Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3)

by Isabelle Richards

  “Skip Davies,” she replies.

  “Skip is a cockroach. What did he do now?”

  “He put out a video blog titled ‘The Woman Behind the Locker Room Door’, this morning in response to your appearance on The Rome Show. It’s a real whopper. He applauds the NFL for its conviction and encourages them to carry on until they can obtain justice not only for Oliver Marshall, but for the millions of NFL fans that have been hurt by Ninergate.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please tell me that’s not catching on. Worst name ever.”

  “Oh, it gets worse,” she says with a twisted amount of excitement. I swear she lives for this stuff. “He’s certain that Chase must be guilty but knows he couldn’t have acted alone. He claims you helped him because you had access to players, coaches, medical records. You must have been feeding Chase information on all the players’ weaknesses and injuries.”

  This man is insane. “Medical records? How would I have access to medical records?

  “Apparently, you use your feminine wiles to manipulate your way through the, and I quote, ‘unsuspecting hearts and minds of the impressionable men of the NFL.’”

  I snort. “My feminine wiles? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not sure which is funnier—that, or the notion that anyone in the NFL is impressionable.”

  “He claims that you obtained Marshall’s medical records and figured out the perfect place for Tate to hit him. Hold on, I wrote down his quote.” I hear her shuffling papers around. “‘Arianna Aldrich has unprecedented access to players, personnel, and private information. She’s a snake that has slithered inside the inner workings of the NFL. She has betrayed the trust of those who have welcomed her into their inner circle and is using it for her own personal gain. This is a prime example of why women should be kept out of the locker room, out of the press box, and out of football all together.’”

  “Wow. Just… wow. I can’t wait to see how the feminists respond to that. I’m telling you, Shelly, this whole ordeal becomes more crazy and convoluted by the second.”

  “But that’s how these things go. You know that. That’s why throughout your whole life, we’ve told you that you need to be beyond reproach, because the second someone thinks they have something on you, they’re going to take it and beat you to death with it. I can’t tell you how many good people I’ve seen eaten alive by the press.” Her tone becomes somber. “I just hope you’re not one of them.”

  “Wait, you’re actually worried about this? He’s a hack with an axe to grind. From what you’ve said, he said so many inflammatory things, people will jump all over him. The fact that the story was about me will fade into the background, become secondary to his rampant stupidity and sexism.”

  “While that is true, Skip questioned your integrity. Now people are going to start looking for answers. You’re on the hot seat, my dear. You’ve changed the conversation, all right, but instead of people looking at the NFL, they’re going to start looking at you. We’re going to feed a bunch of stories about the work you’ve been doing with your summer camp program, Huckleberry, Africa—”

  “About that,” I say. The call waiting tone dings in my ear. I pull the phone away to check who’s calling—Bianca from Ralph Lauren. She’s the one I worked with regarding the child labor issue. I get the impression she’s a fixer. Jesus, what now? “Shelly, I have to take this call. Don’t say anything about Africa yet, I’ll explain why later. Push out stories about the various reports I’ve done over the years; I won a few awards for them. Um… the one about women coaches in football, or maybe the story about life after sports.”

  “You got it,” she replies before I click over.

  “Hi, Bianca, did we have a call scheduled?”

  “No, but we were wondering if you could fly in for a face-to-face. We’ve had a few issues come up, and we’d rather hash them out in person rather than over a video conference.”

  “Is it another child labor problem? Because I meant what I said last time. If you choose to go with a company that has not been vetted, I won’t put my name on it.”

  “That’s not the issue,” she responds flatly. “Do you think you can fly in tomorrow? This is very important, and we’d like to address it as quickly as possible.”

  I scroll through my mental calendar. I know Shelly has a ton of radio spots for me in the morning. The only way I can make this work is if I fly out tonight. I hate to leave Chase while we’re in the middle of everything, but what choice do I have? “Sure thing. I’ll need to fly out tonight. I have a few conflicts in the morning, but I can be in around one. Will that work?”

