Around noon, we finalize the paperwork for the settlement with Ralph Lauren. After the child labor leak, they suddenly became amenable to negotiating. They agreed to all my terms, including returning my designs, in exchange for my signature on an NDA covering our every conversation and interaction. I also can’t use my designs for five years, but more importantly, they can’t ever use them.
Wallace and I work furiously to get everything signed, sealed, and delivered before Ralph Lauren can change their minds. Wallace believes we’d win in court, but I’d rather not drag this out. As long as I don’t owe them a dime and they can’t use my designs, I’m happy.
Having knocked out our entire list in a few hours, Wallace offers to take me out for a black-and-blue steak at Alfred’s, just like he used to get with Daddy, but I politely pass. Instead, since I’m in the city, I decide to head over to Charlie’s.
As I pull out of the parking garage, my phone rings. I tell the car to answer the call, and the Bluetooth connects. “Hey, Butch, have news for me already? Have you started leaking the tape yet?”
“The plan’s changed. Tate was arrested!”
Her words catch me completely by surprise, and I almost run a red light. I slam on the brakes and pray I don’t get rear-ended. “What?”
“I told you I had a guy sitting on Tate’s girlfriend’s house. Well, Tate showed up around seven this morning. Vic called the cops, but it took them forever to show up. By the time they busted down the door, Tate had already smacked Heather around. She’s pretty banged up.”
I gasp. “Thank God your guy was there! Who knows how bad it would have gotten if the cops hadn’t shown up when they did!”
“If they hadn’t pulled up when they did, Vic would have gone in there himself, but I’m glad he didn’t. The cops saw Tate hit her, and now they don’t need her cooperation to press charges. Which is a good thing too—Vic says she begged the officers not to arrest him, even attacked one of them as he was putting cuffs on Tate. Scratched the hell out of his face and made a play for his gun. She swore up and down that it wasn’t what it looked like. You know, I’ve been doing this for twenty years. I’ve seen people do all sorts of stupid things. Just throw their lives away with their horrendously idiotic behavior.”
Suddenly, my throat feels tight, and I cough to relieve the pressure. The light turns green, so I shift out of neutral into first, then turn onto California Street.
“Yeah, you’re included in that group, missy,” she continues. “But with you… I certainly didn’t agree with it, but I could understand what happened. For the most part, I can figure out the motivation behind people’s bad choices—I have to track them down. But this lady, I can’t wrap my head around this no matter how hard I try. We’ve looked into her. She’s a smart woman, educated, has a good head on her shoulders and a good job. So why the hell does she turn into a complete moron when it comes to this guy?”
“Love can make smart women do really stupid things. Tate has some twisted hold over her heart. I hope to God while his ass rots in jail, someone will help her snap out of his spell. If not for her sake, then for their poor kid.”
“Speaking of the kid, the cops found Eli cowering in a bedroom with his uncle. Heather’s brother, Austin, has been living there since he returned from Afghanistan without his legs and with severe TBI; she’s been taking care of him. Talking can be tough for him. It took a few hours for the police to get Austin to feel comfortable opening up, but once he did, he spilled the beans on everything—the years of abuse he’s witnessed Tate hash out to Heather and Eli, then Tate storming in today and demanding Heather do ‘her programming shit’ to make some emails proving Chase was the ringleader.”
Listening to her tell the story, it’s almost too crazy to believe, but then again, everything that’s happened since that DeadSpin story came out has been hard to fathom. “Are they accepting his story?”
“Oh yeah, and they’re dying to throw the book at Tate. I hear the DA has the biggest hard-on for him. I thought it was the perfect time to leak the recording, but Carmen insisted it would most help Chase if I send it to the commissioner’s office first. I had a friend make a flash drive of the recording and deliver it. Now we just have to wait.”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, but even with this good news, there’s still a knot in my stomach. It’s hard to feel good about this. I want Chase free of this albatross, but not like this. A woman was beaten, a family torn apart. The whole thing makes me feel sick. I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel while I wait to turn left into Charlie’s neighborhood. “Do you know what’s going to happen to Eli and the brother?”
