by S. R. Grey
“One more week,” I remind myself. “Then her contract ends.”
I can’t wait to be with her, all out in the open. We made official plans just the other day to spend the holidays together as a couple. I’m planning to fly with her to her hometown of Butler, PA, so I can spend Christmas with her and her family. I’m thrilled that I’ll finally get to meet her parents and her sister. And after our visit with them we plan to head up to Minneapolis so Aubrey can meet my mom and dad.
My parents were going to have a big celebration for the holiday, but they scaled it back. Apparently, my dad hasn’t been feeling well.
When I go back into the house, my phone starts beeping. I look down and see it’s a text alert from Aubrey.
Hey, I was on my way home, but Mr. Dolby just messaged that he wants to meet with me. Maybe he’s ready to sign off on my contract early.
God, I hope so, I text back.
Fingers crossed, she replies.
Mine too, I send back.
I let out a relieved breath, thankful that all the hiding and secrecy may be over sooner than we thought. But when Aubrey returns, looking beyond dejected, I know the news isn’t good.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “What happened at the meeting?”
She tosses her purse and laptop case onto the floor by the sofa. And then she flops down on the cushions. “You’re never going to believe this,” she says.
I sit down next to her and take her hand in mine. “What’s going on now?” I warily inquire.
She shakes her head. “Oh, Brent, this is so bad.” Tears form in her eyes. “They just extended my contract.”
My throat closes. “Shit. For how long?”
She pulls her knees up to her chest and leans her head forward, hiding her face as she says, “Till the playoffs are over.”
I let go of her hand and jump to my feet. “What? No way! Aubrey, this is unacceptable. The playoffs start in April. We won’t be done till at least May. Maybe not till the month after if we go deep.”
Lifting her head, she rests her chin on her raised knees. “Yeah, if you guys go all the way, I‘ll be with you until mid-June.”
I start to pace, muttering, “That’s six fucking months away.”
“Yeah”—she sighs—“it is.”
“Six more months of hiding and sneaking around, all while taking a chance of getting caught.”
“Yep.”
I stop and turn to look at her. Her expression is so sad that it breaks my fucking heart. “I can’t keep up this farce of not loving you for that long,” I choke out.
Her eyes widen. “You love me?”
I go to her, take her hands in mine and urge her to stand. “Of course I love you. I have for a while now.”
That makes her smile as she rises to meet me. She slides her arms around my neck. “I love you too, Brent.”
Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. “This wasn’t how I planned to tell you,” I murmur against her mouth. “I was waiting for the chance to make a great romantic gesture.”
“This is romantic enough,” she assures me.
She kisses me, and I kiss her back with everything I’ve got. I do love her, so very, very much.
We make out for a few minutes, until she has to excuse herself to go to the bathroom. I take the opportunity to take a look at that damn contract. Finding it is easy since it’s right where I expect it to be—tucked away in her laptop case.
I read through it quickly. It seems pretty ironclad. Aubrey could quit, but that’d look really bad for her and her firm. Just as it would if they were to discover our relationship had crossed the line.
I search for other reasons why the team might let her go, ones that wouldn’t hurt her reputation. It seems the only way they’d terminate her immediately is if something extremely damning came out about me. It’d have to be something awful that happened on her watch, so to speak, something she should’ve had a handle on. There’s no mention of repercussions if that were to happen, but I assume they’d simply let her go so everyone could save face.
That wouldn’t be so bad, right?
I think about the night at the strip club, wondering if Nolan still has the video of my lap dance. If that thing goes public, the team would have to let Aubrey go. That’s definitely something they’d have expected her to contain.
It wouldn’t be her fault, though. It’s all on me. Aubrey could simply go with the story that I was a terrible client, the kind nobody could ever fully straighten out. And yeah, I may lose another endorsement, but that won’t affect her.
She’ll sure be pissed as hell, though, when she sees what’s on that video. I’ll have to explain that it looks way worse than it was. I’ll also be sure to let all parties concerned know that it also was all on me. I’ll say my teammates played no part in the lap dance debacle, even though they did. I’ll also stress how Aubrey was doing a phenomenal job, as evidenced by their willingness to re-sign her.
I alone was the one who slipped up.
Convinced that this is the only way for Aubrey to get out of her contract unscathed, and also the only way for us to be together, out in public, before the summer, I pick up my cell and call Nolan.
“You still have that video of me at the strip club?” I ask as soon as he picks up.
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”
“Where are you?”
“Over at my house.”
“Great,” I say. “Stay put. I’ll be over in five minutes. I’ll explain everything once I’m there.”
“Okay. See you then.”
I disconnect, grab my keys and head for the door.
What the Ever-Loving…?
When I return to the living room, Brent is gone.
“What the hell?”
Did our professions of love scare him off?
I don’t really think that’s the case, but I have to question why he wandered off so quickly and out of the blue.
Plus, where did he go?
