by Felicia Lynn
“Charlie, everything will be fine. Our family and friends are just that, and we’ll see them later. Anyone in that room who truly matters or cares about us will understand our need for privacy right now to discuss what’s going on. It’s time for us to go. If you want to watch the rest of the draft, then we’ll watch it together at home, on our couch . . . naked. If you don’t, we’ll catch the highlights tomorrow. We’re going out the back door because I want to avoid the circus out front and a manipulating clown of a reporter. Jessica Christy is out there, so we’re flying under the radar and taking Scott’s truck. I don’t really want to deal with her if I can avoid it, but more importantly, I don’t want her anywhere fucking near you. I have Scott’s keys, and he’ll drop my truck off later and make the switch when the party is over.” He pauses, and a mischievous look flickers across his expression. He lowers his voice before continuing. “Only I don’t plan on discussing much of anything tonight unless you consider chanting my name all night long, over and over, discussing. Now buttercup, can I please take my beautiful fiancée home? I’d like to finally strip her out of the dress that’s left me with a hard-on all night,” he finishes. Then he attempts to start moving us toward the door again before I even agree. Which I definitely do agree with most of it because he was right and it was hot. Except no, I can’t. We’re not leaving like this. Not after everything else that’s happened recently.
“Slow your roll, hotshot. First, I love you. You make me smile, and I can’t wait for you to take this dress off me, but there’s absolutely zero chance I’m slinking out the back door to hide from some reporter. Also, if we’re not staying, I would really at least like to say goodbye and thank everyone for coming to the party I invited them to. But my stuff is in your truck, and I don’t want to sneak home in Scott’s. It makes me feel funny to hide, though, after everything we’ve been through. I’m not scared of her or anyone else, so why shouldn’t we face them? Your fiancée, Mr. Tyler Stone, is quite proud of her guy right now. Admittedly most selfish, I’m pretty lucky to be engaged to the man a particular journalist once labeled the most eligible bachelor in MLB. It would suck to forfeit the pleasure of seeing her face when she realizes she can no longer play that single, hot, bachelor card when referring to you in her write-ups. Now that our engagement is public, I think it’s time to break the news to her ourselves.”
Ty’s smile turns up a notch before he verbally agrees, and I know I’ve just won this round. I avoid looking smug and teasingly dancing around him.
“Fuck, Charlie, you’re adorable. I love you so damn much. You have exactly fifteen minutes to say thanks, goodbye, and whatever else you need to do in that room before I walk out the front door with you over my shoulder. I’m not letting you out of my sight or letting you get sidetracked either. The clock starts now. Move it, gorgeous,” he demands with a playful laugh. I do as I’m told and scurry out of the hall. Passing Scott with a sly smile, I know he likely witnessed much of that little chat. He should be impressed with my negotiating, but I don’t have time to wait and find out since I’m on the clock.
***
When Ty whispers the one-minute warning in my ear, I’m thankfully ready to go. I’ve fulfilled my obligations as host, thanking everyone and saying goodbye. Knowing that the clock was ticking, I moved quickly to make sure I handled everything. My hotshot wasn’t going to be very forgiving with a delay, and I knew he was serious. This wasn’t really one of those times I’d enjoy getting hauled out over the shoulder of my caveman fiancé. Not really the impression I want to make, especially right before we announce our engagement to an annoying reporter. No, thank you.
Hand in hand and grinning proudly, we walk out of George’s to cheers that grow louder and louder as the crowd of supporters notice Ty’s exit from the restaurant and join in. He handles the situation with ease, just as if he were walking off the field after a game. He does that weird head lift, tilt, nod thing again and casually raises our joined hands, modestly accepting the recognition as we walk in the direction of his truck. The overwhelmingly proud smile plastered on my face could never be misconstrued as modest. I’m just as excited as everyone else is out here and totally get the commotion, so it’s harder for me to play off the same cool, calm, and collected vibe he’s emanating.
