Much to Brock’s dismay, the team unanimously stands behind me. So we go back on the field and play with everything we’ve got. Twenty-six penalties, two recalled touchdowns, and three overruled challenges later, the clock ticks down in the fourth. Miraculously, we pull out a win. This week has been the lowest week of my career, and despite, or maybe because of, it all, I’ve never been more proud of my team. We played though impossible conditions, with the deck stacked against us, and we still beat them. The win won’t do a thing to change anyone’s opinion of me or the Niners, but it has given this team the fire we need to finish out the season and give the whole world the finger as we do it.
The adrenaline boost of the win starts to wane during the press conference, and the pain of getting bowled over by two-hundred-fifty-pound linebackers eighty or ninety times starts to set in. The firing squad of reporters asking if I cheated in this game too really takes the wind out of my sails. In my fifteen minutes of required press time, not one question pertained to the fact that we won.
Chapter Seventeen
Arianna
A loud clap of thunder wakes me from a sound sleep. I roll over and reach for Chase, but he’s not there. Just like every other night for the past week. I grab my robe from the back of the door and slip it on as I pad downstairs. I stop in the kitchen and make a sandwich, then I take it to the entertainment room in the basement. Chase’s watching film with Heisman in his lap, preparing for his game on Sunday.
I place the plate on the table next to him, then I curl up beside him on the sofa. He winces when I lean against him, and I immediately recoil. Sometimes I forget how battered he is.
Each week that this investigation continues, the abuse Chase endures increases exponentially. The NFL has stayed completely silent, so the press is desperate for anything. I can’t count the number of Stanford players who have called me saying the press has been pestering them for some dirt on Chase. Charlie’s heard from some high school friends as well. Thankfully no one has said anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Someone will want fifteen minutes in the spotlight, and they won’t care who they have to hurt to get it.
Even without any new information, the story remains the same—Chase the Cheater. It astounds me how one story by one reporter with a miniscule amount of circumstantial information could snowball into thousands upon thousands of news stories. It’s astonishing. The only “evidence” anyone outside of the NFL has seen is the check. A number of players have come forward to corroborate Chase’s story, but no one cares about that. They say it’s a cover up, further proof that he did it. Chase is guilty, all evidence to the contrary will be ignored or manipulated. Case closed.
The whole thing makes me sick.
Whatever it’s doing to me is nothing compared to what it’s doing to Chase. He’s not eating or sleeping. He’s in an exorbitant amount of pain from weeks of full-fledged abuse on the field. Every team he’s played since the news broke has come at Chase with everything they have, and the refs just let them get away with it. It’s revolting, and not one member of the press is talking about it. Everyone sees it happening, but everyone’s looking the other way because “he deserves it.”
So now he’s more obsessed with winning than he was before. He needs to prove to the world he doesn’t need to cheat to win. He refuses to give up because he thinks if he backs down, if he falters, everyone will take that as an admission of guilt. When it’s all said and done, he wants everyone to know he never gave up. They didn’t break him.
I get it. If I were in his shoes, I’d feel the exact same way. I just wish there was something I could do to help him. Watching him go through this has been painful, to say the least. I wish I could take the hits for him, or shield him from all the criticism. But I can’t. I have to sit and watch. I’ve never felt so helpless.
All I can do is make him sandwiches at three in the morning and hope in some way I’m bringing him comfort.
“Did you eat anything?” I ask.
“I had pizza earlier,” he mumbles.
“That was yesterday. I threw the box away this morning.”
“Oh.” He knits his brows as though he’s trying to remember. “Then no, I guess I didn’t.”
Dear God, he needs to sleep.
“I made you a sandwich. You should really try to eat something.”
He nods, but I know he didn’t hear a word I said. He’s too focused on the film. Typically, I’d shove the sandwich in his mouth and tell him to get some sleep. But if I were to do that, he’d just shut me out. He needs me to be on his side, not nag him, even if it is for his own good. So I do the one thing he needs right now. I may not be able to take the hits for him, but I can damn well help him protect himself.
“Fifty-six rocks back on his left foot ever so slightly before he blitzes.” I grab the laser pointer from the end table, rewind the film, and show him.
He reaches for my hand across the sofa. His weary eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”
I’m not sure if he’s thanking me for not pushing him, or for just being here, or maybe it’s just that I helped him spot a tell that might save him from being run over by a two-hundred-twenty-five-pound beast. The why isn’t really important. All I care about is that I’ve done something to help. “Anything for you.”
He presses his lips together and gives me a slight nod, then he returns his attention to the screen.
“They hate me,” he says a few minutes later.
“What? Who? Who hates you?”
“The fans. The whole Bay area.”
I grab the remote and hit Pause. “Chase, I—”
“Did you know last year I was the second most common Halloween costume, coming in just behind Iron Man? Not too shabby considering he’s Iron Man and he’s been around since the sixties. Parents thought I was such a great role model they were willing to shell out all that cash for my jersey for their kid’s Halloween costume. This year…” Shaking his head, he looks down. “This year the school systems have to send home, ‘How to talk to your kid about the Brennan situation.’ I’m a situation now. Talking about me ranks up there with ‘Where do babies come from,’ and, ‘Is Santa real.’ I’m a parent’s nightmare.”