Since I’m still wearing my business clothes, a light blue linen pant suit, and it’s kind of warm inside the house, I decide to shower and change. A short while later I bop back down to the living room, dressed in the much cooler outfit of one of Brent’s Wolves tees, which is very oversized on me, and short jean shorts. Since Brent’s still MIA, I plop down on the sofa and fire up my laptop.
May as well get some work done, right?
One of my jobs is to keep tabs on social media, including all the popular sports blogs and hockey news sites. I don’t expect to find anything bad about Brent. Working through a slump and incurring a couple bad penalties, and even a suspension, doesn’t make him all that newsworthy. At least not the kind of newsworthy the team frowns on. The Wolves’ management worries more about character stuff. That’s why Benny was sent to rehab back in August. Couldn’t have pics of a raucous drunk representing the team surfacing all the time, now could we?
No.
Benny still whores around, but he’s very discreet about it. He sure wouldn’t have been if he’d been inebriated out of his mind.
And that’s what matters—appearances.
“Everything looks quiet today,” I murmur as I scan through the usual sites.
But then, just as I’m about to close the laptop, an alert pops up for a new site that’s just like Deadspin.
Crap, this new one always seems to find the most lascivious material. Still, I’m certain this newest story, whatever it is, won’t involve Brent.
Geez, I sure hope it’s not about someone else on the team. I love the Wolves, and the players have become like an extended family to me.
I click the link to go to the site and discover there’s some kind of recently uploaded video. And the buzz is already crazy.
I click and read the headline—Brent Oliver Gets His Grind On.
“What the ever-loving…?”
I watch the video.
Good God, it’s of Brent, my Brent, sloppy and drunk at a strip club. But the worst and most disgusting part is
he’s getting a lap dance…and enjoying the hell out of it.
“I am going to kill him!”
I Effed Up
With the deed done, I return to the house.
I need to find Aubrey and engage in some preemptive damage control before she discovers the online video. Hopefully she hasn’t seen it yet. Nolan tried to keep me from posting it, but I ignored him. For the record, he thinks I’m a fool for fucking things up on purpose.
I hope he’s not right.
I find Aubrey on the sofa, legs curled up under her. She has her head in one hand, her dark hair spilling over it.
Shit, she’s seen it.
“Babe…” I stop in my tracks.
She looks up at me. “Brent, what did you do?”
There are tears in her eyes, and her question is murmured in a whisper. I immediately feel like crap. “Aubs, it’s not what it looks like.”
I go over and sit next to her, but she scoots away. “Just… Give me some space, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I assume she’s angry over the content of the video, so I address that. “Nothing more than what you saw in the video happened, Aubrey. I know it looks bad”—she peers over at me and scoffs—“but I swear that was the extent of it. The guys bought me a lap dance that night, nothing else. It happens sometimes. I know I should’ve declined, but I was drinking at the time.”
“Clearly,” she interjects, her voice dripping with sarcasm. And then she asks, “Was that video taken the night you came home drunk? The same night you let me blow you, Brent.”
“Yes,” I sheepishly admit.
She sighs, and I sense I’m in for it. But I guess we have bigger problems since she says quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me what happened? I could’ve prevented that video from getting out.”
I shrug, feeling guiltier than ever.
She shakes her head. “This is so, so bad, Brent. You don’t even know.”
“Maybe it’s not,” I counter, running my hand down my face. “We have to look at the bright side here.”
“What the hell kind of bright side are you seeing in this scenario?” she practically yells at me. “’Cause, really, Brent, if there is one, I’d like for you to share it with me.”
I move closer to her, and this time she lets me close the gap. I think she’s just too upset to stop me.
With my hand on her leg, I say, “Of course there’s a bright side. The Wolves will let you out of your contract now. We won’t have to wait until the summer to tell the world we’re in love.”
She stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “Are you smoking crack?” she asks.
I mutter a confused, “Um, no.”
Slipping out from under my hand, she stands abruptly. “Do you not realize how bad it is for me to be terminated for something like this?”
Wait a minute. She just used the present tense.
“Are you saying the team already contacted you?” I ask.
To say I’m surprised things are moving so quickly is an understatement. Maybe I have fucked things up.
“Yes,” she replies, “they have.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Jesus, talk about not wasting any time.”
“I told you this is bad, Brent.”
She hands me her phone, where a text is pulled up. I start scrolling the long and full-of-legalize message.
The gist is summed up in the final paragraph: Your contract is hereby rendered null and void, as per our agreement. Your employment with the Las Vegas Wolves is terminated, effective immediately. As agreed upon in the new addendum, dated December 4, you are to have no ongoing relationships with any parties associated with the Wolves, or any of their affiliates. A formal letter outlining these details will be forthcoming via certified mail.
“No ongoing relationships? What’s this shit?” I spit out, angry at myself for my impulsive act. “You never told me there was a clause like this in the contract.”
