by Hannah Ford
Monique picked up her coffee but didn’t drink it. She put the mug down. “The arguments between us started getting more intense when Steve got injured last season and was in rehab. He was so frustrated being out of the game, and he started taking it out on me. He’d pick fights with me, and he started acting crazy jealous. It was as if, without the outlet for his aggression, he had to put it all somewhere.”
“And that somewhere was you,” Faith said.
Monique sighed. “Sure. I tried to be understanding, but I was getting scared of him. He slapped me one night after a party—sound familiar?”
“It does,” Faith said, remembering how quickly the mood had soured between Monique and Velcro at the party in their hotel room.
“Maybe it was the alcohol, I don’t know.” The other woman’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I was more shocked than hurt, the first time it happened. But after that first slap, something shifted between us. It seemed like Steve was always one step away from shoving me, grabbing me, getting angry and screaming in my face.”
“Did you talk to anyone about it?” Faith asked.
“What, like therapy?”
“Anyone,” Faith said.
Monique shook her head, crossed her long legs. “In my family, therapy was for head cases that couldn’t handle their own shit. Pardon my French.”
“Not a problem.”
“I tried to bring it up around one or two of the other player wives, but they instantly froze me out and shut me down when I did. It was like I’d farted loudly at someone’s dinner table,” Monique said. “I couldn’t tell my mother or sisters. They’d have freaked out and flown out to Boston to confront him—and believe me, that would’ve just made things worse for me.”
“So you just dealt with it all yourself,” Faith said.
“Yeah. I considered leaving him on occasion, after a bad fight or something. But then he’d turn on the charm for a few weeks and win me back, have me convinced that this time he’d really stopped for good. I guess I’m just dumb or something.”
“You are not dumb,” Faith said, her voice getting loud. She stared at Monique. “Don’t talk that way.”
Monique’s gaze fell to the table. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. He’s got your head spinning and he’s obviously undermined your self-esteem. It’s not okay,” Faith told her.
The other woman looked up again, and now the tears in her eyes were falling, trailing down her cheeks as her jaw trembled. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.
Faith stood up and walked over to where Monique was sitting. She leaned down and hugged her tightly from behind. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I need help,” Monique said. “I don’t know what to do next.”
Faith let go of her and knelt down beside her. “Can you return to Atlanta—go and stay with your family?”
“I—I think so,” she replied, nodding hesitantly. “I have a little money saved up in a secret account that Steve doesn’t know about. I’ll buy a ticket for tomorrow morning.”
At that moment, Chase stepped into the kitchen. His face told Faith that he’d perhaps heard some of the conversation—or at least, enough of it to know what was happening.
“You can stay here tonight and we’ll take you to the airport tomorrow,” he told her firmly.
“I couldn’t impose on you like that.”
“It’s no imposition,” Faith said. Of course, it wasn’t really her place to say that. But Chase obviously felt strongly that he wanted to help, and Faith thought it only right to reassure Monique that she had their full support.
Monique hung her head and now the crying had gotten more apparent, as her shoulders shook. “I can’t thank you guys enough. I think I really need help. I need to get away from him before…before he does something terrible to me.”
Chase came further into the room. “We’re not going to let him hurt you. You’re safe here.”
He said it with confidence, but Faith wasn’t so sure. Was Monique really safe?
Monique thanked them over and over again through her tears.
Faith looked over to Chase, her heart beating strong in her chest. His eyes were somber and she knew what he was thinking.
Life was about to get very complicated.
* * *
A little while later, Monique was in the guest room, and Chase and Faith were in the master bedroom.
He was pacing back and forth in front of the bed, while Faith sat on the bed and reading on her cell phone about domestic violence and how to help someone who was a victim of it.
“Maybe we need to get her to a shelter?” Faith said.
“She’s flying home in the morning,” Chase said, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, maybe. We don’t know if she even bought herself a ticket yet.”
“I’ll buy her a damn ticket,” Chase replied, his voice rising.
“Don’t talk so loud!” Faith whispered. “We don’t want to make her feel bad.”
“We’re the last people she needs to worry about. Velcro’s going to make her feel bad if he gets hold of her again.”
“Don’t get upset,” Faith said. “We need to stay calm.” She continued reading about victims of domestic violence. It was frightening how often women were hospitalized or even killed by their husbands and their boyfriends.
It was so common that their spouse or boyfriend would be the first person questioned by police if a woman was murdered.
“How can I not get upset?” Chase asked. He stopped and faced her. “This guy is on my team. And he’s the most popular person on the team, in the locker room and with the media and the fans. Now I’m going directly up against him and the front office by helping his fiancé run away.”
“I know it’s a tough situation—“
He laughed bitterly. “It’s a lot more than that. In case you hadn’t noticed, my performances aren’t exactly lighting the world on fire. This isn’t the time to try and throw my weight around.”
“What do you want to do? Kick her out?”
“Obviously not.” He rubbed his beard stubble on his chin and then went to the window and stared outside. “It’s just bad timing.”
