done everything in his power to tempt me into breaking and succumbing to the lust I still feel for him.
Each time, I simply replay in my mind what I overheard him say to her a few days after my trip to New York.
I know I’ve never said this before, but I love you. You have no idea what it means to me that you’re being so understanding and giving up so much. I just…wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it. Even though you feel guilty, you don’t owe Evie anything. You are such an amazing woman to do this for her. So…yeah. I love you and your good heart.
Knowing he’s finally found the love I always wanted for him is enough to firm up my resolve.
Mail ordering that vibrator Cathy suggested has also definitely helped curb my…urges to just say the hell with it and jump his bones.
“You don’t want me to be there?” Rob’s sullen voice pulls me out of my head space.
“Huh?”
He looks at me from beneath lashes which are an offense to mascara-wearing women everywhere. “You don’t want me there for your surgery?”
“Oh, no. It’s not that. I’m just trying to make the process as easy as possible to manage during the season. The Rushers are doing so well. What kind of football wife would I be if I let anything distract you from your next big win?”
“You’re not a football wife,” he grits out. “You’re my wife.”
Oh, Rob. Such a good man. Even in the worst circumstances. His loyalty, sense of duty, and desire to always do the right thing are what made me fall in love with him in the first place.
He’s not just a pretty face, intelligent mind, and hot body.
He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.
“You don’t treat me much like your husband these days.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. “I’m more like your roommate. If this is about my dad, then just…I dunno. Get it out. Yell at me. Take out your frustration on me. Tell me what you want me to do about it. I’m out of ideas to get you to forgive me for that night in New York.”
That’s what he thinks this is about? “There’s nothing to forgive you for. None of that was your fault. I’m not mad, I swear.”
He looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m afraid, Evie. Fucking terrified. I feel you pulling away again, but I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t want us to go back to where we were at the start of this bet. I want you to tell me what’s going on in that gorgeous mind of yours.”
Saved by his phone ringing.
“Shit.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “There’s no way this isn’t important, considering the time.”
He lumbers away into the bedroom, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Thank God for good timing. His woman really is amazing. I was so close to cracking, but she was the perfect reminder to keep quiet and just let this stupid bet run its course.
Rob reappears in the bedroom doorway, an expression of bewilderment on his face. He mouths to me, “Listen to this,” before tapping his phone.
He must’ve pressed the speaker option because a hysterical, young female voice fills the room. “I’m so sorry you have to find out this way, but he might not survive, and I thought you should be here, just in case.”
I abandon my laptop and rise from my spot on the couch, my senses on high alert. What in the hell?
“Who is this?” Rob demands.
; “My name is Bethany. I’m his girlfriend. Just, please…get here as soon as you can, and I’ll explain everything.”
“You’ll explain now. How am I supposed to know this isn’t some sick joke? I don’t even know where you are.”
Rob motions to my phone on the coffee table and silently tells me to get Shawn on the line as the young woman breaks out into another unintelligible crying jag.
Good idea. I tap out a quick text to let him know what he’s about to hear, then dial him up, putting him on speaker phone as well.
He’s smart enough to only listen and not speak.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” Rob says clearly, obviously trying to catch Shawn up on the situation. “Who are you? Where are you? How do you know my father? And what happened?”
His father? I must’ve missed that part before Rob put the call on speaker.
“I already told you,” she cries. “My name is Bethany Howard. I’m your dad’s girlfriend. We were…in bed, and then he said he couldn’t breathe and kept holding his chest. I called 911, and the ambulance brought him to Sacramento General. The doctors said he had a heart attack. That’s all I know. They won’t let me see him. Please. You have to come right away. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.”
Holy shit. If this is a joke, well…there’s no way this is a joke.
Rob seems less than convinced. “How did you get my number? I don’t have anything to do with my father.”
As she babbles some excuse, an incoming text on my phone redirects my attention.
Shawn: Give me 10 to confirm with the hospital. Do NOT let Rob go until I know more.
My phone goes back to the home screen, the call from Shawn dropped while he digs for information.
“I don’t understand,” Rob argues with the woman. “My father lives in Ohio, where he has a wife. He doesn’t have any clients in Sacramento. Care to explain to me why I should believe a damn word out of your lying mouth? Who put you up to this and what do you stand to gain from it?”