Strangers offer handshakes and high-fives, respectfully not crowding us too tightly but still making it impossible to pass through the crowd quickly. I see the woman Ty wanted to keep at a distance leaned against the driver’s door of his truck, waiting with an arrogant posture and looking smug. Although I’ve never interacted with her face to face, I recognize her from the picture at the top of her online column. If that weren’t confirmation enough, feeling Ty’s hand tense before he tightens his hold on my hand makes it clear.
I attempt to exchange polite smiles with the woman as we get closer to the truck and acknowledging her becomes unavoidable. Obviously, she’s set up camp, waiting for us or more likely just him. How convenient. The smile on her face is a forced contradiction of everything implied by her body language.
Jessica Christy is not here as a supporter, regardless of her attempt to play that part. I don’t trust her at all. She’s manipulative and here hoping to dig for information she can exploit or twist. She’s devious, mean-spirited, and unconcerned with the consequences or aftermath that results from her deeply personal reports that border unethical. In most cases, her articles tend to lack a full disclosure of facts. Instead, she uses creative freedoms to twist information and statements to portray a more interesting version of her story. Fueling drama is the method to her madness, and she rules the arena for it and has become the queen. Unfortunately, it works for her and continues to be quite profitable.
“Hello, Tyler, congratulations. The Atlanta Braves are going to be lucky to have you. Would you care to make a statement for the paper? How do you feel about the selection? Any word on when contract negotiations will take place?” she asks, peppering him with questions as she casually avoids acknowledging me by focusing her attention on Ty. Maybe she feels better pretending I don’t exist, but Ty pulls me closer to him, making it obvious and unavoidable that I do and I’m here.
Remaining cool and aloof, Ty responds civilly. “Thank you, Ms. Christy. I feel honored that the Braves organization selected me, and I’m excited to be a part of something special. They’re a terrific clubhouse. I’m sure the management team will be in contact with us soon to discuss the details of the contract once the draft is finalized. For now, my beautiful fiancée and I are hoping to make it back home in time to watch the rest of the draft and see how the other selections play out tonight. It’s not too late if you want to tune in. Last time I checked, they were still at the top of the first round of selections,” he tells her with a hint of a critical tone.
The heavy lashes shadowing her cheeks shoot up, peering back and forth between Ty and I. “Your . . . your fiancée? I didn’t realize. My apologies. Congratulations, I suppose. Would either of you like to make a statement on that particular new development? Have you set a date for the nuptials?” Stumbling on her words at first, momentarily flustered, she hesitates. Pulling herself together quickly, her professional mask shifts into place, but I don’t miss the flash of grief before it’s shielded.
“Thank you, Ms. Christy. I’m sure you’ll agree that I’m a very lucky man. Charlotte and I are very excited to continue building our life together. We’ve not set a date for the wedding yet, but we are very much looking forward to planning a celebration with our families and friends as soon as possible.” Looking at me, he smiles adoringly, and the best part is I know the look isn’t just for show.
Continuing her questioning, she directs her focus once again on Ty. “Tyler, how will this engagement affect you in making the decisions necessary for your professional obligations, success, and future? Some will argue the timing of a substantial life change such as this for you could have an adverse reaction and be detrimental for contractual negotiations,” she implies.
My heart drops. I should have probably listened to Ty. Escaping out the back door was a solid plan. Maybe I got a little too confident while clearing all these cobwebs and standing up to the bullies these past few days.
Tensing, Tyler retains his calm composure although it’s more than apparent he’s growing annoyed by her. “The way I see it, Ms. Christy, my substantial life change is an incredible benefit that has no detrimental conditions personally or professionally. My future wife is an incredible woman driven by a heart of pure gold. Charlotte is honest, supportive, compassionate, generous, and full of love and kindness. I see no cause for you or anyone else to be concerned. She’s the best part of me.”
There’s no smile of tenderness as she’s visibly disappointed by his answer, seeming to grow more agitated.