“After Heather went buck wild on the cop, they brought her in for assaulting an officer,” Butch explains. “Social services was called. The brother can’t take care of Eli, so last I heard, they were looking to see if another relative can take Eli for the night, and the brother’s staying with a friend from the VA.”
That poor little guy. I can only imagine how scared and confused he is. The last thing he needs is to be shuffled into some foster home with a bunch of strangers. “Can you keep an eye on him and let me know? I’m really worried about him.”
“You got it. I’ll call you when I know more,” she promises, then clicks off.
After pulling into Charlie’s driveway, I’m desperate to get inside and see how the press is responding to the story. I rush to the front door and let myself in with my key.
“Hey. Is everyone decent?” I’m not sure what life is like here now, but when I was living here, I never knew what I’d be walking in on when I came home.
“Back here,” she calls.
I find Charlie in the living room, holding Calder with one arm and putting ornaments on their gargantuan Christmas tree with the other.
“Grab a bulb. I can really use the help,” she says.
I snatch Calder. “I’d rather grab a baby!” He giggles when I place a bunch of kisses on his neck.
“Okay, but when you’re done, grab a bulb. It’s going to take me until Valentine’s Day to get this stupid tree decorated.” She takes a Golden Gate bridge ornament out of the box, then looks for a place on the tree. “It’s my fault. Spencer said we should get a small tree. But nooo, I insisted on the big tree. The bigger, the better. Brilliant, Charlotte, just freaking brilliant. Thank God for Amazon same-day shipping, because with the exception of the five ornaments left in this box, my entire collection is on the tree already.”
I look at the tree with raised eyebrows. Maybe ten percent of the tree is covered. Then I spot the five-foot stack of Amazon boxes next to the tree. “I think you’ll be okay.”
She reattaches a hook to a reindeer ornament. “You didn’t come over to hear my tree woes though. What’s up?”
“I needed my baby fix, and I figured you’d be bursting at the seams to talk about everything.”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she places the reindeer on the tree. “What everything? I dropped my phone in the tub when I was giving Calder a bath, and it’s now in a bag of rice, trying to dry out. If something’s going on, I have no clue.”
I give her the run-down of everything that’s happened today, and a miniature Eiffel Tower slips through her fingers and falls onto the tree skirt.
“Holy shit! Why the hell are we wasting time on the damn tree? Turn the TV on. I’ll get my laptop.”
Every channel is focused on Tate’s arrest. How can they not? This story has it all: computer fraud, unhealthy abusive relationships, a wounded warrior, and a kid who’s probably going to get swallowed up in the foster system. The news networks have everyone from former hackers teaching America how to fake emails, to John McCain talking about how our nation is failing our veterans, to the wives of late NFL players complaining about how the violence in football incites more violence.
Charlie and I rotate between decorating, playing with Calder, checking the computer, and flipping through all the channels. The story unfolds like opening up a piece of origami—little bit b
y little bit. I keep waiting for something about Brock. I can’t imagine anyone hearing that audio and sitting on it for very long, but hours go by. I’m about to call Butch for an update when whatever channel we’re watching interrupts an interview with the mother of a serial killer, who’s certain football is the reason her son raped and carved up eight women, with a special report.
“For those of you just joining us, the Ninergate scandal has taken some bizarre twists and turns, and we are here with you as the story breaks,” the newscaster reports.
The screen switches from the newscaster to footage of Brock being escorted out of Levi in cuffs. He looks as if he’s been in a helluvah fight. His left cheek is swollen, his lip is split, and there’s a deep gash on his forehead.
“You’ve just seen pictures of Brock Saunders being taken into FBI custody. It is just one thing after another in Niner-land,” the newscaster says. “A witness inside Levi stadium posted on Twitter that the cuts and bruises on Saunder’s face are from a locker room brawl, but we haven’t been able to confirm this story.”
Charlie and I exchange glances.