Faith wanted to comfort him but she could tell he wasn’t in the mood. “Maybe he won’t even find out you helped her.”
“Somehow, I doubt it,” Chase said. “Considering Velcro just got out of a car and is coming to my front door.”
“What?” she cried out, dropping her phone in a panic.
Chase was already running down the stairs to the first floor, as Faith was following behind him. He was fast—and she couldn’t keep up.
Her head felt faint and she was spinning a little from what Chase had just told her.
Velcro was here?
That meant somehow he’d found out where Monique was. But how?
Chase had already opened the front door by the time Faith got to midway down the staircase. She heard the guest bedroom door open and saw Monique coming out.
“Go back inside your room,” Faith instructed, her voice surprisingly calm, given the circumstances.
Monique hesitated. Her face looked pale and her eyes had dark circles under them. She retreated and closed the door and Faith turned to see what was going on with Chase and Velcro.
“Where’s ‘Nique?” Velcro said.
Faith could hear the other man’s voice, low and angry—still controlled, but barely.
Chase’s large body was blocking the doorway.
“Listen,” Chase began. “You can’t be here right now—“
“No. You listen,” Velcro said, his voice getting louder. “This is between me and her. You got nothing to do with this, Winters. Now step aside, I need to see my girl.”
“She doesn’t want to see you right now, and this is my house.”
Faith stood on the stairwell, not knowing what to do. She was terrified that Velcro might have a weapon.
“Dude, you hav
e no idea what I’m capable of,” Velcro said. “I will take you out if you fuck with me. That’s my lady in there.”
“If you care so much about her, maybe you shouldn’t beat her,” Chase told him.
“I don’t know what you’re chattering about, Winters. Tell Monique to come out. I’m through talking to you.”
“I already told you. She’s not coming.”
“Fine, then. Guess I’m coming in, bitch.”
Velcro tried to rush through the doorway, like he was trying to run for a touchdown. Chase grabbed him and attempted to halt his progress.
They began struggling ferociously, and Faith screamed for them to stop. She ran down the stairs and tried to stop them, but everything was happening so fast.
Velcro was trying to push through the door and Chase had grabbed him in a headlock and was pulling him back outside.
They were two very strong men, and Velcro, although smaller—was incredibly athletic and fast.
He pulled out of the headlock and faked a punch. As Chase went to block the fake punch, Velcro scooted inside the door, bumping past Chase as if he was executing a passing route on the football field.
“Where’s Monique?” he said, staring angrily at Faith. “Monique!” he shouted.
Suddenly, Monique appeared at the landing atop the second floor and looked down. “Steve,” she said sadly.
Faith put out her hands and tried to push him away from the stairs, but his chest was like a rock wall and he didn’t budge. “You need to leave or we’ll call the police,” Faith said.
“Do you really want me gone?” Velcro asked Monique, locking eyes with her.
The woman didn’t respond.
“She’s terrified of you,” Faith said.
Velcro made a face of disgust. “You don’t know shit about her or me, bitch.” He pushed Faith casually out of the way and she fell on hard on the edge of the stair tread.
Chase ran up the stairs, and when Velcro turned to face him, Chase pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants and put the muzzle of the gun tightly to Velcro’s temple.
Monique shrieked.
“You ever touch Faith again and I’ll make sure whatever brains you have left, get picked up off the floor by the cops. Got it?” Chase growled.
Velcro raised his hands as his face turned purple.
“I’ll fucking end you. I’m not playing,” Chase said.
“Don’t do it,” Faith said. “Please, Chase—put the gun away.” She sat on the stairs, looking up at them, her heart pounding hard in her chest. “Stop,” she said.
His eyes were cold and hard as Chase continued pressing the gun to Velcro’s temple.
“Please…don’t…don’t shoot,” Velcro whispered. His lips were pulling back from his teeth in a fearful grimace. White flecks of spit had spattered the corners of his mouth.
Finally, Chase released him. “Now get the fuck out of my house, you sorry son of a bitch.”
Velcro practically fell, as he was let go. He stumbled blindly towards the open door.
Chase kicked him hard in the ass and sent the smaller man forward, but Velcro kept his balance as he ran outside.
Finally, Chase walked calmly to the door and slammed it shut, then locked it. He turned, putting the gun back in his waistband.
Faith stared at him, stunned by what he’d done. “You just pulled a gun and threatened to kill him,” she said. “If he calls the police—“
“He won’t,” Chase told her.
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s a coward, and he won’t want any investigation into this. He’s a woman beater.” Chase glanced up the stairs at Monique, who looked positively shell-shocked.
Chase helped Faith to her feet. “Are you okay?” he asked her softly.
She nodded slowly. “I—I think so.” She took a deep breath and let it out. Her hands were numb and tingly.
When Faith looked upstairs again, she saw that Monique wasn’t standing on the second floor landing anymore.
“Should I check on her?” Faith asked.