  “Yes, that will work perfectly. I’ll arrange for your flight now. Look for an email with your flight information.”

  Remembering that the latest, non-red-eye flights leave around three, I look at my watch. Dammit! I’m barely going to have time to make it to the airport. As I rush upstairs to pack, I call Chase, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  While I pack, I keep rushing to the window, hoping I hear Chase’s truck pulling up, but it’s nothing but the sound of wishful thinking. I don’t want to leave with so many things up in the air. Thinking about him coming home to an empty house after everything that was shared during our meeting with Butch makes my heart pang. After zipping up my bag, I try him one more time, with no luck.

  I try him a few more times while I’m waiting for takeoff. Just as the flight attendants tell us to put away our electronic devices, I get a text from Charlie. It’s a picture of Chase and Calder asleep on the sofa. I’m disappointed we missed each other, but I’m happy he went to see his sister. They have that creepy twin thing and just get each other, and I think after living through this endless wave of false accusations, he desperately needs to feel understood. If anyone can help him right now, it’s Charlie.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chase

  When I took off in the middle of the meeting with Butch and Carmen, I had no intention of being gone all day. My brain was so overloaded, I needed to get out of there before I snapped. I grabbed Heisman, got in the truck, and drove.

  The next thing I know, I’m at Charlie’s house. It doesn’t take much to convince her and Calder to come on a walk with me and Heisman. Thankfully, she’s smart enough to give me a hat and pair of aviators as we leave the house. The last thing I want is to be recognized. As we walk, I fill her in on the meeting with Butch.

  “If Butch is right, there’s no way out of this. I’m fucked. Forever. There’s no coming back. Game over. I’m going to have to take Ari’s name to make sure our kids aren’t plagued with the shame of having me as a dad.”

  “I know. I was just thinking how happy I am that I took Spencer’s name,” she replies.

  I gape at her. What the hell? She’s not supposed to agree with me!

  She bumps me with her hip. “Kidding.”

  “And poor Pop! He won’t tell me about it, but I know he’s getting hammered too. There’s no way he’s not catching hell from this. GM of the Giants has a son who’s the biggest disgrace in San Francisco sports since Barry Bonds.”

  She taps my arm. “You should totally call Barry. You, him, Lance Armstrong, and A-Rod. You guys can form a club. You can be the MDPs—Most Despised Players. You can compare hate mail, swap disguise ideas for when going out in public, talk about how to keep from getting fat when you’re holed up in your house. I think it could be good for you.”

  I stop so Heisman can sniff the fire hydrant. “You’re not helping.”

  She nudges me with her hip again. “Come on. That was funny! You need to find the humor in this. If you don’t laugh, you’re going to go insane.”

  “Too late.”

  She sighs, clearly disappointed her comic relief isn’t working. “I know it’s hard to see right now, and I can’t begin to tell you the path you have to take to make it happen, but I know one way or another, you’ll get out from under this.” She snorts. “If Michael Vick came back from going to jail for dog fighting, you can come back from this.”<
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  We reach the end of the street, and I motion for us to cross Pacific to Portola. “Vick was actually guilty. He went on TV and talked about how sorry he was. He did ads for the Humane Society, went around to schools to talk about how you should never mistreat animals. He showed remorse. He showed he had been rehabilitated. I can’t do that. I can’t show remorse for something I didn’t do. I can’t be rehabilitated when I’m innocent. I refuse to apologize for something I didn’t do simply to try to win back the public’s trust.”

  Charlie swerves the stroller to dodge a puddle. “Okay, so Vick wasn’t a good comparison. Vick’s a thug, but you’re the golden boy. Rays of sunshine sprout out of your head, and moonbeams come out of your ass when you fart. It is against the laws of physics, and nature, and all prophecies about the chosen one for things not to work out for you. You’re smart, you’re a good person, and you have so many people who love you and believe in you. You’re not going to spend the rest of your life in hiding. Your kids aren’t going to have to take someone else’s name. You will get through this with your head held high.”