“Aren’t you concerned about image issues that may arise with your association to the daughter of a leading presidential candidate? Maybe you’re not aware of the reputation for questionable ethical conduct surrounding politicians, Mr. Stone, including reports across both party lines of cheating for personal profit gain. Have your advisors expressed concerns about your association to Ms. Baker, as well as the person likely possible to become a leader in an industry with poor image values such as that? Professional athletes are held to an extremely high standard of ethical conduct, which brings me to question the oxymoron of your close association and partnership to someone with seemingly opposing core values.”
Turning her attention to me, her tone becomes chilly. “It’s common practice for public figures to build alliances with others for gains or as a ploy for publicity. Is that what’s happening here, Ms. Baker? Is this relationship an arranged partnership and publicity stunt to benefit your father’s political image?” she asks with a slight smile of defiance.
A cold tremor runs through my body. Caught completely off guard, I have no idea how to respond. Feeling completely insulted by the idea anyone could possibly think our relationship was fake, I can’t even begin to touch or fully process the other negative portrayals she’s inferred.
Before I’m able to recover from the shock of her accusations to consider a reply, Tyler’s on it quick. No longer interested in pretending to play nice, the words rip out of him impatiently. “Those are some serious allegations, ma’am. I’m not the least bit ashamed to admit I’m outraged by your repulsive attack on my fiancée's integrity. Your abrasive questioning and your perversely flawed attempt to discredit the core values of the governor of our state, a man who very well could be the next leader of our nation, is offensive. I’d say you’re treading on thin ice, Jessica. My advice? Be careful maliciously judging the virtue of others and planting seeds of doubt laced with fabrication. Actions like that leave an open invitation for others to reciprocate.” Turning to me and not waiting for a reply, he relaxes a bit as his previous critical and assertive tone and posture slips.
Holding me still with his burning gaze, he hesitates before his hand wraps around my waist with gentle authority. “I think it’s time to get home, buttercup. This was about all the fun I can stand outside the privacy of our home. What do you say?”
I nod, trying to look casually unaffected by the insults, but I fail when the movements are visibly stiff and forced. As the haze lifts and the reality of her personal attack sets in, my heart falls when I realize we have an audience. The interaction with Jessica Christy was not just endured by Tyler and me but was also witnessed by dozens of innocent bystanders. Mortified and concerned, I let Ty lead me around to the passenger side of the truck, attempting to control my composure and not allow the tears burning for release to fall.
I turn to get in the truck as Ty opens the door, and I unintentionally make eye contact with Jessica. I catch the hostile glare aimed solely at me. Her face is set with a vicious expression, and I know she’s not done, even if we very much are.
“Tyler Stone, you’re not nearly as smart as I gave you credit for being. That’s unfortunate. I misjudged you. Are you really naïve enough to believe that girl genuinely loves you? What a joke! People like her only love themselves. It’s a game. They use people to get them further in their own world. She can’t possibly care about you the way you deserve. Don’t you see that you’re making the biggest mistake of your life? Wake up . . . you idiot,” she finishes in a fit of fury, choking on her words.
I flinch, halting any forward movement, as I’m halfway in the truck with only one foot left touching the pavement. The hand guiding me gently at the small of my back falls hastily, and I feel the acute sense of loss from the warmth of his touch.
Seething with anger, Tyler turns, laughing at her in disgust as he moves toward her. Vibrations of his controlled intensity radiate through the air, chilling me to the core.
His arms spread expansively. “I gotta give it to you, Jessica. You have balls of fucking steel. Obviously, you came out here tonight determined to get a juicy story and not just a statement. Well . . . you’re going to get the statement and story you’ve earned since you clearly worked hard for it.” Shaking out of my shocked stupor, I jump out of the truck and move to Ty. Panicking, I grasp his arm forcefully, wanting to pull him away before he says or does something he’ll regret later. The likelihood of that possibility is growing by the second as this whole situation spirals more and more out of control.
“Tyler, that’s enough. Please, let’s just go.” I demand at first, but by the end, it comes out as an urging plea. Looking at me, he pauses briefly. I hold his gaze, seeing the cautious determination in his eyes, and I know there’s no turning back for him. I swallow hard and allow the firm grip of my fingers to fall from his arm in defeat.