My heart breaks from the sorrow in his voice. I slide across the sofa, careful not to bump him. “I promise once the truth comes out—”
“What if they don’t believe it?” he asks. “What if it’s too late?”
“Too late for what?”
“Shelly showed me this news report. A bunch of kids from Pop Warner and high school football from around the area were interviewed about their reaction to the scandal. They talked about what a letdown I am. I’m supposed to be this good, honorable guy and I’m nothing but a dirty cheat. They said they used to look up to me, and now they don’t want to believe in anyone anymore because they’re afraid to be disappointed again.” Closing his eyes, he takes a breath. When he opens his eyes again, I see they’re rimmed with tears. “They’re just kids, and now they’re cynical and jaded. Even when the truth comes out… the truth won’t give them that innocence back. It won’t take them back in time to when they believed people are inherently good and it’s good to feel hope. And even though none of this is my fault, I feel so fucking guilty.”
Heisman licks Chase’s face. Chase pets him, then nudges him to lie down again. Instead he jumps off the sofa and pads out of the room.
“She never should have showed that to you.”
He picks at a loose thread on his basketball shorts. “She wanted me to be prepared if anyone asked me about it.”
As much as I hate the pain it caused him, it was a smart move. Something that emotionally powerful was bound to get attention, and some reporter will definitely spring it on him at some point. I wish they could see him now—there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind how preposterous this all is.
“Yeah, I suppose she’s right,” I reply. “It’s better to have time to process it than to be blindsided.”
“I can deal
with the heckling, the stupid signs that say Chase the Cheater, and people throwing shit at me from the stands. I can tune out people screaming for Coach to put in Brock, but those kids’ faces in that video… the hurt in their eyes? One kid cried, Ari. He bawled like a baby… I can’t get that image out of my mind.” He wipes under his eye. “That’s why I’ve got to keep winning. If I can keep winning, when this is all over, I can show those kids I didn’t quit. I kept fighting. That they can believe in me.”
I turn toward him and sit cross-legged, then tilt his face toward me. “You’re handling this with more honor and dignity and class than anyone could ever expect. I’m blown away by your strength. I’m in awe of you, and when the truth comes out, everyone else will be too. You won’t be the guy who broke their heart and shattered their dreams. You’ll be the guy who showed them why you never give up. Why you should always have hope. You’ll give them a reason not to lose their faith.”
He shrugs. “It’s not that hard really. I just think, ‘What would Arianna do?’”
“Growing up with an Ice Princess taught you a thing or two, huh?”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.
He grimaces. “Watch out, I’ve got a sprained finger or two on that hand. That linebacker from Philly stomped on it after he sacked me last week. I’m surprised he didn’t go after my throwing hand.”
I bring his hand to my lips and gently kiss each knuckle. “It’ll work out. I promise you. I don’t know how or when, but it will. We will get through this.”
“If it doesn’t, we can change our names and move off the grid. What do you think about Idaho? Alaska?”
I pretend to think about it. “Wyoming. Only half a million people live in the whole state, and it’s huge. I’m sure we could find some small town with only a handful of people.”
Laughing, he looks at me as though I’m crazy. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Duh? I know everything.”
He picks up the remote. “Do you know how they’re going to try to stop the run next week?”
“Put it on, and I’ll tell you.”
We stay up past dawn going over film. Around five thirty, I look over. He’s asleep. I cover him with a blanket and gently kiss his forehead. As I turn off the lights, I pray he sleeps for at least a few hours. His whole body needs the break.
Assuming he’s at work already, if he ever left at all, I get the number for Coach McCowan out of Daddy’s office.
“Arianna? Is everything okay?” he says when he answers the phone. I’m sure he’s been dreading getting a call with an update that the situation has gotten worse.
I lean back in Daddy’s worn-in leather chair. “Everything’s fine, George. I wanted to let you know Chase just put in a marathon film-watching session and just now fell asleep. I’m going to let him sleep for as long as he can, so don’t expect him for a while.”
“Good, he needs it. That’ll give me a little time to get the quarterback coaches working with Brock.”
The phone almost slips out of my hand. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Arianna. You’ve seen the way the other teams are gunning for him. It’s only a matter of time before he gets hurt or the stress gets to him. I don’t want to take him out, but I have a team to run.”
Oh man, if George pulls him, it’ll decimate Chase. The fact that the Niners have stood by him through this whole ordeal is one of the few things keeping him going. If they take that away, I don’t know how he’ll recover. And worse yet, the world will see it as a sign the Niners have lost their faith in him, maybe even that they think he did it. “Don’t. George, you can’t give up on him. He’s being trashed for something he didn’t do. Something he’d never do. The only thing he has right now is the team, and he’s winning. You can’t bench him!”