  “Everyone’s luck runs out sometime. Maybe I’ve used all mine up?”

  “Not possible,” she says, shaking her head. “Now, enough whining. Seriously, crybaby is not a good look on you. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Heisman tugs his leash to chase a butterfly, but I pull him back. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  “It seems that since I had Calder, all I talk about is baby poop, sleep schedules, and… baby poop.”

  “Um, you said that one already.”

  The breeze picks up, so Charlie stops and covers Calder with the blanket. “I talk about poop a lot. Like a ridiculous amount. I think every conversation Spence and I have had over dinner since Calder was born has included baby poop at least once. I don’t get it, I don’t know how it happened, but that’s life with a baby. I don’t care what you and I talk about, as long as it’s not about that.”

  “I can tell you about puppy poop,” I offer.

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re a jackass. Tell me about the wedding. Ari hasn’t mentioned anything in a while. How’s progress at Vespers?”

  “Oh shit, Ari. I should tell her where I am.” I reach in my pocket for my cell, and it’s empty. “Fuck! This whole mess has me so freaking scatterbrained.”

  Wagging her finger, she clucks her tongue. “Nuh-uh. We’re not talking about that anymore, remember? You can use mine.” She digs in the diaper bag and pulls out her phone, then hands it to me.

  I push the button to activate the screen, but the battery’s dead. “I’ve got to get you one of those portable battery charging things. I don’t like the idea of you out and about with the baby without a phone. There are too many crazies out there right now. You need to be able to call for help if you need it.”

  “Spencer bought me one. Several actually. I just never seem to have one when I need one,” she says. “You’ll call her when we get back to my house, and I promise to do a better job of staying charged. So back to the wedding. What’s new?”

  A huge gust of wind blows through. I pull my hat down low so it doesn’t blow away. “We actually have no idea. No one’s been able to get Ned or Holly on the phone or get a response via email. Bryan’s been trying for a week. Mom and Pop were thinking of flying down there to check on them. Holly and Ari were talking every day, and then poof, nothing.”

  She knits her brow. “That’s really strange. I hope they’re okay.”

  “I hope they didn’t have a major snag of some sorts and are avoiding us so they don’t have to give us the bad news. The wedding is the only positive thing I have to look forward to. It’s like my beacon in this shit storm.”

  “Aww!” she says, making that face reserved for Nicholas Sparks movies. “I’ve never heard anyone make shit storm sound so romantic.” She points at Heisman. “Speaking of…”

  “Thanks.” I pull out a bag from my pocket.

  “Have you decided on your honeymoon?” she asks.

  “I was debating between a few places, but I’ve narrowed it to the Maldives or Seychelles. With all the press attention we’ve had, I want to go someplace private. Where we can get away and have a little time to ourselves. I was trying to find a place with privacy but that’s still close enough to have lots of excursion options, but now I’m thinking the more remote, the better.”

  Calder, now awake, kicks off his blanket, and Charlie stops to tuck him back in. “That sounds perfect. You two really deserve it. I hope you’re going for a while.”

  “I’d like to go away for a month. I think that’s a little long for one location though, so I’m looking at two weeks in one place, maybe a week in another, and another week some place totally different.”

  “Sounds like heaven. Of course you two will find some way to ruin it by competing about ridiculous stuff like who can chop down the most coconuts.”

  “But that’s heaven for us.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You two are so weird.”

  The conversation turns to other random stuff for the rest of our walk to the Presidio, where we turn around and walk back toward her house.

  On the way back, Heisman sees a squirrel and tries to take off. He gets tangled in Charlie’s legs, and she topples over, eating shit on the sidewalk. Her legs are all scraped up, and I can tell her ankle hurts like hell. Pushing the stroller with one hand, the leash wrapped around my wrist, I help Charlie hobble the rest of the way back to her house.