Chase went to the window and quickly glanced outside, seemingly satisfied with what he saw out there. “Yeah. Tell her everything’s going to be okay. Tell her she’s safe with us.”
Faith wanted to ask him just how safe the woman could feel knowing that Chase was carrying a loaded gun in the waistband of his pants, but she kept quiet about it. “I guess I’ll go talk to her.”
“Remind her that we’re going to get her home to be with her family tomorrow.”
Faith sighed, then climbed the stairs, went to the guestroom and knocked softly, three times. “Monique, are you in there?” she asked.
There was some rustling from behind the door. “I’m fine,” Monique said, her voice muffled. “I just need some time alone.”
“Are you sure?” Faith asked. “I know what happened a few minutes ago was pretty scary. Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly,” Monique said.
Faith wasn’t sure. She stood by the door for a long moment, waiting. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “I promise.”
Now all was quiet. Faith pressed her ear to the door and listened, but there was no sound from inside. Maybe Monique had crawled into bed. That’s probably what Faith would’ve done had their situations been reversed.
Except I could never be in her situation, because Chase would never hurt me or threaten me in any way.
She wanted to say more, to try and make things better, but her mouth opened and closed again without uttering a word.
Finally, she walked away and went back downstairs.
Chase was on the phone, pacing the living room. “Yeah,” he said. “If you could do this for me it would be a huge favor. Let me know.” He hung up and tossed his cell phone onto the couch.
“Who was that?” Faith asked.
Chase glanced at her. “I just called my agent. I’m having him book Monique on a private jet first thing tomorrow morning. It’ll take her straight to Atlanta.”
“You didn’t have to do that. She said she would book her own flight.”
He stared evenly at Faith. “And you really think she’s booking flights up there right now?” Chase chuckled humorlessly. “She’s completely freaked out. I just pulled a gun and held it to her fiancé’s head. For all we know, she’s calling the cops on me.”
“Do you think?” Faith asked, her stomach churning. “I didn’t hear her talking to anyone. But maybe I should go and check on her again.”
He shrugged. “If I get arrested, I get arrested. He forced his way into my home and I acted in self-defense,” Chase told her. “I’m not worried about me. I just want to make sure we get her the hell out of here as soon as possible.”
“This is a mess.” Faith hugged herself again, shivering.
Chase strode quickly to her, wrapping his muscular arms around her protectively. “You were very brave,” he whispered softly, kissing the top of her head.
“Are you kidding me? I panicked. I was in shock the entire time.”
“You tried to stand up to a big, crazy football player barreling down on you at full speed,” Chase said, grinning. “Given your size and height, I think that qualifies as an act of extreme bravery.”
“Or maybe extreme stupidity,” she said, looking into his dark eyes.
“You’re the furthest thing from stupid,” he said, caressing her cheek. “In fact, I think you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
She looked away, blushing, and buried her face in his chest. Inhaling his scent, feeling his warm body, she instantly relaxed. “Oh, Chase,” she sighed. “I’m so lucky I have you.”
“No, I’m the lucky one,” he told her, stroking her hair now as he held her tightly against him. “I’m the lucky one.”
* * *
It had been a few hours since the altercation with Velcro, and Chase and Faith were watching television together on the couch.
He picked up the remote and hit paus
e. “Let’s get some takeout for dinner.”
Faith shrugged. “I’m good with that. Like Chinese or something?”
“Sure,” he said. “I could eat a pound of spare ribs right about now.”
“What about…you know…” Faith whispered, nodding up towards the room where Monique had been cloistered ever since the altercation between Velcro and Chase.
“You want to ask her if she’s hungry?” he said.
“Not particularly,” Faith replied, grinning. “But I will.”
They’d been sitting on the couch together, Faith curled up against Chase, his arm around her as Game of Thrones played on the TV. It was nice to forget about the reality of their lives for a few minutes and just be together, watching a silly show that had nothing to do with football.
But life wouldn’t be denied.
Faith got off the couch with a deep sigh, and made her way up the stairs, dreading having to talk to Monique again. She knew the other woman didn’t want to be bothered, didn’t want to discuss what had happened.
As she went upstairs, she glanced one last time at Chase, and he gave her a confident thumb’s up sign.
Easy for him to be optimistic, she thought. I’m the one who has to actually talk to this woman.
Finally, she reached the guest room and knocked a few times.
“Please go away,” came the petulant, almost childlike voice from inside the room.
“Honey, I can’t just go away. You’ve been in here for hours. We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk, Faith. I just want to be alone.”
“I know. Let me in for a minute and then I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
There was a long silence and Faith thought she might have to just force her way into the room, but finally Monique opened the door.
She looked as though she’d aged in the few hours since her abusive fiancé had tried to storm his way into the house. Her hair was messy and sticking up in various places, her makeup smudged under her eyes, and her lips looked chapped and raw.
“What do you want to talk about?” Monique said, blocking the doorway, her gaze hostile.
“I want to talk about how you’re feeling. What’s going through your mind?” Faith said.