“There wasn’t,” she says flatly. “At least, not in the original one I signed.”
Aubrey looks completely defeated, especially when I stupidly ask, “What exactly does this mean?”
I read the text, sure, but a part of me is hoping I missed something, some sort of out.
Aubrey crushes all hope, though, when she confirms, “It means we can’t be together, Brent. And now it’s not simply a ‘wait until the summer’ condition. It’s a wait till freaking forever!”
“That can’t be,” I murmur, still resistant to accepting the truth. “I paged through the new paperwork you signed, and I didn’t see anything like that—”
“Wait. What?”
She’s staring at me, confused, her brow furrowed.
Feeling like the world’s biggest ass, I struggle to explain. “I, um… I may have taken a peek at what we were up against.”
“You read through my new contract?” Her tone is pure shock. “You went into my laptop case and took it out?”
“Yes,” I admit, guilt consuming me. I can’t meet her gaze. And that’s how she knows I did more than read the contract.
“Oh my God, Brent. Please tell me what I’m suspecting right now isn’t true.”
I say nothing, and she crumples to the floor right in front of me. I hate myself for causing her this much pain.
With her back against the coffee table, she brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “You released that video, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit.
Choking back a sob, she asks, “Why would you do something like that? Why?”
“I did it for us, babe.”
“Jesus, don’t you realize you’ve just made it so there is no more ‘us’? Everything is ruined now. You may have read the contract, but you missed the extra page in the back. Like the text laid out, the extension I signed contained an addendum, stating that if I’m terminated early I’m to have no contact with anyone associated with the team in any way, shape, or form. That includes you, Brent.”
I slide down to the floor next to her, broken and shamed. “Aubrey, babe.” I take her in my arms. “They can’t hold us to something as ridiculous as that. It’s far too extreme.”
“It is extreme,” she cries. “But the fact remains that I signed it and fully agreed to it.”
She loses it then, sobbing and shaking. All the composure she’s maintained over the past four months of dealing with me crumbles right before my eyes. Aubrey’s petite frame is racked with big choking sobs, and my heart shatters to a thousand I-fucked-up pieces.
I try to comfort her, but I know then that I’ve already lost her.
Leaving My Heart Behind
My boss calls an hour after the video is released and orders me to return to Chicago immediately.
Surprisingly, he’s not angry. He’s just resigned.
“We’ll find you another assignment,” he says, in a meant-to-be consoling tone. “The management team out there is completely unreasonable. As far as we’re concerned, Aubrey, you did a phenomenal job. I think the best thing going forward is for us to get you on another contract with a new client as soon as possible.”
I pretend to agree, but truthfully I feel like I need some time off.
I feel the same way a day later when I’m packing, which I find is far from easy. I’ve been here so long that I’ve had to have most of my things boxed up and designated to be shipped to my townhouse in Chicago.
But I still have a few final things in Brent’s bedroom. I’m waiting for a time when he’s at practice. We’ve avoided each other really well the past twenty-four hours, ever since our little “talk” in the living room.
Damn it, I’m so angry at him. If he’d just spoken with me first, I could’ve told him that releasing that video would be the worst move ever.
I love Brent, but we need time apart. That’s why I plan to be gone by the time he comes home. Not only do I have no reason to be here anymore, but having a relationship with him, even if we pretend it just now started, is no longe
r a possibility. I can’t throw away my career for him. And that’s what I’d be doing. My firm would terminate me for violating the contract I signed, and my reputation would be for shit.
If Brent had just waited till summer, when the contract ended by reaching its full term, then that new addendum would’ve meant nothing. It’s because I was terminated that it went into effect.
The team now expects me to stay away from everyone.
With my carry-on strap swung over my shoulder, the same piece of luggage Brent made me carry way back on that fateful day in the arena parking lot, I step into the room he and I have shared for over a month.
It’s so overwhelming to me that I’ll never again be in here that I have to stop for a minute and catch my breath.
“I can’t believe it’s really over,” I choke out.
I also can’t believe I’m a bad cliché—a woman caught between love and her career. Love might have won out, if I weren’t so mad at Brent. But the more I think about it, the more I question if this relationship is really all that healthy. He kept the strip club incident from me. And that’s like lying by omission, right?
He also went behind my back and released that video. Not only was the content humiliating for me to watch, but Brent made that decision all on his own. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t even think to consult me before making such a sweeping decision.
It seems that, for as much as Brent Oliver has changed, he’s still pretty much the same self-centered prick I woke up to that morning in his bed. And that’s why I can’t sacrifice myself to be with him. It was bad judgment to get involved with him in the first place.
But you fell in love. You’re just trying to talk yourself out of it now.
“Shut up,” I hiss. “I have to convince myself of something or I won’t be able to leave.”
Then stay.
“I can’t.”
I angrily start stuffing clothes in my bag, starting with things in the closet. When I reach the nightstand by his bed I come across my red panties.