He turns his attention back to Jessica, and the shadows of evil triumph edge her features smugly. She thinks she’s won, but I know differently. This is war, and Tyler Stone is just stepping onto the battlefield. She has no idea what she’s done.
“Here’s my statement, Ms. Christy, and for the record, I actually hope you print every word of it. I love Charlotte Maryland Baker with every single cell in my body. You’re delusional if you don’t see how extraordinary my girl is. You think I’m stupid, naïve, a joke, and an idiot. What you fail to understand is I actually don’t give a shit what you think. I care what Charlotte thinks and that I live up to her expectations and make her proud. I care that I’m able to make my girl feel as loved as I do and that she wakes up happy by my side every morning, knowing no one else could ever take her place for me. You think what we have is fake? Again, I don’t care what you believe to understand about our relationship because we know what we really feel with every fiber of our beings, and that’s what matters. Charlotte Baker is all mine to love, honor, and respect, and thank fuck I’m all hers because I never want to be anyone else’s. Ms. Christy, you think I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? Well . . . sign me the hell up. I’ll chain myself to her in any way possible with no regrets. The happiest day of my life will be the day she takes my last name, and for that day, I can’t fucking wait. But don’t you worry, Jessica. I’ll make damn sure you get an announcement when it happens. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to leave and get my fiancée home.”
Closing the distance between us, he folds his arms around me in a strong, firm hold, leading me again to the door of the truck. I’m not sure if I should be overjoyed or pissed. The emotional roller coaster I’m currently on is causing an overload of confusion for my mood and responses lately. Just when I think I want to get the hell off the crazy coaster because I can’t take anymore, something great happens to convince me to stay on and take another twist. At the end of the day, love it or hate it, I’ll stay on the tracks as long as Ty does because I know I won’t be going anywhere without him. That’s for sure.
Behind us, snickering and cackles rustle through the crowd of our unintended audience.
“Hell, yeah. He told her.”
“Now that’s what I call love. I hope she prints that speech. It’s as alpha hot as some of the things I’ve read from the fictio
nal heroes in my romance books.”
“I mean . . . is that Jessica Christy really that much of a bitch?”
“Poor Charlotte, she didn’t deserve that. I’ve met her a couple of times here at George’s. She’s so nice.”
“What? Poor Charlie nothing. Her man will take care of her. She’ll be just fine. And lucky.”
Climbing into the truck, I pull the seat belt across myself as Ty watches, kissing me with his eyes. Leaning in, his lips softly brush my ear as he whispers, “I love you, buttercup, until my last breath. I’ll set anyone who thinks differently straight. Don’t worry.”
THE SILENCE BETWEEN US in the truck is deafening; but worse than that, the chill in the air is colder than the frigid Alaskan air. I have no idea what to say to make this better. I didn’t have high expectations that things would go flawlessly with that overachieving reporter, but even with knowing her reputation for adding fictitious spin to her featured stories, I never expected this.
I seriously fucked this up, though. I should have gone with my gut and slid out the back door like I originally planned for us to do, but I never imagined the reality of how bad things could go. But hell . . . I wanted to announce our engagement to the world as much as Charlie did, so when she mentioned it, I couldn’t deny it or blame her for wanting to see the woman’s reaction to the news. Before tonight, I couldn’t even really blame Jessica Christy for the turmoil that ensued from the article she published that sent our worlds into chaos since she quoted me accurately without understanding my intentions. Now, I see that Jessica Christy plays dirty, so I’ll never again give her the benefit of the doubt. The woman is filled to the brim with authentic wickedness.
Leaning against the door looking utterly defeated, Charlie stares off into the distance through the window in a daze. With her head lazily resting on the window, I don’t see any sign of tears, but that isn’t the least bit comforting. As much as I hate to see her cry, my concern is that she’s hurt and burying it, and I hate that a lot more.