“FBI?” she says, clearly in shock. “Shit’s getting real.”
“Carmen warned this would get messy. She talked about fraud, conspiracy, if someone wanted to get real creative, it could be a criminal enterprise, although I really didn’t follow that one.”
“I don’t care what they charge him with, I just want him to go down,” Charlie says as she pushes Calder’s favorite stuffed animal just out of reach to encourage him to move toward it. “When he does go to jail, I’m going to find out what the slipperiest soap is and send him a care package of it every month.”
I shake the turtle, trying to coax Calder to roll for it. “Karma’s a bitch. It’ll come back to him, no soap required.”
Knowing Chase won’t be home until close to midnight, I make dinner for Charlie and me. While I’m cleaning up the dishes, I get a buzz about a video on YouTube going viral. It’s a still picture of Brock and Tate hugging after the Super Bowl last year, and the audio is the two of them in the bar.
Now it’s over.
Chapter Thirty
Arianna
After leaving Charlie’s, I swing by Pat and Katie’s to pick up Heisman. After several nights of waking up at three to deal with crisis after crisis, I should be exhausted, but I’m wired, practically bursting with energy. As soon as I get home, I take my growing Rottie for a long run to let him stretch his legs after being cooped up all day.
After I get back and shower, I hit the phone with Shelly to discuss press strategy for tomorrow. What feels like hours later, I see the flash of headlights trail across the wall.
“Ari?” Chase calls as he barrels through the front door.
“Up here,” I shout back before hanging up with Shelly.
The moment he enters the room, I drop my phone and run to him. Something crinkles between us. I was so excited to see him, I didn’t even notice he had anything in his hands. Whatever it is, I’m crushing it as I squeeze him as tight as I can, but I don’t care. I’ve been dying to get him in my arms all day.
“It’s over,” I whisper. “It’s finally over.”
“All thanks to you, Blondie.”
“It was all Butch.”
When we break apart, I see I crushed five bunches of plastic-wrapped flowers.
“I was hoping I could get you peonies, but Safeway was the only place still open, and their floral department was picked clean. It was carnations, a fern of some sort, or rotting sunflowers. So I went with the carnations.”
I take the flowers and smell them. It takes me back to the sixth grade when we had carnation sales for student government. Chase and I had to work together to distribute them at the end of each day. We always fought, which was to be expected, but one day he did something—I can’t remember what—and I got so mad that I dumped the whole bucket of carnations, water and all, on his head. He then shook a can of soda and opened it so it sprayed all over me. So I squeezed a whole tube of lotion at him, as it was the only thing I had to use for retaliation. He broke all the pens in his backpack and smeared me with the ink just as Sister Fiona walked in, and she went ballistic.
We had to scrub floors and lockers and desks for a week. God, we hated each other. I know it mustn’t make sense to anyone but me, but those memories warm my heart.
“They’re perfect,” I say. “But I’m not sure why you’re getting me flowers. You’re the one we’re supposed to be celebrating.”
“You made this happen,” he says. “You saved me.”
“You were innocent. All I did was remind people to look at the facts. It was nothing.” I walk to the hall closet, grab a vase off the top shelf, then head to the bathroom to fill the vase with water.
Chase leans against the bathroom door frame as I hold the vase under the faucet. “Don’t get modest on me. The whole world was ready to lynch me, and you got them to open their minds to the possibly that conjecture may not be reality.”
Placing the vase in the middle of the vanity, I arrange the flowers. “You were muzzled, unable to defend yourself. I was just your voice. You would have done the same for me.”
He grabs my hands, stopping me from fussing with the flowers, then he turns me so that I’m facing him. He looks me in the eyes, and I get lost in the emotions there. “You gave up so much. You put yourself in the fire to get the heat off of me. I’ll never be able to fix the damage that’s been done to you. I can’t give you the clothing line back. I can’t undo the humiliation you suffered or make people forget all the lies they’ve heard. But I promise I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life finding ways to make it up to you.”