  By the time we get back, Calder’s screaming at the top of his lungs from hunger, Heisman’s whimpering because he’s on a tight leash, and Charlie’s ankle is swelling. My head feels as though it’s going to explode. I get Charlie set up with an ice pack, Advil, and first aid kit to clean her pretty nasty cuts.

  “A warning,” she says as I walk to the kitchen, “he’s probably passed the point of no return.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask as I open the fridge and look for a pre-made bottle.

  “He’s hangry right now. He’s so pissed you made him wait so long to eat that he’s going to refuse to eat and just scream. It’ll take a while, but he’ll take it eventually.”

  “Sure,” I say in a mocking tone. I look at Calder’s face, beet red from screaming for so long. “You’re not going to do that to me, are you?”

  After twenty-five minutes of ear-piercing wails, I learn never to question my sister again. Finally, after begging, pleading, bribing, and praying, I get him to take the bottle. I must have fallen asleep while burping him, because I wake up hours later when Spence comes home.

  I jump off the sofa. “Fuck—Ari! I meant to call her when we got home, but then your kid turned into the devil and…”

  Spencer snorts. “The devil? My kid?”

  “Dude, you have no idea.” I turn to Charlie. “I don’t know how you do it. I really don’t.”

  I look around for my phone but can’t find it anywhere, so I try Ari from the landline while I keep looking. Voicemail. Again.

  “She’s on her way to New York,” Charlie says, her foot still propped up on the sofa.

  “What? New York? When did that happen?” Did I forget about a trip? I don’t think so, but anything’s possible.

  Placing the phone back on the charger, I walk across the room and take a look at her ankle. It’s doing much better, so I press on a few key spots. “Does that hurt?’

  She shakes her head. “Nope, all good.” She points and flexes her foot. “I think I’m fine, just a little banged up.”

  “Did you talk to her?” I ask.

  “Nope. Voicemail. Her message said she’s been trying you all afternoon. Some sort of emergency came up with the clothing line and she needed to take the first flight out. She has no idea what’s going on or when she’ll be back. She said she’s sorry and she’ll call you as soon as she can.”

  I would give anything for our lives to slow down. Lives where we weren’t running from thing to thing or weren’t constant
ly missing each other.

  Maybe one day.

  Since Ari’s gone, Spencer convinces me to spend the night. We order Chinese food and eat until we feel as if we might puke.

  Now that the demon that had taken over my nephew has gone and Calder’s back to his typical sweet self, I give him a bath, then put him to bed.

  Then Spence and I play pool all night and catch up, which we haven’t done in way too long. This was exactly what I needed. A night to hang out with an old friend and talk about anything other than football and the press. Hearing about his life is a welcome change of pace.

  And it makes me miss Ari. I wish she were here. Not only is everything more fun when she’s around, but she needs a night like this just as much as I do.

  Maybe one day.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chase

  Calder gets up at the crack of dawn, and thus the whole house gets up with him. Since I’m up, I decide to get moving. I skipped practice yesterday, so I have a lot to make up for. The earlier I get in, the better. Plus, if I get there before six thirty, I’ll beat the press. I bring Heisman with me since I can get one of the interns to watch him for me.

  When I pull into my spot, I reach for my phone and realize I must have left it with Charlie. Again. I try calling Ari throughout the day whenever I have a chance, but it always goes straight to voicemail.

  Practice is long and hard. Everyone’s getting worn down from the beating we’re taking week after week. I keep waiting for someone to say, “Enough’s enough, put Brock in,” but my teammates rally behind me. It’s humbling to have their support when they could just as easily throw me to the wolves to make things easier on themselves. In the free-agency era, when everyone says the notion of a team is dead, these guys aren’t just looking out for themselves. This is a brotherhood like I’ve never had. I hope to God they know how much I appreciate them.

  I stay at the field until after eleven and don’t get to Charlie’s until after midnight. I expect her to be asleep, but she’s wide awake.