“I know what it will do to him,” he says quietly. “None of this is fair. I feel bad, I really do, but my job is to help this team win football games. That has to be my top priority.”
I’m sure he’s worried about how all of this will impact his career. “I hear you, but I can assure you, you won’t win with Brock. He’s a second-rate player at best, and he’s incapable of leading a team. If you want to keep winning games, stick with Chase.”
He doesn’t respond, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s politely telling me, We’ll have to agree to disagree. Since we’re at an impasse, I quickly say good-bye and click off.
I rub my temple as I rack my brain for the millionth time, trying to come up with some way out of this mess.
******
Chase is still asleep at nine thirty when my team shows up for a staff meeting. They buzzed me yesterday and said they need a sit-down right away. I’m praying they have good news for a change.
I open the front door and gesture for them to come in. “Welcome. Thanks for coming. We’re going to go in the back. Chase is sleeping downstairs, and I don’t want to wake him up.”
Heisman stares them down as they each come in. Clearly untrusting of our guests, his body is tense as he sniffs at them.
I pet his back. “It’s okay, boy.”
“Whoa,” Helen says as she walks in and looks around. “I haven’t been here in a long time. It’s a blast from the past. I can still remember you at fifteen, ready to take on the world. Things haven’t changed much.” She picks up a framed picture of Daddy and me, and Heisman releases a low growl.
I take the frame from her and put it back. “Why don’t we head to the study?” I motion for them to walk down the hall.
When we walk into the study, I point at the table where I’ve put out bottles of water and juice and a platter of fruit and crackers. “Help yourself.” I sit in an overstuffed armchair, and Heisman jumps up and sits next to me.
“He’s going to be too big to do that soon,” Simon says.
I pet his head. “I know. He’s gotten so much bigger in the few weeks we’ve had him.”
“He’s going to be ginormous,” Helen says.
I smile politely. “I’m sure you didn’t call this meeting just to check on Heisman. What’s up?”
Helen crosses her legs. “Let’s start with your email this morning. You said you want to get on the talk show circuit.”
“Yes. Right now, the press is running wild with stories about the investigation. The league isn’t giving them anything, so they’re making it up as they go along because no one is shaping the story. League rules prevent Chase or his coaches or any of his teammates from talking about the investigation. They can answer questions when asked, but they must tow the company line and most certainly cannot be negative about the NFL in any way. I’m not in the league, so I can say whatever the hell I want. I think I should be out there speaking up for Chase. TV shows, radio interviews, pod casts, print. I’ll do it all. I haven’t heard back from Shelly about it. I’m surprised she isn’t here.”
“We asked her not to come,” Simon replies.
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
“Because we’re going to recommend you find a new PR rep,” Helen answers.
I scoff. “Shelly’s been with me since I went pro. As long as you have, Helen. Why would I fire her?”
Simon uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “Unlike Shelly, Helen and I think that it would be in your best interest to put some space between you and Chase.”
I gape at him. “I’m sorry. I must have misheard you. I thought you said I should put some distance between me and Chase, but you would never say that, would you?”
Simon holds up his hand. “Just hear us out, please.”
I fold my arms. “I’m listening.”
Simon nods at Helen. “Tell her about her schedule.”
Helen clears her throat. “When you said you needed to push everything back, we managed to make that happen. We rescheduled all the interviews and photo shoots.”
“I’m waiting for the but…”
“All of them are worried,” she continues. “They hav
en’t canceled yet, but every single publication wants to push you off. Maybe indefinitely.”
“They don’t want to be stuck with you if you’re tied to this scandal,” Simon adds. “No one will touch you as long as you’re connected to this.”
I continue to pet Heisman as I hold my tongue, waiting to see if they have anything else to add.
Simon leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “It’s our recommendation that you and Chase take a break, just until the investigation is over. We can release a statement that you’ve decided to focus on your career and your schedule is too hectic for a relationship at this time, but you remain friends and wish him all the best. Once that news spreads, maybe we show you out on a few dates. The stink of this will be off of you, and we can move forward.”
“Once people have seen you make a clean break, separating yourself from him, everything will go back to normal,” Helen explains. “If you don’t, I’m sorry to say everything you’ve been working toward will likely disappear. All the hard work you’ve done is unraveling a little more every day you stay with him.”
“He’s going down, sweetie, and he’s going to take you down with him,” Simon says. “You need to get out while you still can and save yourself.”
“Is that all?” I ask.
They look at each other.
“Yes,” Simon replies.
“Good.” My smile quickly changes to a scowl. “Now get out. You’re fired.”
“Ari, don’t be rash,” Simon says as though I’m a petulant teenager throwing a fit. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I don’t like saying it. I love Chase. But you don’t pay me to be your friend. You pay me to think about you and only you. I’m looking out for your best interest, and sometimes that means I have to be the bad guy.”
“Honestly, Ari, scandals like this are a sinkhole,” Helen says. “They take down everything in close proximity. I’ve seen it too many times, and I don’t want to see it happen to you. If you stay, it’s career suicide.”
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 16