I put my hand on his cheek. “Haven’t you figured it out by now? I would crawl through broken glass for you. I’d walk through fire for you. Nothing in this world means more to me than you do, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. To protect us. Fighting off a few bullies? That was nothing.”
His hands slip from my shoulders, down my arms, then wrap around my waist. He pulls me close, his lips a breath away from mine. “Marry me.”
Pushing up on my toes, my lips brush against his as I whisper, “Nothing in this world would make me happier.” I kiss him softly.
Sometimes a kiss is only a kiss, and sometimes, a kiss is a promise of more to come. Each touch of our lips is a tantalizing tease. I run the tip of my tongue across his bottom lip, just barely slipping it into his mouth. There’s no need to rush. Quite the opposite actually. We need to take our time. I want to savor finally being with him without feeling the weight of scandal hovering above us.
As the anticipation between us builds, our kisses become deeper. Ever so slowly, he runs his fingertips from behind my ear, down my neck. Goose bumps spread across my body as he brushes his fingers along my collarbone. Chase’s mastery of my body never ceases to amaze me. He always knows just where to touch to make my senses come alive and make my body crave more. Cupping my ass, he lifts me and sets me on the countertop.
When my bottom hits the cold granite, my body tenses and my head tilts back as I gasp. With my neck exposed, Chase takes my earlobe between his teeth, playfully flicking it with his tongue. Placing soft, seductive kisses along my collarbone, Chase brushes the strap of my tank top off my shoulder. The strap falls to my elbow, exposing my breast.
As his lips return to mine, Chase grazes my nipple with the backs of his fingers. His touch is so gentle that it drives me wild. I moan into his mouth when he rolls my nipple between his fingers. Every touch, every kiss makes me long for deeper contact. Craving friction, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. Feeling his hard length through his track pants, I know he’s just as eager as I am.
Breaking our kiss, he lifts my tank top over my head, then he returns his attention to my breasts. His mouth moves from breast to breast, sucking, licking, kissing. Whichever one isn’t in his mouth receives the undivided attention of his hands.
The yea
rning need growing between my legs becomes almost painful. I try to pull him back to me with my legs, but he refuses. As he flicks my nipple with his tongue, I moan, which makes him flick faster.
While his other hand his busy, his free hand touches my ankle then slowly creeps up my leg. His fingertips wisp against my skin up my thigh. When his hand slides under the leg of his boxers, Chase quickly discovers I’m not wearing any panties. A diabolical snicker escapes him. He lavs my breast one last time, then he runs his tongue down my abdomen. As he kisses across my stomach, he tugs down my boxers then tosses them across the room. Waggling his eyebrows, he gives me the most devious look as he spreads my legs.
Rotating between soft kisses and lascivious licks, Chase eases from my knee up to my apex. When he reaches the top of my thigh, he pauses. The feel of his hot breath on me turns me feral with desire.
He inhales sharply. “God, I love the way you smell.” He runs his tongue along my lips. “Almost as much as I love the way you taste.”
My hands go into his hair, tugging every time he hits the right spot. The sensation is so intense, I can’t hold back. I don’t want to hold back. For months, we’ve been so consumed, distracted, immersed in our problems, and now that we’re free, I want to experience it. My inhibitions dissolve as I allow myself to relish the splendor, screaming and moaning with every lick, every suckle. I have no desire to be quiet. I want him to hear how good he’s making me feel.
While his tongue massages my clit, Chase slides two fingers inside me. My nails claw at his back as the tension within me mounts. He sucks my clit, and the pleasure is so delicious, I don’t want it to end. I could stay in this heightened state of decadence forever. But as good as it feels, I know if I allow myself to let go and tip over the edge, the ecstasy will be mind-blowing. His hand slides up my stomach to my breast. He circles my nipple with his thumb, mimicking what his tongue is doing to my clit, and sends my desire overdrive. Unable to hold back, I grind my pelvis against his tongue. My body tenses as the wave of ecstasy ripples through my body. Euphoric bliss pulsates through me.
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 25